We were walking together, the three of us, the shape we made lurching clumsily to and fro on the concrete as our glances flicked back and forward between our faces; asking, answering, nodding, finding something in a bag, speeding up a bit, waiting for one to catch up, checking a phone, passing an outsider. Our formation lacked the elegant swooping choreography of birds but still, seamlessly, it held.
To outsiders we looked like grown women, and I guess we were, but we had known each other like the back of our hands since before the time our bodies had begun to widen into unfamiliar shapes, became home to strange desires and inexplicable melancholies. So, together, we reverted to some pre-teen form: making silly jokes, giggling helplessly, talking, talking, talking as if trying to reach the vanishing point of what could be said.
It had been Kathy's idea to have a girl's trip. We had been accepted by different universities so our constant physical presence in each other's' lives had faded; or rather, had concentrated into our shared WhatsApp group. I thought of it as a little green pet we were coparenting. Still this distance meant Kathy was able to keep her boyfriend from us for the first six months they were dating, refusing to share even a photo and the most determined social media stalking by Lucy and I yielded little results. But then she messaged us on a Tuesday around 2am, saying that he was going to move to the US for grad school next year, and that 'they' had to decide whether to become more serious or break up. Lucy and I chose to ignore the emergence of a "we" and told her we would support her in whatever she decided, then she suddenly suggested that we meet him. The boyfriend (his name was Terk) was back home in Thailand for summer. And so it became not just Kathy who would visit him in Chiang Mai, but us, all of us.
The sunset cast trails of thick golden and orange across the reddening sky. We had arranged to meet Terk at a Mexican restaurant, which on Google maps had seemed walkable from our hostel, though it was getting dark by the time we arrived; avoiding the swarming mass of cars, scooters and tuk-tuks spilling out of the roads, sidestepping the desiccated edges and ominous holes of the sidewalk. We saw the place from across the road a few blocks away, bright as the sunset: deep pinks, red, and purples and giant paper yellow flowers around the doorway. Inside, it was decorated with multicoloured sombreros on the walls and paper skulls. Terk was late. Kathy kept giving us updates on exactly how far away he was. Even when Lucy told her it didn't matter and that we should just get some drinks and starters while we waited, I noticed Kathy surreptitiously checking her phone when she was supposed to be looking at the cocktail menu.
Our cocktails arrived before Terk, but he was full of apologies, and even had brought little gifts for us: notebooks and pencil cases with Thai decorations. We smiled. The place served Chang and Singha, but when we saw that they had Blue Moon beer from Hong Kong on the menu, Terk made a big deal of ordering that in our honour. There was another reason; Terk informed us that tonight was actually a blue moon. Then Terk started explaining what a blue moon was --the 13th full moon in a year. Kathy was looking at Terk like he was going to get the Nobel prize for this insight, as I nodded, saying "that's right" as if we had all already known. Lucy kept saying what an amazing coincidence, which was annoying; it wasn't that amazing.
Once Terk's beer arrived, the conversation (let by Terk) then turned to whether alcohol makes people reveal their true selves. If so, my true self has no standards and vomits a lot, said Lucy. Kathy said she thought there was no such thing as a real self anyway, and Terk agreed, quoting something Buddhist about the ever-changing something something and then they looked into each other's eyes for a long moment -- Kathy wearing this coy smile I had never seen her face produce before -- until Lucy said, careful, I feel my real self coming out and I agreed I was also nauseated, and they said sorry sorry, laughing.
The mains were good and everyone shared a dessert. Lucy and I wrote a good review of the place recommended the burritos and the flan, while Terk and Kathy farewelled each other further back down the street.
"Do you like him?" I asked Lucy.
"Sure, he seems nice." she shrugged. "Don't you?"
"No, yeah. Seems nice. Hard to tell from just one meeting."
"She likes him."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
Kathy caught up to us, looked flushed and gorgeous and said well? We assured her that Terk seemed lovely, and she smiled and nodded, content. I thought about asking for more detail about the grad school decision, but she still looked faraway, happy.
We didn't really talk on the way back, and there were far fewer cars on the road. I remembered when the maths teacher had detained me after class and told me I was wasting my time "socialising", as he put it. He advised me to "cut ties" with my friends. I imagined myself telling Lucy and Kathy about this soon. "I can't believe that loser is giving me advice on a social life," I would say. I doubted he had friends. It was rumoured he slept in the staffroom.
Disgruntled with his lot, I surmised, pathetic. This poor man clearly knows nothing about loyalty or true friendship, I sneered inwardly, as he continued to drone that my friends were keeping me from reaching "my full potential."
Up until that moment I had thought he hated me too, but I was still struck by that word, "potential". What potential? He thought it was so great to be a math teacher like him? Or what? But he quickly moved on into lambasting me for "chatting" the whole class and thinking the rules didn't apply to me. So I just nodded until he was done, aiming my eyes at the ground like poisoned darts.
I never told my friends about that conversation, but I later realised his words prompted a seemingly spontaneous decision a little later: to try being without them. I had started to feel that their constant presence was shaping me in a certain unwelcome way, like I was responding to their expectations rather than acting authentically. One day, during first period, I just sat by myself. Other students watched this with stares and giggles, and some of them came up to me to get the gossip: "did you guys have a fight or what?" I could see Lucy and Kathy glancing over at me, puzzled, and whispering to each other, but they were too proud to ask me what was happening.
Then at interval and lunch I went straight to the library, where only nerds with no friends were forced to spend free time. By home time I felt kind of floaty, winnowed out and fragile,. I had a fight with my mum as soon as I walked through the door since she said something about my face looking grumpy. The next day I came in and sat next to Lucy and Kathy as usual and we never spoke about the weirdness of the previous day.
Terk was nice, but I figured Kathy would probably break up with him soon enough and it would be the three of us again. It's not like she'd ever expressed any interest in going to America the entire time we had known her. I noticed how we walked in time with each other, effortlessly. Nothing had changed.