A Little Change of Face by Lauren Baratz-Logsted Read Free Book Online Page B

chick flicks, someone to talk to on a daily basis, sharing each other’s soap opera.
    Hold on. So maybe it’s not like being married to someone who gets sentenced to a really-really long term in prison so much as it is like being the husband who is in fact sentenced: you might start having sex with some beefy bruiser named Bart, but he’s not really who you want and everyone knows it.
    Pam was my Bart while Best Girlfriend was the real deal.
    This might not sound like such a great deal from Pam’s perspective, but Pam had known what she was getting herself into—being the Default Best Friend of someone who already had a real Best Girlfriend (and, yes, I do realize how immature I sound right around now)—and had in fact campaigned for the position, beating out Delta and T.B. (more on them later). As for me, I’d needed someone to go with me to see the latest Jennifer Aniston movie (you can go alone to dramas, but never comedies, because the laughing part just never works the same, which I suppose says something profound about the fact that people can suffer alone, but to celebrate the joys of living—laughter, success, popcorn, new shoes, finding out that Jamie Lee Curtis doesn’t have a better body than you after all, the comical/ironical/blissful sides of love—you mostly need someone to celebrate with. It’s like getting a Ben & Jerry jones on: when you share a pint with a friend, it’s like, “Hey, I’ve got a friend,” while if you eat that same pint alone, it’s like, “Wow, I’m pathetic,” (and not just because you will have eaten twice as much).
    As I said, I needed a pal to go to the movies, and Delta had to work late and T.B. had a first date, so—tag!—Pam was it. She called me that one extra time, I said “uncle” and the rest was Default Best Girlfriend history. It was that simple. The two other friends in our foursome were busy and thus Pam became my Default Best Friend.
    But, just like sex with beefy Bart, it just wasn’t the same. Pam could laugh with me in a crowded theater, and agree that hip-huggers sucked and that most of the people who wear them shouldn’t without it sounding like sour grapes, but she could never be someone who saw me for everything I was and hoped to be, and everything I wasn’t while loving me just the same, with the clarity of a god, nor, I suppose, could I see her in that way.
    Best Girlfriend was the only woman who’d ever been able to actually see me; Best Girlfriend was the only woman I could honestly say I knew.
    Did it suck for Pam? Probably. I don’t know; she never said. And besides, we did have fun most times. But it also sucked for me and it sucked for Best Girlfriend, too.
    But Best Girlfriend needed to actualize herself in ways that never tempted me, career-wise, adventure-wise, relationship-wise. And, if I was going to love her like I loved no other woman on the face of this planet, then I was just going to have to let her lead her life in whatever way she needed to.
    So, in a nutshell, it’s not so much that I mind her being there; I just want her here.

10
    â€œW hat the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
    Apparently, Best Girlfriend was not best pleased with some of the life decisions I was making.
    â€œAre you fucking nuts, Scarlett?”
    Having reached nearly the end of my quarantine period, I’d decided to call her up, looking for a little support, a little support that seemed to be sadly lacking.
    â€œOh, come on,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”
    â€œFair enough. Maybe that was a little harsh. But do you realize that what you’re telling me sounds, uh—no, there’s no nicer way to put this—slightly crazy?”
    â€œWhich part are you referring to?”
    â€œWell, most women, when they get to be our age, put their efforts into making themselves look better, not