Lily looked across the table at her friend. Beer in hand, head hung low, eyes teary and downcast, one of her favourite people in the world was sitting, motionless; hurting.
She'd worked so hard for this, pulled all the right strings, made the most subtle of suggestions; she really thought she'd been doing the right thing. She thought that everything was going to go exactly as she had imagined it.
Now, when she needed the words, when she should have been able to craft the perfect sentence, all she could come up with was, "I'm sorry."
Fingers drumming the table, a sigh, a sip; Lily was being ignored.
"I really never thought it would turn out this way. I thought…"
"I know what you thought." The voice was rough with bravely unshed tears. Another sip.
"Barney, I'm so sorry."
Another sip. A weak signal toward the bar; another cold, clinking glass set upon the table.
"It's not your fault, Lil," he still didn't make eye contact, took in the alcohol in one swig, "you can't make her love me back."
Lily's throat hurt and her eyes filled with hot tears. "But I made you tell her."
"I know you did," another signal, another drink, all in one gulp, his words slurring, "and it would have been perfect. You thought of everything."
"Except…" her voice broke and trailed off as her eyes couldn't contain her tears any longer and spilled the gathering moisture onto her cheeks.
"Yeah," finally looking at her he stood to leave, his now empty glass in hand, his free fingers tapping the table softly, "except that."
Lily sighed and watched his retreating form, something Ted had told her years ago now ringing in her ears.
There was once this architect who designed a library. It was perfect; beautiful. He'd created it exactly how he'd imagined it. But the thing was, every year or so, the foundation would sink a few inches. The building was eventually condemned.
He had forgotten to account for the weight of the books.
She let her head drop to the cool wood of the table and cried.