F*ck Love

by Tarryn Fisher

  “It’s not the same,” she snaps.

  “Of course not,” I say quickly.

  “Sadie got pregnant on purpose.”

  “Yeah…” My voice trails off. God, I just want this conversation to be over.

  “When are you going to tell…”

  “I have to go,” she says. She hangs up before I say anything else. I stare at Kit’s text for a long time, trying to decide what to do. He’s going to have a baby with my best friend, which means I can’t cut him off completely. But I have to cut off some parts. Like the part where I’m sort of into him. So maybe this texting bullshit has to stop. And sending me stories. I feel genuinely depressed about that one. And the hovering thing he does at parties and such. And—okay—I have to stop showing up at his job. I delete his texts without reading the last one. Then I delete him from my phone. I send Della a text that I know will repair what we lost in the last phone conversation. She’s easy like that.

  Let’s pick out names!

  Her text bubble appears almost immediately.

  Daphne, she sends.

  Hell no! I type back.

  She gives me an lol, and just like that we’re back on track. Helena and Della. The quirky one, and the pretty one.

  Kit doesn’t text me again. I check in with Della three days later to find out if she told him.

  Yeah, she texts back.

  Well?! What did he say?

  D: He was ecstatic. Couldn’t be happier.

  Right away? I’m pushing it, but I want to see how right I was about him.

  D: Yes, right away.

  She’s lying.

  Della loses the baby. Kit calls to tell me. His voice is even and somber. I’ve never been on the phone with him before, and I wonder if he always sounds like this or if this is his grieving voice. I leave work right away and drive the two miles to their house. I know Della asked Kit to call; it’s her thing. Makes the situation bleaker when you need someone to make your calls for you. I’m not being harsh; it’s how she is. When she got her period for the first time, she made her mom call to tell me something had happened. People never really change, do they? When I arrive at 216 Trinidad Lane, her whole family is congregated in the living room. The sight of them all sitting there depresses me. It’s like a wake. Each of her family members hugs me in turn, then I am sent off to Della and Kit’s bedroom where she is lying on her bed in the dark.

  “Hello,” I say. I climb into the bed with her, and she snuggles into me. “I’m so sorry, Dells.”

  She sniffles.

  “I’m not going to say cheesy, comforting, and slightly offensive things,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she says. “That’s why I like it that you’re here.”

  “Who said the worst thing?” I ask. “Out of all of them.”

  “Aunt Yoli. She said my womb may not be fertilized enough to take seed.”

  We both snort with laughter, and that’s what best friends are all about. Turning the bleak.

  “Aunt Yoli once told me that my breasts would never make a hungry baby full,” I tell her. “I was only thirteen.”

  We laugh some more, and I take Della’s hand.

  She turns on the TV, and we watch Desperate Housewives until Kit relieves me, and comes to lie with her on the bed. We barely exchange a glance, but as we cross paths I grab his hand and squeeze. Sorry about the baby. He squeezes back.

  I go to their house every night after work. Della is taking it hard. Harder even than I thought. I make their meals and stay with her while Kit is at work. And, once again, my life is consumed by Della’s grief. I don’t mind except that I’m tired. And I still have a little of my own grief to deal with. June accuses me of being an enabler. I think about the way I encourage June to wear ugly hats, and I know she’s right.

  I am cleaning up the kitchen one night after she’s fallen asleep when Kit gets home from work. I see the lights from his truck, and I can’t help but feel excited. A non-depressed person to talk to! He hoists himself on the counter next to where I’m washing dishes.

  “You have to take care of you too,” is the first thing he says to me. And then I start to cry. It’s so stupid, nothing bad has happened to me. I have no right.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to make this about me.”

  Kit laughs a little. “You never make anything about you. Maybe you should.”

  I wave him away. “I’m fine. Everything is good. What about you? You okay?”

  Kit shakes his head. “You can’t change the subject and try to distract me.”

