You Love Me(You #3)(34)

12





“I knew it!” Melanda grips a pink can of pepper spray, pink as your mother’s Cadillac. “I knew you were a pervert the day we met,” she says. “Two words: Woody. Allen.”

Fuck. Fuck. “Melanda, no, this isn’t what you think.”

She grunts. “For the last fucking time, you don’t tell me what I think. I know what you’re doing, pervert.”

“You’re wrong. Let me… please listen to me.”

She grinds her big angry boot into my chest and there will be a bruise. “Aw, do you want me to listen to you, Joe? Are you gonna tell me you were out here bird-watching? Are you gonna tell me that you didn’t even know that Nomi lives in this house?”

Nomi. No. Not her. NO. I can’t breathe and I am the bird, dying in the dirt. “Melanda, this isn’t what you think.”

“He loves books! He adores film. And he does love birds. Birds as in teenage girls.”

My vocal cords freeze up on me. The boot. The lie. “No, Melanda. No, no, I was not looking at Nomi.”

“Don’t even try, pervert.” She presses a number on her phone and she thinks I’m a pervert and you don’t come back from a pedo accusation and I am not a fucking pedophile and Melanda may be skilled in the art of self-defense, but she has a lot to learn about offense. I grab her by the Sorel and I yank. Hard. She goes down and her phone goes down and I clamp my hand over her big vicious mouth. I pick up the closest rock.

Crunch.



* * *



I’m still shaking, Mary Kay. My attacker is locked up downstairs in my Whisper Room and this sort of shit isn’t supposed to happen in Cedar Fucking Cove. I moved here to be happy. I moved here to make peace, to find peace, and now my ribs are flaring, hot like McRibs.

My kittens are useless and clueless, meowing and playing like nothing ever happened—thanks, fuckers—and I pick up my phone with my trembling hand. I set up security cameras downstairs so that I have eyes on her, and she’s still asleep for now.

I didn’t ask to be tangled up in your Blues, Mary Kay. The situation is calm for now, but I can’t keep her here forever—she’s not a fucking cat—and I can’t let her go—and I don’t want to be the guy who killed your best friend. (Even though it would be self-defense if one thinks of the reputation as part of the self, which it is.)

At least I have her phone—thanks for the thumbprint access, Apple!—and I’m getting a Master’s in All Things Melanda. She’s been scheming to move to Minnesota to chase down the only decent guy she ever dated, so I informed the school that she was taking a leave to go out of town for some job interviews. They didn’t seem surprised—she fights with everyone at that school—and I had to give her an alibi, Mary Kay. We live in America and a single, relatively attractive woman can’t just “disappear,” because there’s nothing women love more than stories about missing women.

But she does have to go, Mary Kay. As it turns out, your “best friend” is a double agent. She’s always whining to you about her old friend Netty—they met on Melanda’s semester abroad—and you are supportive. But then she talks to Netty… about you. We have to end their toxic friendship—we can’t have Netty calling Interpol—so I send Netty a text from Melanda’s phone, a text meant for you.

So I’m horrible lol but once again I’m done with Netty. She’s whining about her birthday like she’s in sixth grade and it’s like Netty honey get a life you know lolol horrible I know.

Netty got the message—oops!—and she snaps right back: I think this was meant for Mary Kay. Have a nice life. Block. Mute. Bye.

Netty unfollows Melanda in all the stupid places—that’s one achievement unlocked!—and she shares a passive-aggressive meme about fake friends and maybe I could do this for a living. Take your phone, fix your life.

My ribs are cooling off and in a sick way, I’m happy that Melanda came after me. See, Mary Kay, you never told me that we have an enemy in our midst. She’s been campaigning against me for weeks—I knew it—and you always defend me, and women are on guard when it comes to men—I get it—but never mind me, Mary Kay. You should see what she says about you. I screenshot one of the worst entries in her notepad app:

MK and those skirts honestly we get it you have legs lol and MK shows up with no call bc I live alone as if I have no life HELLO I HAVE A LIFE—and I know you love her, but this woman is not your Friend. This is why I don’t try too hard to keep up with Exclamation Point Ethan, Mary Kay, and this is why Friends is a lie.

Most people wouldn’t like their friends if they got into their phones.

You would want me to have empathy for Melanda, and okay. She does try to be a better person. She bought nine meditation apps—they’re not working—and you warn her that Alice & Olivia are like her drug dealers and she sends you excerpts of her food diary—NINE SAFEWAY DONUT HOLES I HATE EVERYONE BUT HATE ME THE MOST RIGHT NOW GRRRR FUCK YOU PATRIARCHY FUCK YOU SAFEWAY—and you rightfully tell her that she isn’t fat—fuck you, United States of Body Dysmorphia—but there’s a lot you don’t know, Mary Kay.

Would you still have empathy for Melanda if you knew that she manipulated two unpaid, uncredited interns into building her feminist incubator? That’s right, Mary Kay. Just ask the interns, Eileen and DeAnn. Your best friend doesn’t support other women. She erases them.