23. Jo
Chapter 23
Jo
I sense her presence before I hear the front door open.
“I’m here, bitch!”
I wipe the tears from my face and stand up from the permanent butt print on my Craigslist couch.
Carmen appears in the doorway to the living space and lifts up multiple reusable grocery bags stuffed to the brim.
“And I brought everything to fix you,” she smiles.
She sets the bags down on the coffee table, and I fall right back into my butt spot on the couch, pulling my feet up underneath me and grabbing a blanket from my left.
One by one, she pulls bottles and boxes out of the canvas bags.
“We have beer. We have pizza. We have vibrators!” She grins cheekily and chucks a small pink box at me.
“Carmen!” I snort, examining the box. “Awh, you knew my favorite flower was a rose!”
Carmen walks into the adjoined kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Of course I knew, you slutbag. Roses for your vase and roses for your clit. Just what the doctor ordered!”
Bottles and cans clank together as she stocks the bottom shelf of the barren fridge. She peers up over the door and glares at me.
“Have you eaten today at all? There’s literally zero things in here.”
I shrug, leaning forward and setting the vibrator box down on the coffee table in front of me. “I really haven’t been hungry, Carm.”
The door to the fridge slams shut, and I hear the oven beep and begin to preheat. “Well luckily for you, I’m the best friend a girl could ask for.” She struts over to the bags on the coffee table and pulls out two frozen pizzas. Holding them up to show me, I smile. She’s elicited more will to live from me than I’ve had in weeks.
“You even got my favorite toppings!” I pop up off the couch, pulling Carmen into a tight hug. She pats me on the back with the frozen pizzas in her hands and kisses my forehead. The lingering scent of her citrus shampoo makes me smile.
“I’m simply not sure how one could choose to put olives and mushrooms on their pizza, but we all know it’s still not your biggest flaw.” She pulls away from me and walks into the kitchen once more. I pull a bar stool up to the island and watch as she unwraps the plastic covering on the pizza. Carmen is the best friend that every girl wishes she had. She’s there for me in my lowest of lows, and I can always count on her to come to the rescue when a man inevitably fucks up my life once again. Just like today.
“Oh yeah? What’s my biggest flaw?” I retort.
“Jo, please. You’re a heterosexual.”
My head hits the countertop with a loud thunk, and I roll my forehead back and forth over the cold granite.
“Please, you already know if I could choose, I would choose you, ya bitch!” My voice echoes off the counter, and I slowly lift it back up to look at her.
Carmen moves fluidly through the kitchen, pulling the pizza pan out of the cabinet and organizing all of our favorite pizza spices on the island next to me. I’ve only lived in this apartment for about a year, but she knows exactly where everything is without asking.
The oven beeps to signal that it’s preheated, and Carmen places the frozen pizza on the pan and pulls open the oven door. A whoosh of warm air hits my skin, and I realize I’ve been shivering. I lean to my left to check the thermostat on the wall. It reads 59℉, and I gasp.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was the Arctic Circle in here? No wonder I’m shivering!” I reach out to turn on the heat and nearly fall off of the barstool. “Okay, also, you’re right. I need to eat something.”
She fakes a gasp, placing the pizza pan on the top rack of the oven. “I love it when you tell me I’m right.”
Four hours, two six-packs, and three pizzas later, I lay on the living room floor staring at the ceiling fan. Carmen plops facedown on the couch next to me and groans. “Ugh, why’d you let me eat so much, Jo? You’re going to have to roll me out of here in the morning!”
I laugh wholeheartedly and chuck a throw pillow at her, missing by at least two feet.
“Good thing you’re not an orthopedic surgeon. Your lack of athleticism is astounding,” Carmen responds playfully. She rolls off the couch onto the floor and lays on her back next to me. Her hand grabs mine and she squeezes it tightly. “Are you going to tell me about what prompted this mental breakdown?”
I sit up slowly and wrap a blanket around my middle. Carmen stares up at me from the floor with a sad smile on her face. How do I tell her that the man that shattered my heart into a thousand pieces—the man who couldn’t bother to show up to my father’s funeral—decided to waltz into our beginning-of-the-school-year faculty meeting? How does one just explain that a man who bounced in and out of my life for years has now walked back in and firmly planted himself right in front of my face with no room for escape?
“It’s Isaac . He…”
I stop short of an explanation and release Carmen’s hand. Quickly pulling her t-shirt sleeve up, I shake my head in disbelief. “Did you get a new fucking tattoo today?”
She rolls away from me like she’s trying to put out a fire. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jo. I’m going to gaslight you into believing I would never do such a thing after I said I needed to save money.”
She stops rolling and sits up, throwing a fake grin my way. “Tell me,” she says. “Say it.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly pop out of their sockets. “Life’s too short, go get the tattoo.” She joins in with a sing-song voice, repeating the famous words of my father.
Carmen starts rolling up the arm of her t-shirt, and I watch as she reveals not one, not two, but three new tattoos in her sleeve-in-progress.
“I will actually murder you, woman!” I exclaim as I lean in to get a closer look.
I’m silently grateful the conversation about Isaac passed without a second thought.
I flop down onto the couch, and Carmen pushes herself up onto the chaise opposite my butt print. “I think it’s time for bed, sister friend,” she says. Before I can say goodnight, I hear soft snores begin to escape her mouth. I throw the largest blanket I can find over her, and saunter off to my room to get ready for bed. And I definitely do not think about Isaac as I drift off to sleep.
The next morning, I wake to the smell of fresh coffee. I rub my eyes and grab my glasses, dragging myself out of bed. The kitchen is empty and tidy. All the pillows are exactly where I like them on the couch. Not one thing out of place.
A plate of cinnamon rolls and my favorite mug sits next to the glass stove top with a messily scribbled note:
Don’t think you’re off the hook for bringing up Isaac. Got a hip replacement to do today. Coffee soon. - Carm