Free F*ck Love by Tarryn Fisher

to the Bahamas, a brand new Range Rover senior year. Our Tiger Beat years were replaced with glossy Vogue years, during which Della’s family took me on every vacation, and every outing on their boat. If they bought Della a pair of Kate Spade sunglasses, I would get a pair too. It was fun at first, but then I started to feel like a poor, charity tagalong. I still feel like that.
    The only time I didn’t feel their cloying pity was when Kit sent me chapters of his book. Only me. That wasn’t pity; he genuinely wanted to share those with me. I was getting really attached to George, Denver, and Stephanie Brown. If I could put them on my pillow next to the wine cork, I would. Instead I read what he’s sent me over and over. I understand the Twilight craze, the Fifty Shades of Grey craze. For the first time, I am not just reading a book; I am invested in the book. If George, Denver, and Stephanie Brown don’t get their shit together, I am never going to read another book again. Kit enjoys my commitment to their story, but we don’t talk about it in front of Della. Della was part of the Twilight mania, and after reading one chapter of Kit’s untitled manuscript she asked if there were werewolves or vampires in the story. Kit shut her down real fast after that. She pouted but agreed to wait until he was finished to read the rest.
     
    I am at an estate sale with Kit, Della, and our friend, June, who we’ve hung out with on and off since high school. June and I are on the front lawn, looking though boxes of old books, while Kit and Della are in the house looking at the furniture.
    “Do you think Kitella will be moving in together soon?” June asks.
    I look up surprised. “Kitella?”
    “Kit and Della,” she says. “Kitella.” June is an odd bird. I know I’m an odd bird on the inside, but June is an odd bird on the inside and the outside. I eye her floral hat, and the paperclip necklace she’s wearing.
    “Kitella,” I snort. “I don’t know. Della’s apartment is so … Della. I can’t see a guy moving in there.”
    “They’d change things for sure. Make room. They’ve been together a while now.”
    “Only like eight months,” I say defensively. “Not that long.”
    “Come on, Helena. Della doesn’t usually make it through the three-month mark. Her wedding board is growing on Pinterest. Those two are serious.”
    It is true. She has a menu and flower girl gifts now. Della always found something wrong with the boys she dated. Charles was too needy, Tim was too jealous, Anthony had an annoying twin sister. Kit is perfect; she says it all the time. And they are furniture shopping as we speak.
    “Do you like them together?” I ask June.
    “Yeah, they’re cute. I think he balances her. He’s not as shallow as some of the other guys she’s dated.”
    June wanders off to look at a lamp, and I feel like sinking into the sea of grass. Why did all of that feel like bad news? It isn’t because I don’t want my best friend to be happy, because I do. I just want her to be happy with someone else. I go find them in the house. They’re looking at bookcases.
    “I saw ones just like this in Restoration Hardware,” Della says. “For four times the price. This is a steal.”
    Kit doesn’t look convinced. “We don’t have enough books combined to fit on these things.”
    “We can buy more!” Della says. Then she turns to me and her pink lips are spread so wide I can see every single one of her teeth.
    “We’re moving in together!” she squeals and claps, and I stand there dumbfounded, wondering if June has psychic ability.
    “Into your apartment?” I ask, because it’s the only thing I can think to say.
    “No, silly. That’s too small. We are going to buy a house.”
    I look at Kit, but he’s avoiding my eyes.
    “That’s so great,” I say. “Congratulations, guys.” And then I say I have to go to the bathroom, but I go outside instead. I need air, space to hide my falling face. It’s the