F*ck Love (10 page)

I stroke her hair like I used to do in high school when I was the pretty one, and the boys she liked couldn’t see past the braces and sharp knees.
They’ll all be sorry one day,
I used to tell her. And they all were.

Kit’s pickup pulls into the driveway, and she pulls away from me to go to him. It’s all right. I do not covet Della’s emotional dependence. I’m rather relieved that the responsibility is no longer mine. I watch as she runs out the front door and flings herself at him, wrapping her legs around his torso. He drops his bags to hold onto her. Of all the things that have happened tonight, that’s what affects me most. The way he so effortlessly drops his bags to catch her. I don’t have much reference since Neil was my one serious boyfriend, though I know he never would have dropped his bags to catch me lest something broke. That causes an ache deep in my chest. To know that there are guys willing to drop their shopping bags to catch their girl. And I want someone to love me that effortlessly. Or maybe, I think morosely, I want
Kit
to love me that effortlessly. To raise my son, and to nurture the art that lies dormant in me. It’s such a bad time to do this, but I think of baby Brandi. Della wanted to have Kit’s baby, and in some other life I already had. I start to giggle, and by the time Kit and Della walk back through the doors, I am full out belly laughing.

“What?” Della asks. She looks around like there’s a joke she missed. Kit’s mouth twitches, and then he starts to laugh too.

“What’s wrong with you guys?” Della perches her hands on her hips, but she’s smiling.

I can’t even stand up straight. I slide down the living room wall as my stomach rolls with laughter. Have I ever laughed like this? No, and I don’t even know what’s funny.

“She just caught the giggles,” Kit says, shaking his head. There’s a short smile attached to his mouth. “She doesn’t even laugh; that’s a cackle.”

Della nods. “I always thought her laugh sounded evil.”

This makes me laugh harder; the fact that Kit noticed right away, but it took Della ten plus years, and her boyfriend, to know that I have an evil laugh. She wanders off to the kitchen, shaking her head. It’s a bad time to catch Kit’s eye. He’s still standing in front of the closed door, bag in hand. He’s not laughing or smiling anymore. His lips are folded in, and his eyes are narrowed. When our eyes catch, my laughter is gone. Just like that. It’s the Kit I saw in my dream, the one who grabbed my hand and said,
“You are supposed to be with me.”

I lean my head back against the wall, hands dangling between my knees. Drunk and not drunk. Sober and not sober. Locking eyes with Kit Isley in his newly purchased love nest doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like shit. I look back at his face because I want to know what he’s feeling. I can see Kit’s chest heaving. Deep breaths because … what? Maybe he had a dream too. Maybe he feels a connection too. It’s probably all in my head, and that’s what makes me feel truly crazy, that I might be making all of this up. I don’t know what propels me to say it. Obviously, I’ve been doing a lot of crazy shit lately.

“Hey, Kit.” My voice is barely audible. I touch my lips to make sure they’re really moving. “I had a dream.”

I move the hair from my eyes so that I can see him clearly, and hold it back out of my face.

His eyes get wide; his lips unfold.

“So you’ve said.” His voice is soft. “What was your dream about?”

Now that he’s asking I don’t know how to say it. Thick tongue, thicker thoughts. How does one declare lunacy? My chest begins to ache. This was a huge mistake. I am still feeling the alcohol from dinner.

Then Della drops something in the kitchen. A glass shatters along with my moment. Timing is everything when you’re about to tell someone you dreamed him into your heart. Fuck if that’s not the corniest thing I ever heard. Kit’s head turns toward the kitchen where Della is cursing loudly, calling for help. He glances back at me regretfully. His eyes drag over my face one last moment, and then he is gone. I don’t even say goodbye. I sneak out while they are in the kitchen. I won’t be missed. I’ve always been the weird one anyway, expected to do things like this. Della likes being around her friends, but ever since she started dating Kit she’s needed us less and less. Which is good. Except not, because I can’t do what I’m thinking. I can’t.