  I watch the water drain out of the sink. “I’m really uncomfortable talking about myself. I’d rather you tell me about you.”

  “All right. What would you like to know?”

  “Had you told your family about the baby?”

  His face doesn’t betray a thing. He’s basically unreadable. “No. It was early.”

  Fair enough.

  “How do you feel about it?”

  He chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t know. I barely had time to process the pregnancy before it was over.”

  “Are you sad?” I press him. I want to know something. He gives so little.

  “I don’t know.”

  “For someone who seems to know so much about everyone else’s feelings, you seem to know so little about your own.”

  Kit grimaces. “Maybe I don’t like talking about myself either.”

  “Hmmm,” I say, grinning. “What ever will we do?”

  He jumps down from his perch. “Go for a walk,” he says.

  I look back toward their room. “Okay. Should we leave a note?”

  “Did she take her sleeping pill?”

  I nod.

  “She’ll be out ‘til morning then.”

  I follow him out the door and down the drive. I try to predict which way he’ll turn down the street, and I get it wrong. The air smells slightly of the ocean, and gasoline from the highway. It’s the smell of escape and freedom. I wonder if Kit notices, and if it makes him want to jump in his truck and drive, drive, drive away from perfection.

  “Kit,” I say. “Are you in love?”

  He grimaces. “Why do you ask me that every time we go on a walk?”

  “Why do you never answer the question?”

  “It’s uncomfortable,” he says. “And none of your business.”

  I laugh. “Fair enough, Kit Kat.”

  Kit sighs. “Please don’t make me relive high school.”

  People called him Kit Kat in high school. That’s cute. I wonder what he was like.

  When I think he’s not going to answer my question, he does. “I want to be, Helena. I’ve tried.”

  I know he’s shared something incredibly personal with me so I try not to react. I want to grab him by the lapels and scream, “WHAT THE HELL?!” and “That’s my best friend’s heart you’re messing with!”

  Instead, I clear my throat. “Oh yeah? You almost became a dad, Kit. That’s a scary life cocktail you’re mixing.” He’s quiet for a long time.

  “You’ve been friends with Della for years, Helena. You know how she is. There have been a couple of times when we’ve come close to ending things. She … threatens herself.”

  I am surprised. I am. I’ve never known Della to use suicide to make a guy stay. I’ve also never known Della to try to get pregnant. People change I guess.

  “I don’t know what to say, Kit. I’m not sure that’s a good reason to stay, though. Sounds pretty unhealthy.”

  “I care about her. So much.”

  “I think you really, really need to love someone to have a baby with them. And even then, sometimes couples don’t make it.”

  “Why are you talking in that weird voice?” He’s looking at me sideways, and I get swirly whirlies in my belly.

  “It happens when I’m nervous.”

  “You sound like Yogi Bear.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Oh my God, I’m never going on a walk with you again.”
r />   “Yeah, yeah Yogi.”

  “Every house in this place looks the same,” I say, trying to change the subject. “It’s sort of nauseating.”

  Kit laughs. “My house is different,” he says. “Della made sure no one has shutters the same color as we do.”

  “You’re right. You have the best shutters.” And then at the same time we both say, “Aubergine,” and start to laugh. She couldn’t call them purple, or violet, or anything simple. Della liked for her things to sound as fancy as possible, and aubergine was the very fanciest way to say purple.

  “One more question,” I say. Kit groans.

  “How do you know, and I mean really know, when you’re in love with someone?”

  We are standing by the little retention pond that all of the houses in the development are built around. I can see the backs of all of them, facing the pond with glowing windows. While I peek in people’s windows, Kit bends to pick up a rock, and skips it across the water. One … two … three … four. I count his skips, impressed.

  “It all feels like a dream,” he says.

  “A dream,” I repeat. Ain’t he right.

  “It’s weird. You and Kit.”

  “Huh?”

