The Dirty Book Club(55)

“Which was?”

“Sexual urges are perfectly natural, Samantha, and masturbation is the safest way to explore them. You can’t get an STD, you won’t get pregnant, and you’ll never feel pressured or used. And the best part? You’ll have an orgasm. Then, I’d give her a vibrator and make her promise not to let another guy in her pants until it was the right guy. Someone who made her feel better than the vibrator. . . .”

While Addie talked, M.J. took in the high pitch of her cheekbones, the full lips that looked puckered but weren’t, and those curves. Her sex appeal was undeniable. It was the skeleton key to every locked door that stood in her way. But to understand Addie was to know that she’d rather open those doors with an impassioned kick than a key; that she only used the key when a kick didn’t work.

“Anyway, some of the moms found out about my little giveaways and threatened to picket the clinic if I wasn’t let go, and Lara did what any spineless script follower would do and fired me.” Addie shrugged like it was no big deal. Then gave way to her tears because it was.

“Why didn’t Lara defend you? It’s her clinic. She obviously knew about the vibrators,” M.J. said, suddenly outraged. Mostly for Addie, but for herself, too, because where the hell was Gayle? It was five o’clock on the east coast, why hadn’t she acknowledged the signed contract? “Screw these bosses with their team-building retreats and trust-fall exercises. They’re supposed to have their employees’ backs and catch us when we’re going down. Instead, they just get out of the way and let us crash.”

“Lara didn’t exactly know,” Addie said, in the tiniest of voices. “The vibrators were mine. I bought three hundred during a fire sale because I thought they would help. I never made a dime off them. I swear.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her lab coat.

“It’s not fair.”

“It is now,” Addie said. “I snagged a bunch of condoms, birth control pills, HPTs, and a model of the uterus on my way out. I also took Lara’s Weight Watchers lunch from the staff room. Zucchini lasagna. Want some?”

“I’m not a zucchini person.”

“Good.” Addie sighed. “Because I’m starving.” She padded barefoot across the grass, and popped the trunk of her Mazda Miata. It was overflowing with contraband. “What do you need, and don’t be shy, there’s enough here to last us until menopause.”

“Malnutrition is my method of choice,” M.J. said, then realized how glib that must sound to a women’s health advocate.

“Seriously, I’m not going to charge you.”

“I am serious,” M.J. admitted. “I don’t get regular periods because I tend to be underweight so—”

“So what?” Addie folded her arms. A disappointed school marm. “NYC Ninjas can’t get knocked up, is that what you’re saying?”

“Kind of.”

“Maybe you’re not getting your period because you’re already pregnant.”

M.J. leaned against the Miata, her legs heavy from the prosecco, or maybe the realization that she and Dan had unsafe sex because she was skinny and he was a doctor so what could possibly go wrong?

Addie removed a cardboard box and Lara’s lasagna from the trunk, then closed it with a self-righteous slam.

“It’s a little late for birth control.”

“It’s not birth control, they’re home pregnancy tests.” Addie stomped up the porch steps and opened the front door. “To the latrine.”

“What? No! Forget it.”

“It’s okay,” Addie said. “I’ll be your grown-up.”

Inside the bathroom, which still carried a trace of cherry-almond shampoo from her earlier shower, Addie bit through the silver foil wrapper and handed the stick to M.J. “Pee.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

M.J. closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat. “I don’t know,” she said, because how could she tell someone whose life just fell apart that she can’t handle her life falling apart. Not yet, anyway. It was too soon for another round of punishing what-ifs. Too soon to search for silver linings. Too soon for heavy-lidded debates about the meaning of life and podcasts about accepting what is. It was just too soon.

With an exhausted savior’s sigh, Addie switched places with M.J., pulled up her lab coat, and took the test herself. “See? It’s easy.” She tossed the stick on the shower floor. It landed with a nothing-to-it plink.

“I’m not scared of the test,” M.J. said. “I’m scared of the results.”

“There are always options.” Addie offered a fresh stick. “Now pee!”

“Options?” M.J. thought as she pulled down her shorts. She couldn’t imagine having an abortion any more than she could imagine having a baby, so how comforting were these options? The only positive here would be a negative.

When she was done, M.J. tossed the dripping stick onto the shower floor, hung her head between her legs, and hoped that her sister, April, had enough sense to distract her parents and keep them from looking down.

“Holy shit,” Addie said, turning on the faucet. “Look.”

Ears ringing, M.J. said she couldn’t.

“There’s one negative and one positive.”