The Apology Tour

Nina had six names on her list.

She wrote them out in blue ink on hotel stationery: first names only, like they still belonged to her life. They didn’t. That’s why she was here. Just names now—ghosts.

Maggie was number three.

The sky was gray when Nina pulled into Maggie’s driveway, the kind of colorless overcast that made everything look more honest. She hadn’t seen her in fifteen years. A few Facebook glimpses, maybe—weddings, dogs, baby bump photos—but nothing real. She didn’t know what she expected. She only knew she owed...something. An apology. A confession.

Maggie answered the door in old pajama pants and a hoodie that said *Lakewood Rowing Team*—Nina didn’t know if that meant kids or nostalgia. Her hair was shorter. Her expression didn’t shift much.

“Hey,” Nina said, trying to smile without forcing it. “I’m sorry to just… show up.”

“You’re lucky I’m bored,” Maggie said. She stepped aside.

The living room smelled like lemon cleaner and coffee. A toy sat in the corner—one of those weird blinking baby dolls. No sign of a child. Just quiet. Maggie sat on the couch and didn’t offer a seat.

Nina stayed standing. “I’ve been going around. Visiting people. From back then. I guess you could say I’m—”

“On a healing journey?” Maggie interrupted.

Nina flushed. “Not exactly. More like… reckoning. I wanted to say I’m sorry. For how I acted. For being selfish. For leaving the way I did.”

Maggie looked past her, out the window. “What exactly are you sorry for?”

Nina hesitated. “Everything, I guess.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“I don’t know,” Nina said, shoulders stiff. “For not being a better friend. For taking more than I gave.”

There was a silence, the kind that builds walls instead of breaking them.

Maggie finally looked at her. Her voice was flat. “I don’t think you liked being my friend.”

It landed like a slap.

“I did,” Nina said too quickly. “Of course I did—”

“No,” Maggie said. “You liked the version of me that made you feel needed. You liked that I was the fixer. The advice-giver. The one with no friends who would do anything for you. Someone who would forgive you for everything awful that you did and you would still be the better person. But when I stopped being that, you left.”

“That’s not fair,” Nina said, quietly.

“Isn’t it?”

Nina sat down, slowly. Her throat was tight. “I thought about you for years. I thought we had something real.”

“We did. But it was real in the way pain is real. Just because something leaves a scar doesn’t mean it was good.”

The clock on the wall ticked, stubborn and loud.

Nina nodded. “You’re right. I needed to feel important. And you… didn’t need to carry that.”

Maggie blinked, and for the first time, her voice softened. “I don’t hate you. I’m just tired of pretending things ended cleanly.”

“Yeah,” Nina said.

They sat there. Two people, older now, not enemies but not friends either. Eventually, Maggie spoke. “Do you want coffee?”

Nina nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

And maybe it wasn’t forgiveness. Maybe it didn’t need to be. Maybe it was just enough that someone finally said it.