Again, you beautiful human. I am loving this and having so much fun, LET'S GO
• Cory: My answer doesn't Really change to be honest, because Shawn is still my favourite ship for him. But I will admit... he was pretty cute with Lauren...
• Shawn: Obviously, same answer, BUT I adored him with Topanga. They had such a good dynamic and bond in Boy Meets World, my god. They are very close to top spot, to be honest.
• Topanga: Angela! They were cute! I loved them! They're my go-to, then it's Shawn, and then, will anyone hate me for saying Jack or Eric? But Angela is my favourite for her.
• Angela: Shawn, they were just Good, and I Loved them, and they broke my heart. He's lucky they were cute or I'd be putting Rachel above him.
• Eric: Okay, see, now I do actually have a dilemma, because for the first two seasons, I was adamant that he and Jason were in love. But then Jack waltzed into the picture like the annoying idiot he is, and so I have to say Jack.
• Jack: Eric, of course. They were roommates!!
• Rachel: I'm thinking Angela? Yeah, Angela! They just had a nice bond. But a close second is an ot3 with her, Jack, and Eric because I'll be damned if we have any more love triangles.
• Minkus: I wouldn't even know who to put him with. He was barely in it long enough for me to see him with many of them aside from Cory, Shawn, and Topanga, and the only who kinda seemed interesting was Shawn!
And that... is everyone! I think! Obviously Alan and Amy are together, Feeny has his wife, Jonathan can go date Eli, Harley seemed happy on his own, and both Morgan and baby Josh are too young and have no friends anyway, so! We're all good here!
In which Angela and Topanga meet up for the first time in 15 years.
Angela has been always head first into reality, but she’s a little disappointed that New York is nothing like television or the movies. Instead of a yellow cab, she is on the way to meet her agent in an Uber. There are Ubers in Seattle, and even yellow cabs, but she already feels her New York City experience is off to a faulty start.
Still, she gazes out her window, politely answering questions from her chatty driver. There’s no moving symphonic soundtrack as she rides through the city. She isn’t immediately mugged as she steps out onto the concrete. Someone even smiles towards her way. Though, they may have been a tourist.
New York City so far doesn’t fit the picture she’s built in her mind. She’s hoped to find magic in a city built for dreams, but as Angela marches up to the revolving door of her publisher's office, the only thing she feels is the walls closing in around her.
The press they go with is independent, so she meets Liz in the lobby of a busy, shared office building. Their meeting could have been done through Skype correspondence, but Candice and Liu insisted Angela finally fly in and check out the office.
After an hour of gushing over the new paperback edition of her first book of poems, and another half hour of confirming new tour dates, she's free to go. Angela is annoyed once she realizes she's stalling. She remains standing in the lobby, reading the names of the offices that occupy the building. Liz has left to meet another client, a college grad with ridiculous talent.
No one else is around, but the 35 year old can't fight the awkward that creeps upon her. Gripping the straps of her purse, she walks out into busy Upper Manhattan.
Just for a second, she pretends she lives here. She moves through the bustle of the crowd that comes toward her. The sun is beating down, still relentless as New York finally moves away from the summer season. Angela’s cheeks are warm as she moves underground to the train.
The ride is short, only half an hour, strangers moving in an out. Angela enjoys the people watching, itching to jot down lines. But, she's terrified she'll miss her stop, so she stays attentive.
Broadway-Lafayette Street is mumbled over the intercom, which Angela can only put together from the signs.
Above the moving trains, Greenwich Village welcomes her. Out of all the places she's traveled, thanks to her army brat roots and performing gigs, this city is rewriting itself in Angela’s mind. Her old fantasies have been replaced by the real thing, and she curses herself for not visiting sooner.
The ding of her phone pulls her from the clouds and the message that awaits reminds her what’s she’s really here for.
Good luck xx
Poor Mark, her incredible husband, had to listen to her nervous quips the entire night prior. Her flight was in less than 5 hours, but he’d stayed up and rubbed her arms until she fell into a patchy slumber.
