Page 69 of When Stars Collide
“How many times this week are you going to clean out the fridge?” Jo asked, leaning against the counter.
“Until I’m no longer pulling out things with green fuzz growing on them.”
“Good luck with that.”
“What the hell?” I pulled out a ball of something green, orange, and nauseatingly squishy.
“Oh, my peach. I wondered where that went.”
I contemplated throwing the fruit at Jo, but then decided against it, knowing she would retaliate.
“So, when’s your surgery?”
“In two weeks—January 30th.”
“Nervous?”
“Honestly, no. I’m looking forward to finally getting it out of the way and moving on with my life.” I hadn’t told too many people about my diagnosis, and the way Jo was looking at me from across the kitchen perfectly illustrated the reason why. I despised being pitied. It made me feel vulnerable, which was the last thing I wanted to be. “Oh, I’m going to be gone next weekend. Elle’s having the first of a few bridal showers.”
“That means the wedding must be getting close.”
“In less than four months.”
“So, that means I’m going to have the apartment all to myself.” Jo smiled, rubbing her hands together. “Guess I should start deciding what the flavor of the week is going to be this week.”
Usually I could turn a blind eye to Jo’s sexual exploits, but for some reason—maybe it was the fact that my ass was numb from sitting on the cold tile floor in a thin pair of cotton shorts, or because I was elbow deep in a produce drawer filled with more penicillin than fruit—I felt myself compelled to address the thoughts I normally kept to myself.
“Aren’t you getting tired of pointless hookups? Maybe it was cute in your twenties, but twenty you are not.”
Jo furrowed her brow. “You sound like my parents.”
“Then maybe you should take that as a sign that you should make some major life changes.”
“Why do you care what I do?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jo. Because even though we only met when you responded to an online ad because I needed a roommate to afford rent, I actually do care about you, and I know destructive behavior when I see it.”
“Don’t sit there and act like you have your life together,” Jo countered. She rarely got mad at me, but this topic of conversation had really struck a nerve with her.
I reached back into the refrigerator drawer and pulled out a slimy … apple? A lemon? Jimmy Hoffa?
“I just don’t understand you, Jo. You had a great girl in that Madison broad and you let her get away.”
Confused, Jo stared at me, while her brain searched for the dusty file with Madison’s name written on it.
“Hoodie girl.”
“Oh! Yeah, okay.”
“She really liked you, and you treated her like a piece of trash, discarding her when you were done with her. All I’m saying is, maybe you may want to start caring about the trail of broken hearts and hurt feelings you’re leaving behind.”
“As you said, we found each other through an ad. We’re a business transaction, nothing more. You know nothing about me or my life, so please stay out of it.” Without another word, Jo stormed off to her bedroom.
“You know, I have cancer, so you’re kind of obligated to be nice to me,” I called out after her, only to be met by the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut.
*****
I pulled on a pair of pantyhose, regretting almost immediately that I had done so. Few things existed that I detested more than pantyhose, but today was Elle’s day, and if she wanted classy, she was going to get classy, even if it meant cutting off my circulation in the process. Hanging next to the bed in the spare bedroom at Elle and Luke’s place was the orange dress I’d bought just for the occasion. Elle asked that her bridesmaids attend her shower dressed in her wedding colors. A simple enough request from the bride who’d been anything but difficult, yet I had an inkling that I was going to develop a strong aversion to all things citrus before the wedding was over.
