Parallel

decision to make!” I shout.
    “Abigail, don’t talk to your mother that way,” my dad says sternly.
    “No, Robert, she’s right. Abby, I—”
    I don’t wait for her apology. Before she can finish, I spin on my heels and fling open the back door. “You should eat without me,” I announce just before the door slams shut.
    My car steers itself toward Caitlin’s, even though I haven’t made a conscious decision to go there. But when I pull up in front of her house, I know exactly why I’ve come, and it’s not to vent about my mom. It’s to apologize. And for the first time since we said those horrible things to each other, I’m not worried about what I’ll say to her.
    I’ve rung the doorbell twice when it occurs to me that the Moss’s family Volvo is gone, and Caitlin’s Jetta is parked in the garage. Yesterday’s newspaper is still on the porch.
    Charleston. Duh. That’s where Caitlin’s grandmother lives and where her family spends every major holiday.
    Disappointed but not defeated, I sit down on the porch step and dial her number. This time, I leave a voicemail.
    “Hey, Caitlin. It’s me. Abby. I’m at your house, sitting on the porch, wishing you were here so I could say this in person.” I take a breath, certain of what I want to say, but not sure the order in which to say it. “I’m so sorry, Cate. I’m sorry for what I said to you in the cafeteria, and for bringing up Craig—that was totally bitchy and awful and I’m sorry—but I’m really, really sorry for telling Tyler you liked him. For assuming I knew what was best for you. For thinking it was up to me. I can’t even imagine how angry you must be. Well, actually I can, because—” I start to tell her about the Yale application, but stop myself. This isn’t about what my mom did. This is about what I did. “Please let me make it up to you,” I rush on. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” I pause, wondering whether this message is still coherent, as it’s morphed into words spewing out from a mesh of tears and sniffles. I’m debating whether to beg her to call me back or just apologize again when I hear the second beep.
    The line goes dead.
    Suddenly, the depth of the chasm between us is unbearable. I don’t want to be in a fight with her anymore. She’s my best friend. She’s part of who I am.
    I’m not Abby without Caitlin.
    Please, God, give me my best friend back.
    I’m redialing her number when she calls me back.
    “I’m so sorry,” I say instead of hello. “Please don’t hang up on me.”
    “I called you,” she points out.
    “Oh. Right.” I say lamely. I can’t tell her from her voice if she’s listened to my message or not. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “Not that you called me,” I add quickly. “For what I did.”
    “I’m sorry, too,” she says, and then her voice breaks.
    “You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” I tell her, tears streaming down my face now. “I’m the one who lied to Tyler, and who said those awful things.”
    “I said awful things, too,” she says. “And, in a way, I lied, too. I didn’t tell you why I was really mad. It wasn’t just the Tyler thing.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “My Yale application was due the next day, and—”
    “Oh my God. Your essays.” I completely forgot. An excuse almost as bad as the offense itself. What kind of friend forgets something like that? I knew how important it was to her that I read them. Her dyslexia has made her super self-conscious about her writing, and these essays meant everything to her. “I’m such an asshole,” I say. “No wonder you were mad at me that day.”
    “Well, that and my sucky SAT score.”
    “Your what ?”
    “Yeah. It was a pretty shitty week.” Her voice is thick with disappointment. “Almost as shitty as this one’s been.”
    “Did you . . .” I trail off. I can’t imagine that it’s true.
    “I didn’t get in,” she says. “Found out yesterday, right before we left. Wait-listed.”
    “Oh, Cate . . .” My heart literally aches in my chest. “But you still have a chance of getting in, right?”
    “Yeah. Won’t know till February, though. So I’m applying to some other places. I figure Grandpa Oscar would be just as proud to have a granddaughter at Wash U or Duke.” She makes an effort to sound upbeat. “What about you? Did you hear from Northwestern?”
    “Not yet,” I tell her.
    “You’ll get in,” she assures me, because that’s what best friends