"Yes, I understand. I'm so sorry to hear that." I sit down slowly on my sofa and switch my phone from one ear to the other. "Of course, I'll be there; just send me the details. Yeah, thanks for letting me know. Bye."

The call disconnects and I sit, staring off into space just processing all the information I've just been given. I can't seem to make sense of it, but I guess things like this don't make sense.

She's dead.

My old best friend, Angela Weber-Cheney, is dead. She was a daughter, a wife, a mother, and once upon a time … she was my friend.

Her cousin had called me on Facebook messenger because she wanted me to hear from someone directly before I ended up seeing it on social media. I appreciated that, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that I wouldn't have seen it anyway.

Angela and I haven't spoken in fifteen years. We drifted apart and never got the chance to speak or reconcile our friendship. Nothing bad happened; sometimes, you just … outgrow people. We were young, only nineteen, the last time we spent any time together. It's a time when people are figuring out who they are, who they want to be.

We'd always been two different people, but it worked for us. Where I was cynical, she was optimistic. Where I was pragmatic, she was creative. We were a dynamic duo for years; where you saw one, the other was close at hand.

I'm sitting here waiting for the tears to come, but when they don't, I stand and get back to work. I log back into my computer and sign in to my ordering program for a chain of bookstores. Work will carry me through the shock, I think to myself. Later, I'll take some real time for myself, and of course, I'll have the funeral to mourn.

I tap the Spotify icon to play music again, and after a few minutes, Angela's favorite song comes on. I don't see it as a coincidence. It's one of my favorites too. It's just that the irony isn't lost on me. It's Edward Cullen. He's one of the biggest reasons we were so close; it's also the reason we fell apart.