"Lemony was incredibly rude to me," Merlot said over the phone. "He calls me, so I drive over, and he slams the door in my face. Just slammed it, Alan."
"I don't care that Lemony slammed the door on you," Alan said, his tone flat. "The question is why you showed up at my apartment unannounced."
"You weren't answering my texts—"
"Because I was working, Merlot," Alan sighed heavily. "That's my job — reviewing books for clients. You don't respect people's boundaries at all. I don't blame Lemony one bit for slamming the door in your face. You intruded on his space."
"Why are you taking his side? Alan, you're my best friend—"
"Merlot, we're drifting apart." Alan's voice turned cold. "My schedule is packed, and even then, you kept pushing me to edit The Sangria War. I lost interest in your book a long time ago."
He paused, then delivered the next line like a blade. "I'm not surprised if you're using AI to edit it now because not even your own mother wants to read it."
"Alan! How can you be so cold? I remember when I told you about Felix's military training arc—you said you loved it—"
"I don't care about Felix getting rejected by Nova," Alan cut in. "Your outline reads like you're stretching the story because you've run out of ideas."
"Alan, I remember when I told you about the Sangria War, you said I should write it after we came back from Vietnam—"
"I don't recall saying that." Alan's tone hardened. "You weren't even in my unit. What I do remember is arguing with you in the tent when I found out you were wearing a bra under your uniform."
"Alan, you know I'm trans. You accept me for that."
"I still don't understand it. And I probably never will. You say you're attracted to men... as a man. I find that repulsive."
"I'm a woman," Merlot insisted, voice rising. "I don't think like most men!"
"No. You are a man," Alan said coldly. "A wig and makeup don't change biology. God made you who you are for a reason. You need to accept it."
Merlot let out a sharp, broken laugh. "Now you sound just like my father. I remember when we were kids, you'd come over and tell me how much you hated him for being so judgmental."
"I remember why your father wanted you to go to war so badly," Alan's voice dropped, dead and freezing. "He was embarrassed by you because you were his son, not his daughter. That's why he wanted you to go. He didn't want you to come back."
"You think I don't know my father wanted me dead?" Merlot spat, his breath hitching. "My mother begged him to let me stay, but he didn't care. He wanted me gone."
"I don't blame your father," Alan said. "Not when you embarrass me by calling me your friend. A bra under your uniform didn't make you a woman, Merlot. It just made you look confused."
"I wore the uniform because I had to!" Merlot roared. "But it didn't change my identity! Alan, just listen—"
"I'm not interested." Alan's voice went flat. "And I'm not interested in your novel either. Our friendship is over. I think it ended a long time ago—you just didn't notice."
"Alan, remember on the flight to Vietnam, you wanted to sit together—"
"I only wanted to meet up because I figured that conversion camp had finally knocked some sense into you. But clearly, it was a waste of your father's money."
"Alan, you know my father was wrong for sending me there—"
"Not when he was trying to cure you," Alan interrupted. "The only reason I ever played with you in grade school was that my dad's paycheck depended on your father."
"Alan, we're friends because I stood up for you!" Merlot cried, voice cracking. "I stood up to the kids who mocked you for how you looked—for the things they singled you out for—I was there for you!"
"You're rewriting the script," Alan said, his tone dead and final. "Our school wasn't the battlefield you make it out to be. I didn't need your protection, Merlot. But you've spun it into this fantasy where I owed you something, like I had to pay it forward in Vietnam."
"I couldn't get through Vietnam without you!" Merlot sobbed, the weight of the war crashing in his voice. "You know that!"
"I was never there for you," Alan said coldly. "I was fighting for my country. You were just an embarrassment in a uniform I was forced to look at every day."
"Alan," Merlot said, his voice cracking, "the irony is that what you hate about me—everything about how I present myself—ended up saving both of us because I stuffed my bra with extra cloth. I pushed you out of the way of that bullet!"
"You're completely delusional," Alan said, delivering the final, crushing blow. "To think wearing a bra saved you from the bullet. You forget why your father wanted you there."
Before Merlot could speak, the line went dead.