Free She Matters by Susanna Sonnenberg Page A

nowhere to sit, no proper area, except for a table, which was crowded with clear, empty jars, lids scattered. We went outside again and Mick disappeared, a rustle of steps and then gone. I meant to track him, didn’t want to be surprised, but he was steering clear of me. What did he want us for anyway? He was obviously close to fifty, or at least forty.
    Claudia wore what I called her hippie skirt, and leather sandalsand a white blouse that tied in the front. I was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a white sweatshirt with Team in fat, pink script outlined by pink glitter. New York irony; but instead the woods and paralyzed vistas mocked me. The wraparound silence left me small. Claudia walked us away from truck and root cellar to reveal the cook site, the logs and low rocks that served as their furniture, proud of the make-do, of the organic roughness, proud Mick had taken her in. I couldn’t remember where they’d met, didn’t want her to know that. We called the place “the compound,” exaggerated teasing, but the trace in the word of military isolation made me uneasy.
    â€œAre you smoking pot?” I said, parental.
    â€œGod, no. That’s Mick’s deal.”
    â€œYou want to tell me about this morning? How it went?”
    â€œOh, the ‘procedure’? Good, good, it was nothing. I mean, they said I’d feel tugging and stuff, but I didn’t, and it seemed to go pretty quickly, and then it was done. We got something to eat before we came to get you.” Her voice rose fast, broke high on you . “You’re really here, here, here, this is so great.”
    I didn’t know what “tugging” was supposed to mean. What else was it like, abortion? I’d barely encountered the word before, never spoken it aloud. What actually happened? “Are you okay?”
    â€œDon’t I seem okay?” She drew herself up and gave a flourish with her hand down the length of her body, a gesture of admiration I’d seen her use on the flank of her horse. “I’m divine!”
    I’d thought she would need me, that I’d go with her and hold her hand or smooth her hair. But she hadn’t needed that, or she didn’t need that anymore, as if the abortion of the morning had been months ago instead. Confused by blitheness, I wondered if she’d made up the pregnancy. My mother lied for casual amusement,about anything, to anyone, so I stayed alert for it. But my best friend wouldn’t make that shit up, not to me. Real friends wouldn’t.
    â€œSo, it didn’t hurt? At all?”
    â€œWell, it is surgery, they keep telling you, it’s on a million forms, but it’s pretty fucking minor, that’s all I can say, because I’m over it.” She said, “You always expect a drama, Sue, but I’m okay. Really. Except they told me, you know what they said? I can’t have sex for two weeks. Fuck that.”
    â€œShouldn’t you wait?” I followed those sorts of rules.
    â€œMick thought they’re covering their asses, just, you know, so you don’t come back in and blame them for not getting the whole fetus out, or something. He says they’re always worried they’re going to get sued. Anyway, no legal counsel will prevent me from having sex. Do you like him?”
    â€œYeah,” I said, lying badly. “I don’t think he likes me though.”
    â€œHe’s totally jealous of you, that’s why. He said I was in love with you. I was like, who wouldn’t be?” This was one of our routines, that we fit perfectly and were meant for each other, would end up together once we’d tried on and washed away the silly boys. But now she had a man. My lies so embedded, I kept forgetting I did, too.
    â€œHow’s Ethan?” I said. He’d been her sort-of boyfriend from the spring. She’d obsessed about him through April, May, into June, and we’d obsessed as well about