Page 38 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

When I risk a glance at Celie, she’s glaring at me. “Start from the top. What the hell happened?”

“Honor seems like the most obvious choice,” I say, nodding. “I think I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

“Nah—” She drops back in her chair, arms crossed. “You wearin’ the face. I seen that face that one time you hit a squirrel and mourned for a month. There’s more to this already fucked up story.”

I fucked Andrew once

and now nothing else feels right.

Is it ‘cause I took him raw?

Is his cum still inside me, and now he’s somehow controlling my body?

Is something like that even possible?

“He texted me,” I mumble.

“HE TEXTED YOU—” She pauses and cocks her head, squinting confused. “He texted you? The fuck he text you? Did he threaten you? Say the word and I’ll⁠—”

“Chill out.” I slide my phone off the table and open his text. “‘Thanks for showing up yesterday,’” I mutter, holding the phone out and showing her the text. “I gave him my whole body, and this kid sends me a thank-you card?”

I scoff before reading the best part, “‘Thanksgiving meant a lot.’” My face falls deadpan. “Meant. Past tense, Celie. Like he's saying, thanks for the memory, Allison.” I set my phone back on the table. “Like that was the peak, and now it’s over.”

Obviously the text isn’t the biggest problem. But it’s something I can blame that’s not myself.

I rake my hand through my hair, looking back up at her. “Didn’t bother askin’ how I was doing after takin’ six and a half inches into my poor, defenseless vagina. Celie, I could’ve ruptured a lung. I could be internally hemorrhaging. I never texted him back, and has he bothered to check back in? Nah. Not even a lil’ ‘you alive?’ Nothing. I could be lying face-down, deceased in my penthouse. Man’s out here sendin’ thank yous while I’m almost two days deep into rigor mortis.”

She winces, face scrunched.

“Were you on top?” she asks, pointing to her neck. “Did you do that chin to chest thing you do while ridin’ him?”

My hand falls to my side.

“Don’t say stupid shit like that⁠—”

I stop.

Go silent.

Glance off to the side.

“Wait.”

My muscles go stiff.

“Did I?”

My stomach’s dropping

and dropping,

and now I’m picturing myself as that Hills Have Eyes extra. “No, but—fuck. What if I turtle’d hard, bro?”

Celie’s trying to keep a straight face.

I lean over and grip the table, my heart in my throat. “What if I double-chinned him to death and he’s too polite to say it?” I ask, and a laugh bursts out of her. I smack the table. “Celie, be honest. Do you think I’d know if I did it? Like… would I feel it? A chin-to-chest tuck?”

I tuck my chin to my chest to see if I can feel it.