#edelbern

“You sure you don’t want a turn?” Edelgard asks, glancing over her shoulder at the source of those soft and steady hands.

Bernadetta shakes her head and gives Edelgard another push when she swings backward.

“Unh-uh,” she says. “Too scary.”

Edelgard expected that, but she still likes to ask, even if the answer is always the same. She supposes there is something frightening about swinging so close to the creek, especially for someone as timid as Bernadetta. The swing isn’t the most secure thing in the world either, certainly not as secure as one on a playground. It’s old, made of rope and wood, and tied to a hanging tree branch. Bernie has always feared that it would one day break.

And yet Edelgard always offers, in the hopes that maybe today will be the day she shares that feeling of peace with her friend. Bernadetta is always so tense, so nervous and erratic. Heaven knows she could use some peace in her life.

The swing is technically in Edelgard’s yard, built by her grandfather for her father when he was a child, but Bernadetta’s house is right on the other side, its back porch facing the back of Edelgard’s house so that they basically share a backyard. They’ve been playing together since not long after the Varleys moved in; Edelgard insisted on introducing herself the moment she found out that there would be another girl her age in the neighborhood. It took a while for Bernadetta to come around, but eventually, she started going outside and talking to Edelgard of her own free will.

It’s been about a year and a half since then, and Edelgard considers Bernadetta to be her very best friends. They braid each other’s hair, have sleepovers, play make-believe, and tell each other everything. Well, almost everything.

Because for as long as Edelgard has known her, she’s never been inside Bernadetta’s house. Edelgard’s parents know Bernie well—they remember the kinds of food she likes, and they remember her favorite animal, the hedgehog. At this point, Bernadetta is relatively comfortable around them. By contrast, Edelgard can count on one hand the number of conversations she’s had with Bernadetta’s parents that were longer than a polite hello. She only really sees them when they’re calling for Bernadetta to come inside, and Bernadetta doesn’t talk about them much. The only thing Edelgard can say about them for sure is that they always seem a bit cranky, especially Mr. Varley.

It didn’t always bother Edelgard that she’s never seen the inside of her best friend’s house. Up until recently, she didn’t think much of it. She’s always happy to have people over to her house, and her parents told her that some people might be embarrassed if their home isn’t as “nice” as their friends’. Edelgard has never wanted to be rude to Bernadetta or make her embarrassed as long as she can help it, so for the most part, she put these thoughts out of her mind.

Maybe it’s because she’s getting older. She thinks more deeply about things, and she’s more curious and questioning than she was before. Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so long, and they’ve promised to tell each other everything. Whatever the reason, something spurs Edelgard, on that otherwise ordinary day in mid-summer, to investigate the unfamiliar house.

It starts when Bernadetta’s father comes home from work, not long before sunset, and calls Bernadetta inside. He always sounds harsh, as if he’s just had a very bad day, and Bernadetta always jumps like a pogo stick at the sound of his voice.

Once Bernadetta has gone inside her house and closed the back door behind her, Edelgard crawls over to the porch on her hands and knees and hides in the nearby bushes. Someone’s pulled the curtain to cover the screen door, so Edelgard can’t see through to the inside of the house even at an angle, but when she presses her ear against the white siding, she can clearly hear voices. One of them, the loudest one, is clearly Mr. Varley’s. He seems to be shouting.

Edelgard only catches bits and pieces, but he’s clearly angry. She notes words like “dirty” and “useless” and “good wife” and “disappointing” and “go clean your room” and “I’ll make you learn,” all spoken in a severe, almost threatening tone. Even when Edelgard’s father scolds her, he never talks like that.

It takes a lot of straining, but in between Mr. Varley’s harsh criticisms, Edelgard can make out a soft sobbing noise, with an occasional “But—” or “I’m sorry” or even an “I know” thrown in, and her small hands curl into indignant fists. She’d know that voice anywhere, and she resists the urge to throw the back door open, kick Mr. Varley in the shin, and carry Bernadetta out into the backyard. She’s not strong enough to do that, and it would probably just make Mr. Varley angrier. So she crouches and waits.

