Who You Know by Theresa Alan Page A

be awoken an hour later by Martha sucking savagely on my neck. I tried to explain that her nursing days were over and no matter how hard she sucked on my neck she would never be nourished with milk, but despite her lack of results she was determined to find comfort by nursing on my jugular vein. I would toss her off me and she would return within seconds. I grabbed her and held her at arm’s length while she struggled to regain access to my neck, then I let her go and dove for cover beneath my quilt and pillow. The determined Martha gnawed at me through the quilt. Kittens look harmless, but their teeth can be painful and are entirely unconducive to slumber.
    I would go off to work the next morning wearing a turtleneck to hide the hickeys given to me by my kitten, which symbolized the state of my life more than I cared to think about.

JEN
    Wallowing 101
    I was far too depressed to eat; that much was obvious. I poured myself another glass of red wine and surveyed the damage. Half a dozen bags from the mall littered the living room floor. Shopping therapy.
    Every time we broke up, I went on a shopping spree. I know material things don’t solve problems, but I felt better for a while anyway.
    I got a slinky black dress and black lace bra and underwear. I already had about six black bras, but I couldn’t help myself. I look good in black.
    This absolutely had to be the last time we broke up. I could not afford to max out my credit cards again. I was still in dire financial straits from helping Dave out with his car and credit problems. It was so unfair—I drove an old car, never traveled, lived in a shithole of an apartment, but still didn’t make enough money to buy a few new outfits every now and then without maxing out my credit cards. I needed a better job, a job that paid a livable wage. My chance was coming. When Sharon went on maternity leave, I’d get the chance to take over her spot for a couple of months. I just needed to make sure she picked me.
    I drained my glass of wine.
    Must not call Dave. Must not call Dave. God, I missed him already. He was so bad for me. Why couldn’t I fall for a sweet nerd like Rette did?
    Why was it that you can know you’re making a mistake, but you make it anyway? It was like when I used Sun-In in eighth grade. Even girls with light brown hair ended up with orange-streaked locks. I, with my dark red hair, ended up with hair that looked like a fire engine streaked with rust and decorated with bright yellow yarn. Very attractive. I had suspected it wasn’t actually a good idea, but the lure of inexpensive highlights had just proven too much. It was like getting wicked drunk to feel a little peace and clarity when all it ever brought was a heinous hangover.
    Dave was totally irresponsible. He was even worse with money than I was, which, let me tell you, is saying something. Although, maybe in a way, I liked being the responsible one in the relationship. Everyone always thought of me as Miss Irresponsibility. That’s what I got for having a brainiac overachiever for a sister. I wasn’t like a total failure in school; it only seemed like that because Rette was such a flaming teacher’s pet. Also, my little stay in the hospital my freshman year in college certainly didn’t help my grades any. The deal was, I was scared of gaining the freshman fifteen, and I went a little overboard and got a tiny little case of bulimia. Only my mother knows about it; not even Rette knows. But you can’t miss that many classes in college; it destroys your GPA. Believe me, I know.
    Anyway, as I was saying, in a way I liked being the responsible one. When Dave went to buy his car, I had to cosign because he couldn’t have credit after having some little credit problems, and it was kind of cool that he had to depend on me. But let me tell you, being responsible got old . Dave absolutely never took me out. I paid for everything. Once, I lent him my last thirty