“So what do you have to say?” I said coldly. “Be quick about it.”

I was sitting across the table from him in a quiet corner in a café, arms crossed in front of my chest; he had texted me a few days ago, asking to meet. To talk. I almost didn’t reply, almost blocked the number. But in the end I thought back to all we’d been through together, and I just couldn’t ignore him.

I did take my precautions though. After what he’d done to me, I planned to meet in a public space; two of my friends were sitting at a nearby table, just out of earshot but ready to intervene at a moment’s notice; and I had pepper spray in my purse. And I was sitting with my chair well back from the table – I was ready to make a quick exit if needs be.

“I...” he began, then stopped. He swallowed a few times. “I... Wanted to apologise. For what I said. For what I did. I was wrong, I behaved terribly, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“Huh,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “And what brought this about? The last time we saw each other you didn’t think much of me. You called me a tranny, if I’m not mistaken.”

He winced at the memory. His actual words had been ‘fucking tranny bitch’: he’d gotten really, really drunk at our ten-year class reunion, snapped at me, hurled slurs, and tried to beat me up. I managed to escape only thanks to our classmates, who held him back while I fled the venue as quick as my heels would carry me. That was almost two years ago.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind at the time. But you see, I’m better now. I’ve found a group, and I’m following some steps–”

I felt heat rising in my cheeks. “Oh, you’re following some steps, are you?” I shot back. “We knew each other for years, been through school together! We were best friends! I thought I could trust you! And when I was at my most vulnerable, you completely rejected me, my very being! And now you come here to say you’re sorry?!”

Realising I had raised my voice much too high, I glanced around the café. Everyone had stopped and was looking at us; one of my friends at the next table over was halfway out of her chair, but sat back down as I made a placating hand gesture.

I took a deep breath. “I will not entertain your attempt to make yourself feel better. Apology received. Apology rejected.” I started to get up.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait, I beg you.”

It was something in his voice that made me pause. A tinge of desperation, perhaps? I looked at him: his fists were clenched on the table, and he was looking down, not meeting my gaze.

“Please,” he continued. “At least let... Let me explain. Why I behaved the way I did.”

I sat back down. “Oh, this should be good,” I said, perhaps more harshly than I should have.

“I... All our lives we’ve been together. We grew up together. I’m ashamed to admit, but often I thought I was better than you, that you were tagging along with me only to be popular.”

I scoffed at that. True, I was a typical geek growing up and he was a typical jock, we had completely different interests and hobbies and social circles, but somehow we connected. We clicked. We enjoyed each other’s company.

“When I saw you again at the class reunion I... Acted like that, because I didn’t want to face the truth. Because I didn’t want to admit that you...” he paused, grit his teeth. “That you are a much stronger person than I am.”

I was surprised to see that tears were rolling down his cheeks. “Because the more I looked at you, the more I found myself being so fucking jealous. Of you.” He was shaking now. “Because you managed to do what I always wished I could have done.”

And then I realised. I was paralysed with shock, looking at him openly weeping. My eyes started getting moist.

Suddenly everything made sense.

Slowly, carefully, I reached across the table, hesitating a few times, and placed my hand upon... Hers. A simple gesture, granting forgiveness, and promising help.

“Hey. Come on now. It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.”