His well wishes only distract her shortly, her stomach bottoming out at the realization that she’s arrived. The beautiful brownstone stands tall and accomplished.
There’s no point in waiting anymore, and Angela’s finger punches the button with excessive force. That maybe without enough pressure, they wouldn’t hear her arrival.
“Hello?”
Angela feels silly that the voice on the other line is different. Deeper than it used to be, but still hers. They aren't kids anymore, and it's a startling reminder.
She struggles with what to say, already upset that she can't pull herself together.
“It’s Angela,” she offers. Her brow is tight and upon realizing this, she tries to let loose and smile. As if she can see Angela through the vent.
The pause is only a few seconds long, but it's too long.
“I’m buzzing you up,” comes the voice.
The second gate unlocks, emitting a short alarm. Angela grabs hold of the door handle as if it has a mind of its own. As if it would change its mind and lock her out.
The climb up the stairs is an unnerving one; she's alone and doesn't have to pretend to be polite to any passing neighbors. She can't help but feel guilty for not wanting to be here anymore. The excitement of that first voicemail had diminished to nothing. And now she was scared shitless because she was scared shitless.
Their door, their home, is too close to the second floor opening. Only a few steps away. She doesn't have time to pace the empty hallway.
Angela’s knock is more fierce than she can be at the moment. She doesn't know where the strength comes from, but it's there.
The door almost swings off the hinges. And it’s Topanga, but not the Topanga she saw last. The 15 year gap is an astounding number, one that reaches for Angela’s throat with a death grip.
Nothing is said, just the both of them taking each other in.
Their height difference is still the same, so there's a pair of arms being thrown around her neck. Angela bends down so it's easier, hugging back.
“Please, come in,” Topanga offers her.
Angela takes note of the shorter woman’s watery eyes. Her guilt transforms to mortification because she isn't as emotional.
She's soon distracted by the living room Topanga leads her into. Angela stops short, not making it far into the space. That feeling she was afraid of comes crashing into her.
Topanga and Cory’s first place was a box compared to where she currently stood. She remembers how they struggled, and those struggles are long gone.
It can only be described as intrusive. That's how she feels. Angela has no connection to this place or the memories it holds. She isn't even sure there are any left with the girl--woman, who lets her in.
“I made us tons of food,” Topanga called from her dining area.
At this, Angela returns her gaze from across the room. They’re distant, not just in space, and Topanga knows it too.
The other woman is visibly nervous. Angela tells herself to smile. Her heels are too noisy on the hardwood traveling across their living area.
“This looks amazing,” Angela says in faint surprise.
On the table are tons of options. She notices a platter with nothing but vegan food. The lifestyle change is something she vaguely mentioned to Topanga on a phone call ages ago.
“Okay, I actually ordered all this,” Topanga looks over the spread with a cocked eyebrow.
With Topanga’s hands steady on her hips, Angela is thrown back to better days. Standing there is her best friend, Topanga Lawrence.
Angela lets out a laugh, unexpected to both of them. Topanga looks up timidly, but soon she melts into a cautious smile.
It's something to break the tension for now and soon they're spewing out topics that are all over the place.
“Your hair looks amazing, Angela,” Topanga offers, eyes bright. They're moving to the living room so they can stretch out with their plates. Topanga reminds her to not tell Cory, who is not allowed such a luxury.
“Thank you,” she accepts the compliment. Angela never enjoyed playing it safe with her hair, and the blonde is something new to toy around with.
“I always loved having a white friend. You guys are always impressed with our hair,” Angela tries a joke. She's moving her fork around, head down with a sly smile.
But she can't resist, and loves how far Topanga’s jaw has dropped. Her eyes twinkle, still appreciating Angela’s humor.
“Okay, point,” Topanga says, a blush creeping up her neck, laughing too.
“How is Cory, by the way?” Angela asks. She's trying her best to find normalcy in the current weirdness of it all.
