I’ve had two more run-ins—one, three years ago during what I like to call my incident, and the other, only a few weeks ago.
I don’t like dogs and dogs clearly don’t like me. And I try hard to stay away from dog people.
Rachel is clearly a dog person.
I need to stay away from her.
So why do I look back to find her staring after me? And why does that make my heart race more than any dog?
5
Rachel
Friday night,Biba and Demi arrive as the sun is setting.
I must have a skeptical expression on my face as I open the door, Rusty running circles with excitement behind me, because Demi uses her reassuring voice on me.
“This will work. It’s a very good idea to expel the negative energies released after a breakup,” she soothes.
“Six weeks after a breakup. Must be a whole whack of this negative energies.” Biba raises her eyebrow as she pushes past me to crouch down with Rusty.
“Do you have everything?” Demi ignores Biba’s remark.
“The bag is in the back with the fire ready to be lit.” I may not have seemed too into Demi’s idea last night, but as I’ve combed through the house looking for any remnants of Liv, I found quite a few from Bartlett. They are now in the bag waiting outside.
Better gone than taking up space. I haven’t heard about Marie Kondo setting things on fire, but it sounds like a plan to me.
I lead the way into the kitchen, to the back door leading into the stamp-sized backyard. “Watch for poop,” I advise. “I always think I get all of it and then I end up with a piece on my shoe.”
“I’m going to need something to drink if that’s the case,” Biba says, the ever-loyal Rusty trotting at her side.
Even though no one steps in anything mushy, I pour drinks as Demi busies herself with lighting the wad of newspaper and sticks I’ve set up in a bare spot of the garden. I took Demi’s suggestion of Prosecco but, wary of another headache, mix it with Aperol and soda water. Then, drinks in hand, we wait for the flames to catch.
“Is anyone else going to do this?” I ask.
“I’m in a relationship, Rach,” Demi says with her utmost patience.
“It’s been years since I’ve cared about someone enough to throw out their stuff,” Biba adds.
“You’d think you’d want to throw out their stuff if you didn’t care,” I say.
“I wouldn’t have kept anything in the first place,” she corrects.
Biba says she doesn’t have time for love, but I think it’s more like she’s extremely picky about whom she dates, and no one lasts longer than a few weeks. She’s had one serious boyfriend, but when Tariq died in a freak waterskiing accident, Biba vowed never to love again.
She didn’t actually say those words, but she’s never let herself get close to anyone, so I think a silent vow was said.
As for Demi, it would be a treat for all if she threw Ethan into the fire.
But I’ve been a supportive friend to them through their ups and downs, as they have for me. They’re better at support, having more practice. First Michael broke my heart in art school, then Raj turned out to the worst rebound boyfriend ever, then Bartlett broke my heart and stole my dog, and finally my experimentation with Liv turned more serious than expected.
Biba and Demi never batted an eyelash when I ended up with a woman. In fact, they’ve never batted an eye with any of my ideas.
“Time to burn,” Demi sings, sounding entirely too happy about her little arson idea. “Whatcha got, Rach?”
Without a word, I pull out a sweatshirt that Liv left here. Or rather, she wore it to sleep in the very first night she stayed over, and I hid it under the bed. It suffocates the flames as I throw it on the fire and Biba groans. Luckily, the sleeve catches and I watch the grey fabric turn black at the edge. As the others watch the sweater burn, I toss in a stack of yellow Post-it notes, some folded so many times that they’re ripped along the seams.
Bartlett used to hide notes for me, once using up the rest of my Post-it pad.I love you more than you love Froot Loops.The curve of your breast under that shirt drove me crazy all night. You should do something about Bandy’s digestion cuz the gurgles kept me up last night.