Eventually, the yelling stops, and the only sound is that of Bernadetta pitter-pattering up the stairs to her room. Edelgard sighs and pulls herself out of the bushes.

What kind of a father…?

She can’t bear to finish the thought.

—

“Hey, Bernie,” Edelgard says the next day while she sits behind Bernadetta in the grass and braids her hair. “Why’s your dad so mean?”

Bernadetta’s whole body stiffens. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“I heard him yelling at you yesterday,” Edelgard says. “He sounded so nasty.”

“Wh—how did you hear that?” Bernadetta says.

Edelgard points over at the Varleys’ flower bed. “I wanted to look at your flowers before I went inside,” she lies, “and that’s when I heard it.”

Bernadetta pulls at a string hanging from her shorts. “He was just, um, having a bad day.”

“A really bad day,” Edelgard mutters. “You sure, Bernie? You’re not just saying that, right?”

“I’m sure,” Bernadetta insists. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

Edelgard sighs and obliges. It’s the least she can do.

Still, Bernadetta didn’t sound too confident, and it’s pretty easy to tell when she’s lying. That’s why, at the end of the day, when Mr. Varley calls Bernadetta inside, Edelgard once again sneaks over to the side of the house and listens in.

And once again, she hears Bernie’s father yelling at her.

It’s the same sort of stuff, from what she can tell, something to do with Bernadetta never being good enough, always unacceptable, always “unmarriageable.” And Bernadetta just has to sit there and take it. She doesn’t even sound surprised to hear her father say such cruel things.

It’s after that incident that Edelgard formulates her plan.

Every day after Bernadetta goes home, Edelgard spies on the Varley house. She doesn’t tell Bernie that she’s doing this; she has to collect her evidence first. Of course, Mr. Varley seems all too eager to prove Edelgard’s theory. Rarely does he miss a night of scolding Bernadetta. Edelgard tries to remember everything he says, and then when she gets home each night, she writes down all his insults in a notebook. There are a lot of repeating words and phrases in there.

Finally, after about two weeks of this routine, Edelgard decides that she’s collected enough data. She brings her notebook outside with her one day, and as she and Bernadetta lie together in the grass and look at the clouds, Edelgard musters her courage and broaches the subject.

“I have a secret to tell you,” she says, “but you have to promise not to get mad at me.”

“I won’t,” Bernadetta says, sitting up, eyes wide with curiosity.

Edelgard sits up too. “Okay,” she says and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been…listening to you and your dad.”

“What?” Bernadetta yelps.

“Shh!” Edelgard says, making a few appeasing hand gestures to get Bernadetta to lower her voice. “Don’t panic. I was worried about you, so I thought I’d try to find out if something was wrong.”

“N-nothing, nothing’s wrong,” Bernadetta stammers, vigorously shaking her head back and forth and gesticulating wildly with her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I think you must’ve bumped your head or something. W-w-we should get you to a doctor.”

“I didn’t bump my head and you know it,” Edelgard says with a frown. “Your daddy’s always mad.”

“No, no, no he isn’t,” Bernadetta says. “He’s just been having a bad few weeks at work, okay? Tough month, you know? He’s not always…like that…”

“He sure doesn’t sound like he’s mad about work,” Edelgard says. “He sounds like he’s mad at you.”

Before Bernadetta can protest, Edelgard grabs her notebook from where she’d laid it down in the grass. She flips it open to the page where she started writing down Mr. Varley’s insults and shows it to Bernadetta, who stares at the words with her mouth wide open. It’s one thing to hear them out loud; it’s another to see them on paper, words like useless and worthless written over and over again.

Bernadetta’s lip trembles. “Okay, fine,” she says quietly, covering her eyes with her hands. Her voice shakes. “You’re right, okay? He’s always like this. Always, always, always. I think he hates me. I’m never good enough for him.”

Edelgard pulls her into a hug, and Bernadetta cries into her shoulder. It’s the most heartbreaking sound she’s ever heard.