And of course, he's the same, to which Angela is grateful to hear. He’s a teacher now, which Angela can actually believe. He even teaches their 14 year old daughter; this Angela can’t believe. Topanga scoots closer, her photo gallery on her phone ready for display.
Riley had grown into a young woman and the only pictures Angela had of her were severely outdated.
The only birth announcement she'd received was of Riley’s, but now Topanga had a son, too. August Matthews was living proof of their estrangement.
But she's happy for her, the clear joy on her old friend’s face. When Topanga’s phone is away, the two share a moment of knowing because asking about one means asking about the other. Despite the time, he would always be the elephant in the room.
“Anytime I run into someone from John Adams, they always ask me about Shawn,” Angela says after a beat of silence.
There's a shift in the conversation they both knew was coming, but now that it's here, Angela doesn't know how to navigate it.
On her publicity tour for the book, she’d run into old classmates, but never him. Angela sets her plate down just to do something with her hands.
“But I’d always hoped they’d ask me about you. Maybe they’d tell me how you were. Then again, I’m glad they didn’t. Because I’d be embarrassed to admit I didn’t know it, myself.”
She's quiet, but firm.
Topanga stares back at Angela. She leans forward and grabs something under their coffee table.
She has no choice but to accept the slightly heavy, oak colored object. On the front, in the middle, Angela and Topanga stand with arms draped over the other during their prom. 1999.
It's a photo album, and Angela doesn't even look up in askance. Immediately she's flipping through images of their friendship. Some she hasn't seen in years. Some she hasn't seen at all. She feels the warmth of Topanga as she inches closer to share the book.
Angela doesn't know which tears belong to who and she’s finally been broken. The photos are protected, but she's still embarrassed. It shouldn't hurt, but the loss is heavy in Angela’s chest.
They've both moved on, it's clear. Topanga was her person, but that was so long ago. After leaving Pennbrook, Angela took a year off to bounce around Europe with her father. She’d transferred her credits, eventually graduating from the University of Bristol. She sent Topanga postcards and received the occasional letter. Topanga was pregnant, but they could never catch the other on the phone to talk about it.
A year passed and she held on to the pictures of baby Riley. They talked here and there online once she got a computer in her new apartment, but it wasn't frequent. And then it wasn't at all. Angela felt their worlds closing to one another, but she told herself they had time. It was happening to everyone they knew. They’d find their way.
Only they didn’t. It became 15 years, and she was finally getting published and was coming up on her second year of marriage. Then, that happiness was diminished by the death of her father.
“Why didn’t you call?”
She can't and doesn't protect them from the conversation that needs to happen, anymore. It’s not entirely true, but Topanga did call, but only just a month ago. It was a game of phone tag that Angela let happen. She wasn't ready to talk yet, but somehow they'd made plans after Topanga saw a flier for Angela’s book.
“I didn’t think it was fair,” Topanga replies after a minute of searching Angela’s eyes.
“I was ashamed to call you, Angela. When I heard about your dad, and then your book…”
To this, she hugs the photo album close to her chest.
Angela remembers knowing her father’s time was “coming to a close.” That's what the doctor called it, which she’d scowled at. There was Mark, and her best friend Reneé who’d take care of her. She had a support system at home, but it didn't keep her mind from wondering East.
“I knew it wasn’t fair to drop in like everything was okay.”
Angela can't disagree with this, but she still remembers longing for their friendship during the dark time. They'd already been out of touch for years, so it didn't make sense to her. Still she hoped for a call that never came.
“I was angry at you,” Angela lets her emotions go. She can't hold them any longer and she owes it to the both of them to be honest.
“There was no clear cut or break. It happened so gradually, and that's what made me so angry,” she says.
Angela wouldn't put the blame on just Topanga. She knew it wasn't fair. She had a telephone too, and email, but it was her who'd left the last message. And then another letter. To which she was met with silence.
“I had a miscarriage,” Topanga says.
Angela instinctively looks at the coffee table where a ton of pictures are on display, then back at Topanga. The news shocked Angela into silence, unsure what to say.
