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  that he didn't want to fuck me, but that he'd believed I was

  something I wasn't.

  I licked my mouth, tasted the salt of my sweat. I listened to

  the sound of my breathing stil coming fast. I roled to get

  the tiny bottle from under my ribs and tossed it into the

  trash can by my bed, and then I tucked my legs up toward

  my chest with my extra pilow in my arms, hugging the

  lover who wasn't there.

  The notes started coming more frequently. Every morning

  before I left for work, or sometimes when I came home,

  there was another sleek card teling me how to go about

  my day. Sometimes the list was short, a sentence or two.

  Listen to your favorite radio station today. Sing out loud.

  Sometimes the instructions were lengthier. More

  demanding.

  At eleven-thirty today you will stop what you are doing

  and focus on one thing in your life that makes you

  happy. For thirty seconds you will do nothing but

  appreciate this reason for joy.

  I'd spent the entire morning waiting for eleven-thirty to

  arrive, half-afraid I'd forget and half-defiant, imagining I'd

  refuse when the time came to folow the instructions. I did,

  of course, helpless to resist in the same way someone

  who's told not to think of the pink elephant can do nothing

  else.

  If there is someone in your life whom you've hurt, you

  must make a true apology.

  That one had been easy enough. I hadn't seen Kira in

  weeks and arranged to meet her after work for coffee in

  Hershey, halfway between Harrisburg and Lebanon. She

  wasn't quite ready to forgive me.

  "But can you blame me?" I asked over steaming mocha

  lattes. "I mean…Kira…it's Jack."

  "Jack Rabbit," she said. "Yes. I know."

  I raised a brow. "I'm sorry. It wasn't when you were even

  I raised a brow. "I'm sorry. It wasn't when you were even

  close to being with him."

  She sighed, then, and shrugged. "I know. I guess I'm just

  pissed you got him and I didn't. But then, so what else is

  new?"

  That wasn't exactly what I'd expected to hear. "Huh?"

  She pretended to be very interested in her new beige

  manicure. "Just like every guy I ever liked, right?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  She leveled a look at me. "Austin?"

  "What about him?"

  Kira just stared, then looked away.

  I had to laugh. I realy did. "You tried to get with Austin?

  But you were mad at me for fooling around with Jack?

  What a hypocrite!"

  Her eyes flashed. "You knew how I felt about Jack! It was

  different with Austin."

  "How was it different?" I finished my coffee and picked up my purse to go, not because I was furious but because as

  I'd said not so long before to the very man we were

  discussing, that cake was baked.

  "You left him! You didn't love him anymore." Kira

  grabbed up her own purse, too, glaring. "Not that it

  mattered."

  "He turned you down, huh?"

  Her expression was enough of a reply.

  "That's why you were pissed off, isn't it? Not because I

  messed around with Jack, but because you tried to get

  together with Austin and he turned you down."

  "He turned me down because he stil wanted you," Kira

  said.

  I didn't have an answer to that.

  "And then you went and screwed around with him again

  anyway."

  "Kira. I didn't know you wanted Austin."

  "Kira. I didn't know you wanted Austin."

  But she couldn't have him, I thought, suddenly and

  surprisingly. Because he was mine.

  "Whatever. Does it matter?" She slung her purse over her

  shoulder. "We shouldn't let boys come between us

  anyway, right?"

  I didn't tel her the reason I'd apologized had nothing to do

  with our bond of friendship, which had been strained in

  times past. Sometimes you stay friends with someone

  more out of habit than anything you have in common. If not

  for the note, I might not have caled her again at al.

  "Right," I agreed.

  "So, what's going on with you? You getting back together,

  or what?"

  "Oh, God, no."

  We walked to our cars, parked next to one another in the

  lot. I looked past her to the sidewalks overrun with

  shoppers attacking the outlets in search of bargains. When

  I was younger my mom had taken me to the real outlet

  stores, places that sold seconds and out-of-stock items.

  stores, places that sold seconds and out-of-stock items.

  These stores weren't anything like that.

  "Anyway. I think Tony's gonna give me a ring." She said

  this with less coyness than I was used to from her. "For my

  birthday. I thought maybe he'd get me one for Christmas,

  but…"

  It seemed suddenly outrageous and unlikely to me that

  Kira could get married. "You want to marry him?" I hadn't

  even met him.

  She gave me a level look. "Yeah. I think I do. I'm not

  getting any younger, you know."

  It was such a cliché and yet fit her so wel.

  "Marriage isn't everything, Kira." I was trying to make her feel better, but she fixed me with another steady look.

  "Easy for you to say, sure. Because you gave it up."

  "That's not why. That's not what I meant," I added. "I just meant you shouldn't feel like something is missing. That's

  al."

  "But something is. Hey, maybe you'l be my bridesmaid,"

  "But something is. Hey, maybe you'l be my bridesmaid,"

  Kira offered.

  "Sure. Okay."

  We parted with half a hug and brush of cheeks. I

  wondered if she'd realy ask me. I wondered if I'd care if

  she didn't. I drove home, glad I wasn't her. Glad I wasn't

  missing something.

  But I was missing something in my life, and those notes,

  those lists, gave me something I needed. One waited for

  me when I got back. My fingers shook a little as I opened

  it. What next? I wondered. What fantasy would I be

  asked to live out this time? I already imagined the paper

  and pen I'd use to write it, this time. This time I would

  write it.

  Tomorrow you wil wear a blue shirt.

  That was it.

  I think I bared my teeth before composing myself quickly.

  If someone was watching, I wasn't going to give him the

  pleasure of seeing my disappointment.

  Tomorrow you wil wear a blue shirt.

  "Tomorrow," I muttered as I shoved the card through the

  slot of 114, "I'l wear whatever color shirt I damn wel

  please."

  I refused to think of it al the way up the four flights of

  stairs to my apartment, then al the way down again as I hit

  the basement for an hour's workout. I refused to think

  about the note and its simple, one-sentence instruction as I

  sweated and cursed at the television and its bounty of

  buxom, slim-hipped beauties on their mission to make al

  other women feel inferior. I refused to think of it in the

  shower as I lathered my body and deep-conditioned my

  hair and shaved my legs.