BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

“I can’t believe it,” I managed to get out. “I always thought...”

“What?” Her head snapped around, she was suddenly sober. “You always thought what?”

I inhaled sharply. Chose my words carefully. “That...well...that you were having good sex, I guess. At the very least, not bad sex.”

I waited for her verdict, my stomach swimming, but she, thankfully, smiled, and was drunk again. Shook her head. “Certainly not with Brendan, no. So she can have him. Take him,” she yelled, putting her hands around her mouth. “You can fucking have him, my love!” I laughed and tried to shh her. “Honestly, she’s welcome. I’ve got my flat. I’ve got Bridget. I’m all good. Whereas she’s going to be stuck with Mr. I-Love-It-When-You’re-Tight for the rest of her pathetic life. I mean, what does that mean, Brendan? You love it when I’m tight? Being tight means I’m fucking UNAROUSED. It means you’ve not done your foreplay job properly. Being tight means it fucking hurts! You get off on hurting me, you cunt?” She pointed at me once more. “Do you know, after I had Bridget, he complained about how loose I was?”

“He didn’t!”

“He fucking did. I’d given him his child. I’d grown it inside my body for nine months. Ripped myself apart pushing her out. Fed her with my own body. For the rest of his life, there is a child in this world with his DNA, his chin, his nose, his legacy—at the expense of my body, my pelvic floor, my tits, my opportunity to have a career. And rather than thanking me every single moment he’s conscious, for this ridiculous gift I gave him, he complains my vagina is too loose. Well, twenty-six-year-old bitch, yours is going to be loose soon, so you’re bloody welcome to him. I am done. I. Am. Done.”

“I can’t believe it,” I kept saying. “I honestly can’t believe it.”

“Yeah you can.” She shrugged, before her face closed down, the curtains shutting. Then, she looked up at me and I felt suddenly on edge, and I wasn’t sure why, until: “You’re so lucky to have a man like Ben,” she said.

“I know.”

“Honestly, I need someone like that.”

I tried to put my immediate nausea down to the wine. My stomach swimming, hands shaking, head buzzing like a disco had just started inside it. “Hmm,” I managed, wanting to run, wanting to slap her, wanting her to stop, go away...my friend was crying. What was wrong with me?

Jessica, oblivious, sighed and smiled. “Hey, Fern? Would it be mad to go get another bottle from Londis?”

18

september 2004