The next morning I open my e-mail to find something from Kit. Last week someone hacked his e-mail and sent me a virus in the form of skinny pills, so I don’t open it right away. I wash my face, make coffee, and put Pat Benatar on the record player. When I finally settle down with my computer, I see that the e-mail is untitled. I brace myself for another virus, but when I open the file, it’s a chapter. I feel giddy that he’s writing again. I sip my coffee and scroll through to see how long it is. It’s been a while since the last time Kit sent me a chapter, and a while since I read a good book. Last I read George, Denver, and Stephanie Brown were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Denver broke his leg and lost his job, and Stephanie, being the ever-kind soul that she was, let him move in with her. George was now at a disadvantage and hoping to injure himself as well. I picture them all living in Stephanie Brown’s small apartment and giggle. People didn’t really take such desperate measures for love. Poor Stephanie Brown was running herself dry with all of their neediness. But when I scroll down, it’s not their story I see. It’s something new. Something that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck from sheer creepiness. I close my computer. Drum my fingers on the case. Open it again. It’s still there, and I’m not dreaming.

CHAPTER ONE

THE DREAM

When I am finished reading, I shut down my computer and go back to bed. I feel safer in my cocoon of creamy sheets and fat pillows. How? How on Earth did he write that? What did it mean? How could he? I stare at the cold coffee on my nightstand and feel ill.

I’m so embarrassed. What was I thinking telling him that? I gave Kit a few words, some ill guarded emotion, and behold! Chapter One: The Dream. Did Chapter One come out of him or me? I don’t know much about artists, but I’m beginning to feel as if they possess sorcery.

My lease is up in a month. I can move. God, haven’t I always wanted to get out of this hot cesspool of sweaty, tanned people and sharp palm trees? I have a disease called
can’t keep your fucking mouth shut
. And seriously, if you know you’re going to implode, isn’t it better to get to the going?

“Calm down, Helena. You can’t leave town because your best friend’s boyfriend has psychic powers.”

I crawl toward my phone and check my text messages. There’s a message from Kit.

K: I wrote five more chapters last night.

What happens in those five chapters? I want to know. His characters have no names; he simply calls them He and She.
He does this. She does that.
It’s elusive, and his male character’s use of portmanteau words makes me smile. That’s Kit. Fralad for a fried chicken salad, which the character doesn’t think is a salad at all. Smust when he’s not sure if he’s smitten or in lust. Priend for an acquaintance that thinks they’re a friend. And then I find myself searching for myself in the woman, who Kit describes as being aloof, preoccupied, and disconnected from the world around her. Was I those things? Or was I self-absorbed to think she was me? It crosses my mind that my words to him last night could have struck an idea, and the similarities could be coincidental.

I text back.
What is this book going to be about?

His text bubble appears as he starts to type, then abruptly it’s gone. It starts, then it’s gone again. He’s typing things then erasing them. I strangle my phone, then slam it on the bed a few times. It’s lying facedown on the comforter, and I lift the corner to peek at the screen. There isn’t a text. I go to the kitchen for a snack, then circle my bed a few times while I spoon peanut butter into my mouth from the jar. I’m scared that he’s texted. I’m also scared that he hasn’t.

“You chicken!” I yell. I lunge for the phone, dropping the peanut butter jar on the floor.

The first text message is from Della
: CALL ME NOW!

All caps. We reserve all caps for emergencies.

Kit’s text is underneath Della’s.

K: You tell me.

I don’t know what that means. Is he telling me that since I inspired the story, I have say over where it goes? I call Della.

“The test was wrong!” she screams into the phone.

It takes a minute to register what she’s talking about. The test was…

“What?!”

“I took another one. I took five. They’re all positive.”

My head is spinning. I sit on the edge of the bed and put my head between my knees. I’m waiting for my feelings to catch up to my shock. Somehow I know they’re not going to be good feelings, happy ones. Though they should be because my best friend is having a baby.

“Have you told—”

“No,” she says quickly. “I haven’t told him yet. I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” I ask dryly. “You wanted this.”

“Yeah. But it’s not like we planned it or talked about it or anything. I don’t really know what he’s going to say.”

If she doesn’t know what Kit would say, she doesn’t know Kit very well. I could picture him being surprised, taking a few hours to let it process, then he would let resignation turn to happiness. Kit is the kind of guy who shows up.

“Wow,” I say. “Everyone is having babies.” It’s a stupid thing to say, and I immediately apologize. “Sorry, I’m just in shock. And obviously not everyone is having babies … just you and Sadie.”

I bite my lip waiting to see how she’ll take that one. I keep making stupid comments, and I don’t mean to. Honestly. I’m happy for her. I think.

“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.