  Della is holding a dress up to herself in front of the mirror in Nordstrom, yet her eyes are not on her own reflection, but on mine.

  I play it cool and push hangers aside, study ugly shirts, and avoid meeting her eyes. Why are we here again? Oh, because she wanted to come.

  “You guys seem close. Probably closer than you and I have been in a while.” She looks at the dress, tilts her head to the side, and purses her lips.

  “We get along pretty well.” I shrug. “Where is this coming from?”

  She suddenly looks guilty. “Nowhere. It’s stupid. I’ve become this jealous monster. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. It’s more intense, you know?”

  I don’t know. I’m not the jealous type.

  I shake my head at her. “You always want me to be friends with your boyfriends. You’ve shoved them on me in the past. Now you have a problem with it?”

  She chews on her lip. Big, fat lips that match her big, fat eyes.

  “I told you. It’s different with Kit. And … he likes you. He’s always talking about you.”

  I try to be cool, but I knock over a display of bracelets. “Shit. Oops.”

  Della bends down to help me pick them up, glancing up at me nervously every few seconds.

  “Don’t be mad, okay? I’m just being stupid.”

  I am mad. But at myself. How bad is it that Della is noticing something off? I have to lay off, leave Kit alone.

  “You’re not stupid,” I say. “You’re in love. Besides, what is there to say about me? I’m boring.”

  “That’s not true. I like you, don’t I?”

  I don’t answer. Della likes people who cater to her. I’m a professional caterer. It doesn’t make me feel used, just needed.

  “He just always wants you around. He shares his stories with you and not with me. And you guys always seem to have an inside joke, you know?”

  “Don’t you have inside jokes together?”

  Her brows draw together. “Not really. I don’t think he thinks I’m very funny.”

  “He thinks you’re kind,” I say. And then I tell her the nice things Kit said about her.

  “And honestly, Della, I think he’s laughing at me not with me. I’m only funny because I’m awkward.”

  “That’s true.” She nods. “You are very awkward.”

  I pull a shirt off the rack and hold it up to myself. She rolls her eyes. “It’s beige. You’re such a beige bitch.” I put it back. Who wants to be a beige bitch? I watch my best friend admire herself in the mirror. It’s the strangest thing to watch. The conceit battling the insecurity. I never knew a woman could be both until Della. A beautiful woman, racked by jealousy. Of what? I think. How many girls would love to be her? I wouldn’t. It must be exhausting to be that consumed with yourself. Boring even. I feel guilty about the thoughts I’ve been having about Della. If I were really honest with myself, I’d say they started around the time Kit showed up. Can one person make you view someone in a different light? It shouldn’t be that way. I’m disloyal.

  A week later I am at Kit and Della’s for a BBQ. There are twenty or so people in their small backyard, some sitting on lawn chairs, sipping beer, while others are hiding out in the air conditioning, gathered around the guacamole. I am part of the outside group. We quickly nickname ourselves The Outsiders—for more than one reason. Kit is not among us, but he comes over in between grilling. June sits next to me. She is pensive and fidgety tugging on the tassels on her skirt.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask her. “You’re acting like a girl.”

  She glances back into the kitchen. That’s when I sort of know. Della must have spoken to her about something. June hates being put in the middle. I put a hand on her arm, narrowing my eyes. Before I can say something, the back door slides open, and Della walks out with a plate of meat. June spins around, not looking at her. She’s wearing hot pink shorts and a white tank. No bra. We all know you have nipples, Della. Thanks for that. I crack my neck as she hands Kit the plate and wraps her arms around his torso, pressing her face to his back. When all he does is smile at her, she goes in for something more drastic. She’s wanting attention. There are too many girls here, and Della needs to know she’s the best one. God, it sucks to know someone this well. It used to bother me less.

  Someone’s passing around a joint. I take it and suck down a little too eagerly. My coughing fit disrupts the group. Out of the corner of my eye I see Kit pull away from Della to come check on me. No! No! No! I wave him and everyone else away. I don’t want any more trouble. I don’t like the way she’s been looking at me lately, like I’m a thing of danger that needs to be watched. Kit plucks the joint from my fingers.