“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Bernadetta says in between sobs. “Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart,” Edelgard says. “I won’t tell. But, Bernie, we have to get you out of there.”

Bernadetta lifts her head up. “What? You can’t. How?”

“You could come live with me,” Edelgard says. “You already sleep over all the time. My parents know all your favorite foods and everything. We can play all the time. We can be pirates, or mermaids, or cowboys, and you won’t have to worry about your stupid dad.”

Bernadetta shakes her head. “Your parents would never let me. And they’d want to know why I decided to come live with you. And my parents would probably just march right over and drag me back to my house anyway.”

“Then we could run away together,” Edelgard says. “We just have to pack our stuff, and then we can sneak away in the night. Then no one can tell us what to do.”

Deep down, she knows it’s not possible. But she’s so desperate to try.

Bernadetta shakes her head again. “You know we can’t do that, El.”

She does. She does, but it hurts.

“Then—well, how about this?” Edelgard says. “Let’s just try to stay outside as long as possible every day. So you don’t have to spend as much time with your parents. We could even hide from them.”

Bernadetta bites her lip and stares at the ground. Finally, she nods slowly.

They spend the next few hours playing like they normally would. Once the sun starts to go down, Edelgard suggests they hide in one of the trees in the yard. There’s one near Edelgard’s house that they’ve climbed a few times before, though never very high due to Bernadetta’s fear. Today, though, she stares at the branches with a gleam of determination in her eyes.

Edelgard goes first to find a sufficient perch for the both of them, partially hidden by leaves. Once she’s situated on a strong, wide branch, she reaches down for Bernadetta’s hand and helps her up.

“Whoa,” Bernadetta says with a breathless grin. “It’s really pretty up here. Especially at sunset.”

“Exactly,” Edelgard says. “It’s perfect.”

They watch the sunset together on that branch, with Bernadetta leaning her head on Edelgard’s shoulder. The soft breeze and the chirp of the cicadas almost sound like a song, and the fireflies make the ground look like a sky full of stars.

The purr of Mr. Varley’s car engine breaks the peace too soon; Edelgard can see the headlights glowing like a big, bright warning sign as he pulls into the driveway—a demon in businessman’s clothing. Bernadetta squeezes Edelgard’s hand.

“Remember our plan,” Edelgard says.

A few minutes later, when Mr. Varley opens the back door and calls Bernadetta’s name, no one responds. Mr. Varley glances back and forth at the expanse of the backyard. It doesn’t look like he can see them in the tree.

“Where’s Bernadetta?” he asks Mrs. Varley, sounding exasperated. “I don’t see her anywhere. You sure she’s not holed up in her room?”

Mrs. Varley’s voice floats out the open door. “She’s been outside all day. You’re just not looking hard enough.”

Mr. Varley groans and steps out onto the front porch. “Bernadetta!” he calls again. “Bernadetta von Varley, get in here right now!”

Bernadetta tenses up. Edelgard’s grip on her arm might be the only thing stopping her from obeying her father.

Mr. Varley swears under his breath and takes a few more steps into the backyard. Bernadetta shuffles nervously, and the leaves rustle from the movement. Mr. Varley whips his head in the direction of the tree, and suddenly Edelgard understands Bernie’s fear—his stare, filled with fire, seems to bore right through her, cutting into her very soul.

“Bernadetta!” he shouts, stomping toward the tree. “What the hell are you doing up there? Get down here right this instant!”

Bernadetta is trembling now. Edelgard almost relents and tells her to go down, but Bernadetta stands her ground.

“God damn it, Bernadetta,” Mr. Varley says, his voice ringing with barely contained fury. “I’ll get you down from there myself if I have to, and then you’re in for the punishment of a lifetime.”

Bernadetta clings to Edelgard’s body. Silent tears stream down her face.

“Go,” Edelgard says. Her heart is pounding now. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You should go.”

But despite everything, Bernadetta shakes her head. “I’m going to be brave.”

