Free Time Flies by Claire Cook Page A

wrong?”
    “Do you think it’s too late to go on a diet?”
    “You mean in terms of our life expectancy?”
    B.J. snorted. “No, I mean in terms of Derrick Donohue. He never once, in all four years of high school, gave me the time of day.”
    “Whoa, where is this coming from? You’ve never even mentioned him.”
    “I just remembered it.”
    “So now Derrick Donohue is going to be your midlife crisis crush?”
    “No way. He missed his chance. I just want to look so amazing he eats his heart out.”
    I walked over to the freezer and opened the door. “Come on, Beej. We both know diets don’t work. You lose a few pounds, and a year later you’ve gained it all back plus six more.”
    “I don’t care about a year later. I only care about the reunion. Listen, I think we should both get a copy of that high school reunion diet book ASAP. How bad can it be—there’s a glass of red wine on the cover.”
    I switched my phone over to my other ear. Buried way in the back of the freezer, behind two bags of coffee beans, I was pretty sure I could see a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich that had formerly belonged to Kurt. “Or we could just buy the red wine and read a good novel instead,” I said as I reached for it.
    “No, really, I’m not kidding. You’re supposed to lose twenty pounds in thirty days on it.”
    “I think it’s twenty years in thirty days.”
    B.J. blew a puff of air across the miles. “Oh, puh-lease. Like that’s going to happen. Maybe we can just find a drive-through that does liposuction.”
    I tucked the phone into the crook of my neck and tore anopening in the plastic wrapper that covered the ice cream. A freezer-burned mini iceberg glistened up at me, irrefutable evidence that my freezer was now officially single, too. And that Kurt was really gone.
    But it was okay. I was okay. Because I had somewhere to go now, too. Where Finn Miller would be waiting for me.
    I blew a puff of air back at B.J. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only diet we need is dying to have some fun. We are sooooo going to rock that reunion.”

    I brought my three box spring ladies into the kitchen and lined them up side by side across the length of the granite island. Then I opened the liquor cabinet and eyed what was left in there after Kurt had absconded with most of it. I rooted around until I found three shot glasses and placed one in front of each box spring lady. I filled them all with a dollop of red wine, and then poured a human-size glass of wine for myself.
    I held up my glass. “Wish me luck, ladies.”
    I touched my big glass to each of their tiny ones.
    “Wait,” I said. “Why can’t you come, too? It might be a good thing to have some extra moral support. Plus, when everybody at the reunion starts bragging about how important they are, I can just happen to have you with me.”
    They seemed to think this was a genius idea, so after I acknowledged the fact that I was not only talking to box spring ladies but answering for them, too, I finished my wine and helped them polish off theirs. I mean, the whole thing was barely crazy ifyou factored in that it wasn’t just a pleasure trip for them—I’d be looking for a possible consignment sale, too.
    I headed up to the attic to look for the biggest suitcase I could find. I dragged it down the creaky attic stairs, then went back for my carry-on.
    “Damn,” I said a few minutes later. I’d managed to fit all three of the box spring ladies into the big suitcase, but there was no way in hell I could zip it closed, unless I turned their big hooped skirts into hot pants.
    I sighed. To be honest, the whole good-bye toast and suitcase thing had started out as an elaborate stall to put off calling my sister, Marion, which I’d been trying to make myself do ever since B.J. had nudged me, but now I really wanted to take them with me.
    Dread turned over in my stomach like sour milk. I stared at my phone, as if I could somehow get points for thinking about