Life and Other Near-Death Experiences by Camille Pagán Page B

today.”
    I followed Jess’s eyes to the dust bunnies clustered where the cream sectional had been not an hour before. “Maybe,” I allowed. I examined her outfit du jour. “Then again, I’m not the one wearing a feather in my hair without a hint of irony and carrying a bag made from llama foreskins.”
    “It’s ostrich.” She sniffed. “And I’ve been calling you. I’m sorry about the other night, but avoiding me isn’t going to make this better.”
    “I’m not trying to make anything better.”
    Now it was her turn to regard me skeptically. “While I find that hard to believe in theory, the state of your apartment says you’re telling the truth. Where’s your furniture?”
    “I’m redecorating,” I said, unable to suppress my smile.
    “Libby, that is not nice. That furniture meant a lot to Tom.”
    “A shame the same could not be said of our wedding vows.” I laughed, but it came out hollow. “Besides, you and I both know that I paid for nearly every single thing here. Er, that was here. I believe I’m entitled to do as I please with it.”
    “I suppose you are.”
    “Is Tom staying with you guys?” I asked.
    “Yeah. For a little while.” She looked around for a place to sit, but the only options were the coffee table—a long glass number that was both ugly and unstable—and the floor. “You want to go outside for a smoke?”
    “Sure.”
    I hadn’t sold the patio set yet, so we sat on wicker love seats facing each other, Jess puffing away. She’d been trying to quit for years, mostly because O’Reilly hated the smell, but she still had a few a day and reasoned that she would kick the habit for good when she got pregnant. Jess had been putting off pregnancy for as long as I could remember, and she was two years older than me.
    “So you knew for a long time,” I said.
    She exhaled a thin plume of smoke. “No. I only found out last week. But I did wonder.”
    I winced. Jess had suspected it. Why hadn’t I?
    “Oh, Libby, don’t make that face,” she said, pressing her half-finished cigarette into the small glass dish I kept out for her. She didn’t like to smoke them all the way down; too gauche or something. “It’s not like I caught him sneaking into a gay club.”
    “Then what? What was it?” I said. I was starting to cry again, which was annoying.
    “To be honest, I don’t know. I just felt like . . .” She stared at the golden arches peeking over the condo garage. “I always felt like he was a little in love with Michael,” she said, meaning O’Reilly.
    “You did?” I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
    “Um, yeah.” She laughed. “I mentioned it to Michael once, and he was really upset with me, so I never said anything ever again, but I think he secretly agrees with me. He was so shook up when Tom came out to him. I mean, if you were in the dark, then Michael was at the bottom of a cave with a fully functioning flashlight that he refused to turn on. I’m not saying he’s homophobic,” she added quickly, probably thinking about Paul.
    “I know,” I assured her. “And trust me. I get it. You think you know someone . . .”
    “And then you find out you really don’t. Not at all,” she said, and reached into her bag for another cigarette.
    I almost blurted it out. Part of me wanted to unload the horrible thing that was pressing down on my chest like an anvil. But I wouldn’t want Jess to tell anyone, and that would be asking her to lie quietly under the anvil with me.
    “Jess, I would say we should stay friends, but I’m planning on leaving Chicago, and I don’t think I’ll be coming back for a very long time.”
    Jess was about to lift a match to her cigarette, but she put it on the table and came over to sit next to me. “Libby, I love you, but I worry about you sometimes.”
    “Why is everyone always saying that?”
    “Well, why on earth would you think geography will end our friendship? We’ve been friends for, how long is it