“What about me? I’m single,” says Vanya indignantly.
“You love the weirdos. You actively seek out the weirdos.”
“That’s true,” says Vanya, pulling down her red beanie hat and drumming out a tune on the back of Dee’s seat with her fingers.
“Look, all I know is, if I can’t have a love story like my parents had—world stops turning, soulmate kind of love—then I’d rather be on my own.” I pause, weighing my words, anxious not to offend my oldest friend. “And, you know, Dee, I’m not a baton you have to pass on. I’m not going to fall to pieces if I’m on my own for a bit.”
“It’s not that, Laura, of course it’s not that. I didn’t mean to suggest you need to have a man in your life. All I’m saying is, I thought David made you happy—happier.” Her lips twitch into a smile. “I just don’t want you holding out for something that doesn’t exist. These couples you interview for the site—you should go back and talk to them in six months when the oxytocin has worn off and they’re arguing about how he leaves his sweaty running gear loose in the laundry bin and stinks out the whole damn bathroom.”
“You’re really selling married life to us, Dee,” says Vanya.
Dee ignores her and shoots me a wide-eyed look, clearly worried she’s caused offense.
“And you’re not a baton I’m trying to palm off. Even if you met Prince bloody Charming and rode off into the sunset, I would never let go of this baton.” She points a finger back and forth between us.
“I know. Me too,” I say, feeling a gush of love for this woman.
“Right, anyway, I’ve said my piece.” Dee blinks. “This conversation isn’t passing the Bechdel test, so let’s talk about something else.”
Dee is obsessed with the Bechdel test. It’s a checklist used to see whether women are being represented as well-rounded characters in fiction or film. Essentially, to pass the test, two female characters have to have a conversation about something other than men. On feminist principle, Dee won’t watch or read anything that doesn’t pass.
“Is us talking about the Bechdel test enough for us to pass the Bechdel test?” Vanya asks, pulling on her seatbelt strap and leaning forward between our seats.
“I don’t know,” Dee says, looking genuinely perplexed.
“Well, I have some non-man-themed news,” Vanya says, pausing until she has our full attention. “I got my mortgage approved.” She bites her lip and then squeals with excitement.
“That’s wonderful,” says Dee.
“Wow,” I say, clapping my hands, but feeling my stomach churn. That means she’s really moving out. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. And don’t worry, Laura, I won’t be going anywhere until at least December, you’ll have loads of time to find the new me.”
Four months. Dee will be married and living in Surrey, and Vanya will own a flat in Hackney. Everyone is moving on, without me.
“Oh, and I have a present for your trip,” Vanya says, handing me a paperback with an orange-and-black-striped cover. “Tiger Woman by Bee Bee Graceful” is written in bold gold lettering across the front. “We’re reading it for my book club. It’s going to change your life.”
She is always recommending me books that are going to “change my life.”
“What kind of a name is ‘Bee Bee Graceful’？” I ask.
“It must be a pseudonym. I don’t think anyone knows who Tiger Woman really is, it’s the biggest literary mystery since Elena Ferrante. Honestly, you need to read, it will help you re-harness your inner tigress, take control of your destiny.”
Dee shakes her head but doesn’t comment.
* * *
*
When we finally pull into departures at Gatwick, I feel a bit sick after Dee’s swervy driving and all the Haribos I’ve eaten. Vanya and Dee both get out of the car to hug me good-bye.
“Don’t forget to feed the fish,” I tell Vanya, as I pull my black carry-on from the trunk. We don’t have fish, it’s just something we say to each other. “And thank you for driving me, Dee, I really appreciate it.”
Dee takes hold of my hand and looks me straight in the eyes before saying, “I love you. Call me whenever you need to. I know this trip might be emotional for you.”
I feel my throat tighten, but give her a grateful smile, then turn to walk toward the airport doors.