“I’m serious. And I won’t judge you for being a Jezebel.”
“Thank you.”
“Too harshly.” I flop onto my back and stare at a dark stain on my ceiling fabric that seems to have grown bigger since the last time I paid attention.
“I’m ending it anyway.”
“With the guy?”
“He’s a jerk.”
“Grant’s a jerk too.” God, it hurt when he told me to leave. “What was it you called him? A turtle-fucker?”
She barks out a laugh. “A gherkin-fucker.”
“What even is that?”
“A gherkin? It’s a pickle.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a hairy thing.”
“What? No way. Gherkins are pickles in the UK.”
“No. No. A gherkin is like a pubic wig or something.” I sit up, looking around for my phone.
“Hang on.” She reaches under her butt and pulls it from her back pocket. “Uh, you’ve got notifications. Lots.”
My body flushes hot and then stone cold. “Let me see.”
She hands over the phone, and I scroll through the long list of texts, all from my sisters.
Otty: There’s a car at dad’s
Hannah: okay. And?
Otty: Listen, listen. I came over to check on him
Hannah: You mean do laundry
Otty: I’ve been going commando for two weeks. My entire car’s filled with laundry. I can’t see out the rearview. but I can’t go in.
Hannah: Why not?
Otty: Like I said. CAR in his drive
Hannah: Whose is it?
Otty: FFS, Hannah, I don’t know! I wouldn’t be freaking if I did, would I?
Hannah: Go spy
Otty: What do you think I’m doing, sitting here in my car right now?
Hannah: And?
Otty: I’m hungry.
Me: What do you see?
