I took a giant sip of my Captain and Coke and we ended our call with the polite, sweet voices of women who could barely stand each other.
My stomach dropped when I walked down the sidewalk on Thursday night and saw Amanda’s car parked in the Averys’ drive. I was coming alone. I needed a little break from … my other life. Jolene’s friends had a natural suspicion anytime someone new was introduced into the group. They gave you the hard eye, evaluating exactly what it was she saw in you. I consoled myself with the fact that it was Amanda, it could be worse. I wished I hadn’t taken so long to choose the purple sheath dress I was wearing. It always gave you the advantage to be the person greeting people into a room rather than being the one greeted. Jolene had texted earlier and told me to come in without ringing the bell. When I opened the door, I was greeted by the sound of laughter. I felt jealous that they’d started without me, but I wiped my face clean of emotion and stepped inside.
“Fig!” someone called out. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Jolene peeked her head around the doorway, a brilliant smile on her face. I edged my way around the living room, bracing myself for the onslaught of eyes. What I saw when I turned the corner was Jolene crouching in front of the dishwasher wearing my dress. At the very least it wasn’t purple, she was wearing the black option I’d debated over for hours. Purple or black? Purple or black? In the end I’d settled on the purple because it was less funeral and more summer. Now, seeing Jolene in the black, I was doubting my decision. The dress made you notice her more, but it came secondary to what you knew was underneath the fabric. I smiled weakly, expecting everyone to comment right away on our fashion mishap, but no one seemed to notice as they said hello.
I’m wearing the same dress as her, I wanted to scream. Are you people blind?
Jolene asked what I wanted to drink.
“Whatever you’re having,” I said. She left to pour me a gin and tonic, and Amanda came over to say hi.
“You look so great,” she exclaimed.
Normally, I’d be weary of a compliment from another woman, who often only gave compliments to either point out a flaw: You look great, not at all fat like you used to be. Or: You look great, have you lost weight? I lost weight too, can you tell? But she left it at that, moving the topic to warm weather and then my work. And I did look great. She handed my drink and the ice rattled against the glass. I cast a sideways glance at Jolene, who was standing next to Darius. His arm was wrapped casually around her waist, and it looked like his thumb was playing with the line of her panties through her dress. I wasn’t wearing any panties; he’d be more fulfilled doing that to me. She wasn’t near as skinny as I was.
Like the universe was out to sting me, Amanda said, “I love your dress, Jolene, you look like a sex kitten.”
Darius smiled over his shoulder at her and said, “I know, right. I can’t keep my hands off.”
“Luckily you don’t have to,” she shot back. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed the camaraderie between Amanda and Darius. I retreated into the corner of the kitchen feeling sulky. Amanda and Darius shared a similar dryness, I supposed. Their jokes always ended with deadpan stares and collective confusion around the room about whether they were serious or pulling your leg.
Jolene announced that if we wanted to make our reservation we needed to head to the restaurant. Darius and Jolene drove their car, and after a brief exchange outside, Amanda and Hollis jumped into the back seat.
“Come with us, Fig,” they called out. I didn’t want to be squashed in the middle. I was aggravated as I walked to my car, cursing under my breath. This all felt like a big setup.
When we got to the restaurant, the hostess complimented Jolene on her dress. I rolled my eyes so hard.
I was the last to the table and the farthest away from Jolene and Darius. I slid into my seat, trying not to make eye contact with anyone lest they see my annoyance. The conversation flitted from what everyone was going to order, to where you could get the best oysters for your buck. Oysters were an aphrodisiac, Darius told us. We’d all heard it before, but everyone pretended to be interested anyway. Pretty soon we were on the topic of sex. I shot glances at Darius while he spoke, wondering what he was like in bed. I’d heard Jolene’s labored moaning from their open bedroom window on more than one occasion. I hadn’t had sex in so long Nooni began to tingle.
My mother named my privates, Nooni. She said she didn’t want me to be in the grocery store like her friend Lisa’s daughter, screaming out, My vagina is burning! in the checkout line. So, we called it Nooni, and that was that. I don’t really know where she came up with that name, except in sixth grade my friend Katie called her grandma Nooni, which made things really awkward for me. I called her grandma Vagina in my head. I never told Katie that. The name Nooni probably should have dropped off at some point, but it stuck all the way through college and into adulthood. And here I was at the dinner table thinking about Nooni as I stared down at my French onion soup, everyone laughing around me.