  “It’ll subside,” he says.

  I can’t say anything back because I’m too busy coughing, but I manage to shoot him a dirty look. Della watches from near the grill, one arm folded across her waist, the other tugging on a strand of her silky hair. June is watching Della. Dammit June! And Kit is still watching me watch everyone else.

  “I’m fine,” I say between my teeth. “I’ve smoked before, you know.”

  “Didn’t look like it.”

  It makes me angry that he’s singling me out. I’m just another guest at his house, and I want to be left alone, not chastised.

  I’m not going to be drawn into a fight with someone who should be minding their own business anyway. I take the joint back from him and do another hit, then I pass it to the person next to me.

  One of my fellow Outsiders cheers me on. “Thatta girl, Helena.”

  Kit glares at me for a few more seconds before returning to his post at the grill. I glance at Della out of the corner of my eye; she looks sour. All life gone. June is whimpering beside me like a puppy.

  “Shut up, June,” I say. “Awkward social situations are the building blocks of life.”

  “We should talk,” she says. “But not here. She’s watching me.”

  She is. She’s watching both of us. I look straight on at Della, because I’m not afraid of her. I’m afraid of what we’re becoming. Our relationship is tearing, twisting. The friendship part is slowly blurring, and something else is coming into focus. We used to look at each other and find solidarity in our knowledge of each other. Now our looks are assessing. Sizing. That’s the worst thing about being young. You really have no clue about all the changes that are coming. And when they come, no matter how people have warned you, you are genuinely surprised.

  I meet June for a late lunch on Saturday. I want to go to brunch, because I like brunch most, but June is a vegan.

  “Please, Helena. It’s all eggs, and bacon, and sausage. Brunch is the anti-vegan.”

  “I just want normal friends,” I complain to her. “Ones who eat animals.”

  “Then be
friends with a vegetarian. I am a vegan.”

  She shakes out her flowery dress as we wait for a table, and gives me a dirty look.

  The tiny hostess leads us to a table on the patio where she spreads two menus in front of us. We are both itching to talk, but wait until our server has greeted us and asked for our order.

  “She thinks you’re after Kit,” June finally tells me. And even as we sit a dozen miles away from Della, in a busy cafe, June looks cautiously around like she might appear at any moment. I tap my fingers on the table, annoyed.

  “Why would I be after Kit?” I ask. “Why isn’t Kit after me?”

  I don’t know why this bothers me more than my best friend talking behind my back. That she would blame this on me and not on him. I’ve sought him out … a couple times. But he’s the one always wanting to take walks. And everyone knows what happens when you take walks with a girl.

  June rolls her eyes. “Because she’s a girl in love, and it’s never the man’s fault. Only the competition.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the competition?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and pout. June pushes her glasses up her nose. “Kit pays too much attention to you. That’s the problem.”

  My head jerks in her direction. “No, he doesn’t.”

  She laughs. “The reason Della sees you as competition is because you are. Kit has a thing for you. You’re blind if you can’t see that.”

  My heart is being awful. I wish it would stop dancing. It’s wrong. But I also know it isn’t true. Kit is thoughtful and kind. People often misinterpret those qualities for something else.

  “Della and I are nothing alike,” I say. “Kit has a thing for Della.”

  “Maybe that’s his problem.” June leans back so the waiter can put her food down. “They aren’t much suited, are they?”

  “Opposites attract.”

  “You’re beautiful, Helena. You just don’t see it. Which truly makes you more beautiful.”

  I put down my fork I’m so uncomfortable. “Ugh. Stop. Why are you saying these things?”

  “Look, you’ve obviously known Della a lot longer than I have. But I became friends with her because of you. And vice versa. It’s not like someone like Della would ever choose to be friends with me normally.”