Free Heartsick by Caitlin Sinead

and—”
    “You didn’t even know her.” Natalie’s hands tighten into fists and her eyes narrow.
    I breathe. “I didn’t, but—”
    “Grieving doesn’t give you a blanket bitch license,” Mandy says.
    “Whatever,” Natalie says. “How did you get those eyes anyway? Some new STD only reserved for skanks? You going to spread that around Allan, like a slut?”
    “Hey,” I say. Warmth grows up my chest, my fingers curl into my palms. “Slut shaming never helped any woman.”
    Natalie smirks. “Spoken like a true slut.”
    Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I think we should all stand around and sing “Kumbaya” around Georgia O’Keefe paintings just because we all have vaginas. But even if I could organize something like that, I wouldn’t invite Natalie.
    Natalie looks at Mandy. “Seriously though, what’s up with that purple? Did you let some guy cum in your eye?”
    Mandy’s gaze simmers, but she remains quiet. I scramble for how to defend her.
    “Why don’t you just go shit in a bush and relieve yourself?” Yes. This is what I come up with.
    And it works.
    Natalie mumbles a “whatever” and walks off.
    Of course, Mandy is not rattled. I’m rattled, arms shaking and jaw tight. But I get over it when we find Conrad in our section and spread out our blanket and settle down in the grass.
    “How did it go?” I ask Conrad.
    He shrugs. “He has a boyfriend.”
    “That sucks,” I say, resting my head in my hand and frowning with him.
    He pulls at some grass and shrugs. “Anyway, what about you? Anything new with that Luke guy?”
    I had told him about how Luke has kept texting, usually with “admissions” of what he actually studied, ranging from learning to be a park ranger on the moon to studying to be that guy who has to sweep up confetti after political campaigns. Yes, that requires four years of training, he assures me.
    “I haven’t seen him since the hotdog.”
    “And the other hotdog!” Conrad says, shoulder barreling into me. I laugh. I told him the details—not the gory details, but the fluffy details—of what happened after that first kiss on the stoop. It had been tame. I am a good girl, mostly. And Luke didn’t stay the night. He said he needed to get back. But before he left, he held on to me for about five minutes. I considered tapping my foot and looking at my nonexistent watch on my wrist, but decided I didn’t mind extended time with my nose in the crook of his neck. If I could capture his grassy, smoky scent, I would.
    “Yeah, yeah, well, after I told Rachel I was, you know, hanging out with her brother, she was thrilled for some reason—”
    “She’s thrilled because she knows you’re the bee’s knees,” Conrad says.
    “Ditto,” Mandy chimes in. I have nice friends.
    “Anyway, she said I had to come over for dinner,” I say. “So I’ll see him tomorrow.”
    “Sounds serious,” Conrad teases.
    “No, it definitely isn’t,” I say.
    The band comes on, and it’s nothing short of amazing. My toes mix in the grass and the sun sets and casts beautiful orange, purple and pink streaks across the sky. The lake behind the stage is calm and serene. I eat up every strum of the banjo and let Dakota Tatum’s beautiful voice glide through me.
    It’s perfection itself, until a break, when Dakota calls up Jared, that creepy religious guy, for a special announcement.
    “Oh no,” Conrad says. “No, no, no.”
    Jared takes the microphone from Dakota. “I know you’re all having a nice evening, and that’s great. But please consider all the lives that have been lost, all of God’s children who have never been able to enjoy a nice evening. The Poe University Interfaith Council is raising money to stop abortion, once and for all.”
    Conrad, the president of the interfaith council, has his head is in his hands.
    “Women who kill their babies will go to Hell,” Jared continues. “But that is not enough. We must punish these murderers now.”
    Well, shit.
    One of