▸ Column · Contemporary boardroom Metropolis — Lex Luthor's syndicated advice column, dictated between meetings
LEX LUTHOR replies.
Replied to by Lex Luthor, with a rebuttal from Superman.
The letter
My closest friend since college — I'll call her Danika — went through a savage divorce, and for two years I was the whole emergency response team: 2 a.m. calls, drives across the city, sitting beside her at every court date. I don't regret a minute of it. But the decree was finalized eight months ago and nothing has changed. She still texts me in a panic three or four times a week and goes wounded if I'm not instantly available, even when I say I'm buried at work or dealing with my own family. Last month I had a frightening medical scare, and when I finally told her, she listened maybe four minutes before pivoting to a fresh fight with her ex about the kids' spring break. I don't want to abandon her while she's hurting, but I've started dreading her name on my screen, which makes me feel awful. Is there a graceful way to reset a friendship like this without it becoming an ambush — or am I already too far gone?
Lex Luthor replies
Oh, sweetheart. No. You've spent two years as Danika's unpaid crisis line, and now you'd like a tasteful way to hand in your notice without anyone noticing you quit. There isn't one. There's no "reset" — that word is just abandonment in a cardigan, and you know it, which is why you're confessing to a stranger instead of to her.
Be precise about what's happening. Danika isn't drowning; the divorce closed eight months ago. She's simply discovered that your attention is the most reliable utility she's ever owned, and utilities don't get thank-you notes. The tell wasn't three texts a week. It was the four minutes. You handed her a real fear and she redecorated with it. That isn't grief, darling. It's appetite.
So stop running the switchboard. The next panic text — and it's coming — you answer when it suits you. Three hours later. One line. No apology, no recital of your deadlines (explanations are invoices she refuses to pay). Let her be hurt. The hurt is the fee for learning whether she's a friend or a subscriber.
I keep an entire floor of people paid to ask how I slept. I don't mistake any of it for love. Neither should you.
— Lex Luthor
Superman weighs in
Lex, three hours of silence isn't a boundary — it's a punishment with a stopwatch, and nobody was ever loved into shape by being ignored on a schedule.
Friend, Danika isn't a "subscriber." She's someone who leaned so hard she forgot you can buckle too. That's a real failing — but it's hers to be told, not quietly billed for. Call her. Say the plain thing: "I had a scare last month, you gave me four minutes, and it hurt." Then watch. Back on the farm, the neighbors only knew Ma was worn out when she finally said so. People can't carry weight you never showed them. Give her the chance to pick it up before you decide she won't.
— Superman
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