Page 47 of Riding the Pine

“Period poverty.”

She smirks like she’s just discovered the cure to a debilitating disease. “Then that’s what you champion.”

I sigh. “If only it was that easy. There are so many good causes out there. Access to healthcare, domestic violence…”

My best friend starts… laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” Because I sure as hell know she’s not laughing at domestic violence.

“You, my beautiful, goddess of a friend. You are funny. And nothing at all like your namesake.” She pauses, mug halfway to her mouth. “Actually, I take that back. You totally are, strategic, fiercely intelligent, sharp as fuck. But this…” She gestures between us like she’s referring to our conversation.

“Championing women? How very unlike you.” She winks at me before taking another drink.

“For there was no mother who gave me birth; and in all things, except for marriage, whole-heartedly I am for the male and entirely on the father’s side. Therefore, I will not award greater honor to the death of a woman who killed her husband, the master of the house.” I’m quoting the play, The Eumenides by Aeschylus. Granted, Aeschylus was a male Athenian playwright whose plays affirm the city’s status quo, and probably his gender’s as well.

We’ll never truly know what she was like, but she gives misogyny.

When I was younger, I tried to read everything I could get my hands on about the gods my brothers and I were named after. I wanted to know whether we should aspire to be like our namesakes or not.

Turns out, most of the Greek gods were kind of assholes, but not having women’s backs? Athena crossed a line from which she could never come back from with me.

Savannah sweeps her hand, not needing to say, ‘I told you so.’

“Can’t let my gender down, you know?” I take another drink. “The patriarchy does that enough for both of us.”

She holds up her mug, waiting for me to clink mine against it. “Then let’s change the world.” Picking up her cell phone, she’s already tapping on the screen. Another second or two later, she’s hissing through her teeth. “Jesus.” She pauses. “Jeeeeeesus.”

She knows I’m neither in her brain nor looking over her shoulder, right? “What?”

“Nearly one in four students in the US have struggled to buy period products. That’s almost twenty five percent, Hen. I had no idea.” Her voice is full of pain as I nod.

“Period-dot-org, right? I read that website every time I get my period like I’m hoping the statistics will have changed in the last twenty-nine days. One in three adults, too.”

Her face falls. “You’re kidding me. Athena… please tell me you’re kidding me. One in three people who have periods struggle to afford period products?” Her voice is taking on a vague note of hysteria before resolve sets in to each of her features. “We need to fix this.”

“Don’t get me started. Twenty states still tax period products, twenty-eight states out of fifty have passed legislation to increase access to period products in schools, and some schools have been getting blasted for requiring proof of your period for it to be allowed as an excused absence.”

She snorts. “Yeah, and we know how quick and successful implementing passed legislation can be. Wonder if it would be any faster if we all started mailing our clots to our elected representatives.” She’s pissed, and there’s nothing more effective than a pissed-off woman.

She stares at my face for a long time before she speaks again. “This isn’t on a whim. It’s been brewing for a while, right?”

As much as I love finally having a best friend, I hate that she can see right through me, even when I try to keep my walls nice and high. And strong as fuck.

I nod. “Just because I’m rich doesn’t mean I’m out of touch with the real world.” I swallow. “I know that’s not how normal rich people are supposed to act, so it may seem a little weird.” I wink at her. “Difference being, I don’t have a dick, and I actually care about people.”

She clasps her heart. “I should have recorded this whole conversation, Hen. Who knew that under your prickly exterior lay a smushy, sweet-hearted woman who just wants to be tampon Santa Claus.”

I snicker. “I could totally be sexy Santa.”

She nods. “You could. And I bet with the money you’re making on your investments you could buy a shit ton of tampons, too.”

She’s not wrong. I had no idea about any of this shit until the boys educated me. Every now and then I’ll go to Apollo for advice on what to do with my portfolio. Do I have financial advisers? Of course, I’m not an idiot. But sometimes what my brother says is even more important because he knows me best.

“I’ll give it some thought.”

She nods, knowing I’m a do-er, and once I put my mind to something, I make it happen.

She slides down in her chair a little to get comfier. “And all of this came from Apollo’s accident?”

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