As Mr. Varley nears the tree, Edelgard realizes that perhaps they weren’t very high up after all, not compared to the height of an adult man. He grabs Bernadetta by her hanging foot, and Bernadetta, startled, loses her balance and starts to fall.

Still, she clings with both hands to the branch, but it’s not enough. Mr. Varley grabs her around her waist and yanks her away, and she falls to the ground with a dull thud.

“Bernie!” Edelgard yelps.

Mr. Varley grabs Bernadetta roughly by the arm and glares up at Edelgard.

“You,” he says, pointing a threatening finger at her. “Stay away from her, you brat.”

With that, he drags a sobbing Bernadetta inside. Edelgard doesn’t stay behind to watch this time. She doesn’t have to.

—

Bernadetta doesn’t come outside at all the next few days. At first, Edelgard figures Bernie doesn’t want to see her; the incident was her fault, after all. Once a week has passed, though, she grows restless. Bernadetta has never been one to hold a grudge. Surely they can make up and forget about it, right?

She debates back and forth with herself about whether or not to knock on the Varleys’ door. She knows it’s probably best to give Bernadetta her space, but maybe she’s afraid Edelgard doesn’t want to talk to her. Or maybe she’s grounded and can’t come outside for a while.

Finally, Edelgard decides to just go for it—that’s how she does everything, after all, by making a move. If nothing is happening on its own, then she’ll be the one to initiate it. So, while Mr. Varley is at work one afternoon, Edelgard marches over to the Varleys’ back porch and knocks on the screen door.

There isn’t a response immediately, so she knocks a few more times, harder. After several seconds of waiting, Mrs. Varley appears and opens the door.

“Um, can Bernadetta come out to play?” Edelgard says. She feels like such a child, having to ask.

“Sorry, honey,” Mrs. Varley says. “Bernadetta won’t be coming outside anymore.”

Edelgard feels her heart fall into her stomach. “What?”

Mrs. Varley clears her throat. “Her father thinks it’s for the best…if you two stop playing together.”

Edelgard’s throat dries up, and her mouth hangs open. There’s no way. There’s just no way. Grounding is one thing, but this is forever.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Varley says again, “but it’s for her own good. I can tell her you stopped by.”

Before Edelgard can formulate a response, Mrs. Varley closes the door and walks away.

No. No, no, no.

Edelgard stumbles back into the grass, her eyes stinging. She can’t see her best friend anymore. And it’s her own fault.

A choked sob escapes her lips, and she sits down on the ground as the tears flood her eyes and blur her vision. She can’t help the wails that erupt from her throat, the angry, mournful keening that seizes her body.

Bernadetta. Her truest friend. Their connection severed in an instant.

Edelgard cries and cries; she can’t tell for how long. All she knows is that her weeping is eventually interrupted by the sound of a window opening.

Edelgard wipes her tears away and glances up. Bernadetta’s head appears in the half-open second-story window, likely her room. With a pout, a wave, and a mouthed I’m sorry, she slips a piece of paper through the gap and out into the backyard, where it flutters down to Edelgard like a baby bird. The window closes again before Edelgard can even process it all enough to say a word.

Edelgard snatches the paper from the ground and unfolds it. In Bernadetta’s scribbly handwriting and with a variety of spelling mistakes, the letter reads:

Dear El,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry my parents are so awful, and I’m sorry I got them so upset and made them do this. I’m sorry for breaking your heart. I know you’re sad you can’t see me anymore. I’m sad too.

This is not your fault. All you did was care about me. I’m sorry it just ended up hurting you.

Thank you for your friendship. You made me so happy. I hope I made you happy too.

I’ll miss you. Maybe one day we can see each other again.

Love,

Bernie

—

The Varley family moves away a few months later due to Mr. Varley’s job. It almost hurts less to watch them leave than to have to look out the window every day and see them there, so close but just out of reach, keepers of Edelgard’s most bittersweet memories.

—

Bernadetta has never felt more at peace than when she’s living away from her parents. She is twenty-one years old, and no matter how stressful college life gets, she will always prefer it to the constant anxiety that ran through her most formative years.

