I Stopped Calling My Best Friend to See If She’d Call Me. We Didn’t Speak for a Month.

I stopped calling my best friend to see if she’d call me first. A month later, she finally rang, and I sat there watching her name until it stopped.

I’d wanted her to call. Now I was too hurt to answer. I knew that didn’t make much sense, but there I was.

We’d been friends for thirty-one years. Her name is Donna. I’m 64, she’s 65, and we used to know what the other person was having for dinner before we knew what we were making ourselves.

Lately, if I didn’t call, we didn’t talk.

I noticed it in little ways at first. I’d ask if she wanted coffee. She’d say she’d see how the week went. I’d suggest Saturday. She’d say maybe next time.

When we did talk, she asked questions about me, but the conversation didn’t last. There was always something she needed to do. I’d say, “All right, let me know when you’re free.” Then I’d call again a few days later.

My husband, Tom, said maybe she was busy. I said everybody was busy. I was still finding time.

I’d retired six months earlier. I had time for the first time in years, and I’d thought that would mean seeing more of her. We’d talked about taking a class together. We hadn’t picked a class, but I’d been looking.

Donna’s husband, Ed, doesn’t get out much anymore. He has trouble getting around, and she does most of the driving and errands. She’d said that was keeping her busy, but she always said it lightly. “You know Ed,” then a change of subject.

I took that to mean things were about the same as always. Looking back, I probably heard what was easiest for me to hear.

Still, I was tired of being the one doing all the asking.

The last time I’d invited her over, I’d made extra chicken salad. She canceled that morning. I said it was fine, then ate chicken salad for three days and got more irritated with every sandwich.

I didn’t tell her that. I told Tom. He said I could have frozen some of it. That wasn’t really the point.

So I decided to stop calling. Not forever. Just until she noticed.

I didn’t announce this. I thought if I had to ask her to miss me, that didn’t count. I’m not proud of how much time I spent thinking about who was supposed to call whom.

After a week, I checked that I hadn’t missed a message. After two weeks, I started making other plans. I went to a class by myself. It was okay. I wanted to tell her about the woman beside me who’d brought every supply except the one we actually needed.

I didn’t call.

Then, after nearly a month, the phone rang. I let it stop. She left a message asking if I was all right. I called back that evening because I couldn’t stand myself any longer.

I said I’d been wondering when I’d hear from her.

She went quiet. Then she said, “I don’t call because I don’t have anything nice to tell you anymore.”

I hadn’t expected that. I’d had a whole conversation ready about making an effort. I didn’t know where to put it now.

She said every day was Ed’s appointments, laundry, groceries, phone calls, things she’d thought would take ten minutes taking an hour. Then I’d call and ask what she’d been up to, and she’d feel as though she was giving the same boring answer again.

I told her I didn’t think her life was boring.

She said she was bored with hearing herself talk about it. That was different.

I sat down. She said she’d been embarrassed to cancel the chicken salad lunch. Ed had had a bad morning, and she’d gotten so tired she didn’t want to drive anywhere. She’d stayed home and eaten crackers instead of telling me that.

I said I could have brought the food over. She said she knew what would have happened. She would have started cleaning because I was coming.

I nearly told her that was ridiculous. Then I remembered moving a pile of mail off my own table before she visited.

She said she wasn’t trying to make me feel bad. She’d just let one call become another call she needed to return, then felt worse about leaving it.

I told her I’d felt unwanted. She said she was sorry. I said I was sorry I’d turned it into a test she didn’t know she was taking.

We stayed on the phone a little longer. She asked about the class. I told her the story I’d been saving, but by then I couldn’t remember the funny part properly.

She laughed anyway, which made me feel worse for about a second, then better.

After we hung up, I told Tom what she’d said. He didn’t say he told me so. I appreciated that.

The next morning I wanted to rush in with solutions. I could come on Tuesdays. I could do groceries. We could set up a regular time. I had half a list before I realized I hadn’t asked her what she wanted.

I called and asked whether lunch dropped off at the door would help. No visit unless she wanted one.

She said soup would be nice. She said it almost apologetically, then asked if it was too much trouble.

I told her I was already making it. I wasn’t, but I had ingredients. I made a pot that afternoon and took half over.

She met me at the door in a sweatshirt with something on the sleeve. Normally she would have apologized for how she looked. She started to, then said, “Never mind. This is what I’ve got today.”

I stayed for ten minutes. We stood in the kitchen and talked while Ed watched television in the other room. It wasn’t a proper lunch. It was good to see her.

I didn’t become her full-time helper. I couldn’t, and I don’t think either of us wanted our friendship to turn into another arrangement she had to be grateful for.

I asked if there were occasional errands I could take. She said maybe. A week later she called to ask if I could pick up something while I was at the store. I said yes.

Another time she asked if I could come over on a morning when I already had plans. I started explaining all the reasons, and she said, “It’s fine. I was just asking.”

That helped. I needed to be able to say no too, without thinking it meant I was failing her.

We still don’t talk like we used to. I miss that. I can understand why things have changed and still miss what we had.

I told her that one afternoon. She said she missed it too.

Now sometimes she calls and says she has nothing interesting to report. I tell her about the checkout line or something Tom has done. Other times, she talks about Ed, and I try not to interrupt with things she could try unless she asks.

I don’t always manage it. Last week I sent her a suggestion she’d already looked into. She wrote back, “Yes, I know.” I apologized and asked if she wanted a phone call or quiet. She said quiet, then called the next day.

I’ve kept going to the class. I have coffee with two of the women afterward now. I like them. It turns out having other people to talk to has made it easier not to ask Donna to fill every empty afternoon.

Yesterday she called while I was making dinner. I put her on speaker and kept chopping. She told me Ed had complained about the soup, then asked for more of it the next day.

We talked for twenty minutes. When she had to go, I said I’d call in a few days. I haven’t put a mark on the calendar to see whether she calls first.

A fictional story inspired by everyday family situations.