Gone into the fire. I don’t tell the girls they’re from Bartlett because if Habiba thinks it’s bad keeping things for six weeks, what would she say knowing I kept stuff for over two years?
I don’t know why I kept them. I don’t love him; I don’t love either of them, not anymore. If ever.
I keep telling myself that, but I must be an unreliable narrator, because I don’t even believe myself.
I did love Bartlett, and he broke my heart. And maybe I loved Liv, or maybe—and I’d never admit this to anyone other than myself—it was some rebellious experimentation brought about by a broken heart. Liv wasn’t the first woman I’d been with, but she was the first I’d changed my status to bisexual for. But if I was only with her because I was hurting… well, that’s not fair to her.
This fire is more to purge myself of Bartlett’s bad mojo than anyone else.
Into the flames goes a T-shirt from the first concert we went to, his toothbrush (don’t ask), and a nail file he kept on my night table. (Again, don’t ask.) A few letters from Liv, including a postcard, from her vacation in Costa Rica. I also throw in Bandy’s old collar.
Of course, the girls catch that.
“That might not burn,” Demi warns.
“That shouldn’t burn because you shouldn’t have it,” Biba says, disapproval ringing in her voice. “It’s Bandy’s. The dog’s been gone for two years, Rach.”
“I know.”
“What else have you got in there that was from the Bartlett era?”
“Not much.” I toss in another sweater, and this time the fire is big enough for it to catch right away so they can’t see the Osgoode Hall Law School logo. It had been Bartlett’s favourite sweatshirt, one of his proudest accomplishments.
I loved wearing it on chilly mornings, curled around him in bed.
I broke into his place to take it a week after he took Bandy back.
“That’s the third article of clothing,” Demi says. “Maybe I should have suggested a trip to Goodwill.”
“That’s the end of it. And this.” I hold the sky-blue Kate Spade wallet Bartlett gave me for my birthday the day before I found out he had been cheating on me. I love that wallet, but I’ve never used it.
I swing my arm back to toss, but Biba grabs my wrist. “You are not throwing that in there.”
“It’s got bad mojo.”
“Not for me it doesn’t.” She unfurls my fingers and takes the wallet from me. “It’s brand new. Did you ever use it?” Mutely, I shake my head, and from the sympathetic expressions on their faces, both of my friends are well aware this is more Bartlett than Liv.
Biba opens the wallet and finds a yellow Post-it inside. My breath catches as she starts to hand it to me. “No,” she decides, snatching it back. Without a glance on what’s written, she balls it up and throws it into the fire.
Demi rubs her hands together. “This is good. This is really good.” She glances at Biba. “Are you really going to use the wallet?” she asks under her breath.
“No, I’ll give it to my sister for her birthday.”
“I’m cool with that.” My voice sounds leaden, dull, and I can’t tear my gaze away from the flames. “It’s nice leather. Probably would have been bad for us if we’d burnt it.”
“The ghost of Kate Spade would have struck us down,” Biba agrees, tossing the wallet onto the grass so she can catch my hand in hers.
“I’m going to add more sage,” Demi says. She pulls what looks like a whole plant from the bag and leans forward to place it on the fire.
Immediately, a plume of horrible-smelling smoke puffs out.
“That is not sage.” Biba waves her hand while clapping her other over her nose.
“What is it?” I start to laugh, since the smoke seems to have purged my almost overwhelming urge to burst into tears.
“It was in my garden,” Demi cries. “It looked like sage.”
“You didn’t have to put the whole plant in,” Biba says, the words muffled.