Now, sitting near the back of her favorite local coffee shop, her laptop on the table and an iced latte beside it, she can’t help but relish the moment. This is one of her favorite parts of the day: people-watching from a safe distance, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. Most of the employees know her by name, and some even remember her regular order. She never thought she’d enjoy being known so much; after all, she’s spent so long hiding from the world.

As Bernadetta sips her coffee, a pretty young woman with long white hair enters the shop. Bernadetta doesn’t think she’s seen her around before, and she watches from her little corner as the girl orders her drink. Something about her feels familiar—how she holds her head high, how she flips her hair over one shoulder. Bernadetta can’t quite make out what she says, but the cadence of her voice is strong and confident. This is a girl who knows who she is. This is a girl Bernadetta would admire.

A girl Bernadetta has admired, she soon realizes, when the drink is made and the barista calls out the girl’s name: “Edelgard!”

Edelgard.

She hasn’t heard that name in so long. Fifteen years, to be exact. After the incident in the tree, her parents never dared speak the name of her dearest childhood friend, but Bernadetta never forgot her. How could she?

And now she’s here, grabbing her coffee from the barista and slipping a straw through the lid, her back turned. Bernadetta should say something, say anything, but the words freeze on her tongue. What if Edelgard doesn’t remember her?

Edelgard turns around, surveying the area for a place to sit, when her gaze lands on Bernadetta. A moment of recognition passes through those all too familiar eyes.

“Bernie?” she blurts.

Bernadetta sets her drink down so she doesn’t drop it, her heart thudding in her chest in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. “El!”

“Oh my God,” Edelgard says, rushing over to sit down in the seat across from Bernadetta. “It’s really you!”

“Yes, it is!” Bernadetta says. “Um, surprise! Heh heh.”

“It’s been so long!” Edelgard says. “How have you been?”

“Um. Good!” Bernadetta replies, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck. Edelgard looks so grown up now. She’s even bleached her hair. “I’m in college now! See?” She gestures to her laptop. “Away from my parents. So, better. Much better.”

Edelgard beams. “That’s so good to hear,” she says. “Genuinely. When you left, I…” She trails off. “Well, I was just a bystander. But it was distressing all the same.”

Bernadetta has to stop herself from apologizing. It wasn’t her fault—she knows that now, and Edelgard does, too. She always has.

“I still have that letter you wrote me,” Edelgard continues, stirring her hot coffee absentmindedly.

“No way,” Bernadetta says. She can feel her face heating up. “You’re just saying that. You kept that old thing?” She covers her face with one hand. “Oh, that’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing!” Edelgard says with a little pout. “It’s cute! It was sweet. It was—well, sad. But of course I kept it. It was all I had to remember you by.”

“I…oh,” Bernadetta says. “That’s…really sweet.”

“You know,” Edelgard says, “my parents still live in that same house. That old wooden swing? It’s still in their backyard. I see it every time I visit them.” Her eyes cloud with something Bernadetta can’t quite pinpoint—fondness? Nostalgia?

Edelgard smiles. “You should come with me sometime,” she says casually. “We could swing on it just like we did back then.” She chuckles. “Maybe you won’t be so scared of it now.”

Bernadetta thinks her brain might have short-circuited.

“If anything, I’d be even more scared of it now,” she sputters, but there’s laughter in her voice and a grin forming on her face. “That thing’s been there for longer than we’ve been alive! How has it not broken yet?”

“No idea,” Edelgard replies. “Spite?”

She and Bernadetta both giggle at that. By now, any nervousness Bernadetta felt upon seeing her old best friend again has dissipated like the steam from Edelgard’s coffee. It’s good to see her again, under better circumstances. As they chat about the past and the present, Bernadetta finds that, despite how much has changed, not much has changed at all. It’s a reminder that good things can last—things like friendship, like love—like a song that will never quite disappear so long as one person remembers it. Bernadetta has always kept those memories close to her chest.