She seems to grow with this admission, not crumbling into tears as Angela knows she would have done. It's such a personal tragedy to share and she doesn't hide the hurt she has for Topanga.
“It was almost 13 years ago now,” she responds to the worry that dons Angela’s face.
“It's no excuse, but I didn't know how to talk to anyone,” Topanga for the first time looks away.
Angela listens as the gaps are filled. It was right after Riley, was born. A couple of months later, Topanga was pregnant again. A 21 year old with an infant juggling law school put a lot of stress on her body, resulting in the eventual loss. At this time, Angela was getting ready to head back to school. She would eventually get her Masters in Creative Writing, where she met Mark. Their lives were diverging into two completely different paths, and they hadn't any clue.
“I read your letter, Angela. Cory wanted to call you, but I wouldn't let him,” Topanga tells her.
“I would have been there for you, Topanga,” Angela grabs her hand.
“I didn't know how to let you,” she says.
For the first time in who knows how long, she understands Topanga and lets the information settle between them.
They let the time pass, by talking more, each of their lives becoming a little less of a mystery. Topanga took over a local café, apparently, adding to her list of accomplishments. And for Angela, she talked about her grievance, but that she was finally at peace. How her pain had translated to a second book of poems that was set to be out in 2017.
She remembers what's weighing down her purse and she takes out the wrapped gift.
“I've got one for you and Cory,” Angela smiles as she passes her life’s work over to Topanga.
The wrapper paper doesn't stand a chance and soon Topanga is marveling over the small hardback. 100 pages of poetry she’d been working on since high school. Only two of those from that time had made it to the final edition, but it was a piece of her, and she couldn’t have been more proud.
“This is beautiful,” the small woman looks as if she's found a small treasure.
Her fingers run across the surface, stopping when Topanga reaches her name.
“Angela,” Topanga whispers.
Angela Moore Watson
She puts two and two together, looking furiously for Angela’s left hand.
“Why wasn't that the first thing you told me?” Topanga practically demands.
“Are you happy?” She asks, finally meeting Angela’s eyes again.
“Very,” Angela replies with the only solid truth she knows.
“Good,” she takes Angela into her arms. “Good.”
~
“I've got an hour before I have to pick up Auggie from his bus stop,” Topanga says.
They're done clearing the mess of lunch, a lot more comfortable with each other now. It's not like old times, and it can't be. But Angela finds it better this way if they ever want to be true friends again.
“My shop is on the way there and,” Topanga’s voice trails off.
“And?” Angela asks slowly and is instantly suspect. She hasn’t seen this sneaky look on Topanga’s face since college, and she finds herself unsettled.
“Shawn’s in town. Cory texted me and they're both down there. It'd be a nice reunion!”
She doesn't expect his name to pop up twice in the afternoon. It's not that she doesn't want to see him. Or Cory. Topanga is so hopeful that she almost caves, but Angela stands her ground. The emotions of the day have drained her, and she isn't sure what a reunion with Shawn would bring.
15 years since she’d seen him too. She had moved on. And of course he had to have, too. But on the slight chance he hadn’t...
“Maybe another time,” Angela says, keeping it at that. She's flattered at the invitation, but decides she’ll explore the city a bit more before her early flight the next day.
Sure that the woman is standing in front of her will put up a fight, Topanga’s short nod surprises her.
“Of course,” she finally says, understanding that Angela and Shawn will reconnect on their own time. “But I'm holding you to that, Mrs. Watson,” Topanga smirks.
“Before I leave, there is something I'd like to talk to you about,” Angela says.
Her eyes are on Topanga’s double picture frame that sits atop the coffee table. She and Cory and smiling in a hospital room on the left, them holding Riley as a newborn. On the right, an almost identical photo only Riley is a toddler now, hanging on Cory’s hip while baby August in his swaddled relaxes in his mother's arm.
It may be too soon, but she's one of few people she knows with kids. It wouldn't hurt to ask. Once Topanga follows her gaze, Angela chuckles at the fierce gasp that escapes such a tiny body.
Today, New York has astonished her in so many ways.
