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“Stotali!” I said. “Uhhhhh, Vitott? Vott? Stali?”
“That last one sounds too much like Stalin.”
“Right. Good point.”
“How about Atlis? Ohhh, we could do Vitol.”
“Now that one sounds too much like vitriol,” I pointed out. Emma winced. We went through a few other options and finally settled on Volta.
“It sounds like a cool robot,” Emma said. “Or a spaceship or superhero or something. I like it as a hypothetical last name.”
“It’s way cooler than Stott, that’s for sure. I kind of want to take it anyway.” I was completely joking, but Callyn Volta was such a badass name I was sad it couldn’t be real. Callyn Volta wasn’t the kind of person who put face wash on her toothbrush by accident. She wasn’t the kind of person who put off returning a dress until the return window closed and lost money because she was too much of a dork to get herself to the store to return it. No, Callyn Volta wouldn’t take shit from anyone, not even bitchy customers who yelled at you for things that weren’t your fault.
“I could be Emma Volta, I think,” Emma said.
“You totally could,” I agreed.
“Emma and Callyn Volta. The Voltas.” I laughed because it was all too ridiculous. Two weeks ago we were best friends and now we were The Voltas.
“We should get that monogramed on everything,” I said.
“Definitely,” Emma agreed and we both collapsed into laugher. I had no idea why it was so funny, but I couldn’t get myself together. I laughed until there were tears streaming down my face and my ribs ached.
“Do you want to stay again?” Emma asked, as if that was even a question. I’d spent more time here in the past week than at my place. I always slept so much better at Emma’s apartment.
“I think my roommates are trying to outdo each other with how loud they can be during coitus. Honestly, I kind of wish they would all go in one room and just all do it together so they could be done and I could get some peace and quiet,” I said.
“Wouldn’t that just bereallyloud, though?” she said. I shrugged.
“I guess. I just want them to stop banging all the time, or at least do it more quietly. I mean, it’s a slap in the face when you’re not getting any.” Emma always got awkward when I talked about sex and I tried not to, but sometimes I was just horny and frustrated and needed to vent to my best friend. I mean, she and I had zero secrets from each other, so I didn’t get why she got squeamish about sex.
“Right,” she said, staring at the bubbles in her champagne. There weren’t many left; it had gone mostly flat.
“Emma, we’re married.”
“I know.”
“No, we’remarried. That’s a thing adults do. We’re not adults. I mean, I’m not.” I sure didn’t feel like one. I was so bad at doing anything that adults were supposed to do. I was a complete and utter disaster of a person.
“You are. And you have me to help you with the difficult stuff. Who is the one who helps you detangle your taxes every year?” she asked, pouring more champagne into her glass. That would be Emma. She was my one-woman CPA, best friend, and advice-giver. Not that I always took her advice.
I pointed at her. “You. And who is the one to convince you to climb a mountain in the middle of the night so we can see a meteor shower?” She smiled softly at the memory. Sure, we’d thought we were going to get eaten the whole time by a bear, but once we’d gotten to the top of the small mountain, it had been completely worth it.
“That would be you, Callyn.”
“Exactly. We need each other.” I wasn’t going to say that I needed her more than she needed me even though that was definitely true. I couldn’t think of a difficult time in my life when she hadn’t been there, when she hadn’t been the person I leaned on when I thought all hope was lost. Emma was my everything. Maybe that was why I sucked at dating. Because I got so much of what I needed from Emma.
“You’re my go home,” I said. We had joked forever ago about the saying “go big or go home,” because we would both prefer to go home than go big, so we’d started calling each other our “go home” instead.
“Always,” she said, throwing back the last of the champagne and making a face at how flat it was.
On Saturday all of the Bachelorette Babes (as we had dubbed ourselves) got together. We tried to meet at least twice a month to talk and rekindle our friendships. Since my family was meh, my friends were everything to me. I didn’t have sisters or cousins or anyone to call when shit went down. I called Emma and then called the rest of the group.
It was my turn to pick our brunch place and I’d chosen a diner that looked greasy on the outside, but served things like kale and ginger smoothies and had an entire vegan menu on the inside. You had to love hipster Boston.
We had to wait for a while to get a table to seat all of us, and I wasn’t prepared for the first question after we finally sat down and got menus.
“So, are you divorced yet?” Nova asked, not looking up from her menu. Sammi hit her on the arm.
