back to New York, she’d call to ask me to be the godmother), she looked doubly pathetic in funeral clothes. “When there’s so many ways to go, it’s easier to get lost, I guess. I don’t know…”

What did we know? Like true Ivy League grads nothing worth a good goddamn. A bunch of cocktail-party chatter about the accomplishments of a woman we clearly never saw or would see again. She’d just bought a condo with granite countertops and West Elm furniture. She’d sold a tract of affordable houses out in Baltimore. She’d just gotten back from a trip to Brazil, where she shook her ass with the best of ’em. She’d joined Match.com and went on a date with a short African guy. She’d gone to a bruja once who told her marriage was in her future. She’d told me that Dex and I would work out someday. She’d broken my heart. What did we know?

Weeks after the funeral, Adaoha’s mother asked her friends in Washington to stop by her new/old condo and help clear things out. She was twenty-seven when she died, so this probably wouldn’t take long. Her mom also wanted us to take some things with us, mementos or something.

On the twenty-minute metro ride there, Adrienne and I sat in silence. I shut my eyes once we pulled into the PG Plaza station. She asked me if I was okay about a zillion times. Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’d been sleeping with the lamp next to my bed turned on, a red scarf draped over it. The dark simply wouldn’t do. I was as far from fine as any one person could get.

Her mom had pizza and chicken wings waiting. I grabbed a slice and went about the business of gathering up her Delta things in the black tote bag that was exactly like the one I had, but with Adaoha’s name on it. I could joke with all her high school friends, but whenever Adrienne walked in with an old photo or a funny story from college, I’d leave the room or start inspecting my pepperoni. It was easy to act like we were throwing a surprise party and that Adaoha’d walk through the door shouting, “Loooosers,” any minute. But I was stingy with my real grief. After we finished, I couldn’t look inside the bag or in Adrienne’s eyes.

“Because life gets you fucked up, and you need some clarity from an uninvolved party.” Gina was preaching therapy again. I was kind of sorry I brought it up.

When Adrienne called a few days later—we were all on this “check-in” thing now—I answered with a gruff, “Whaddayawan?”

“Hello,” she said, ignoring my bitchy welcome. “I’m alive, in case you were wondering! Some best friend you are. You’re supposed to be checking on my sanity.” It was already summertime, and she was studying for the bar.

“Ummmm…”

“Which I’m COMPLETELY losing, by the way!”

“I have my own damn sanity to worry about. Thanks.” I thought this might get her to hang up.

“What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with your sanity?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” How could I tell her what I didn’t know?

“Oh, so you’re just being stanky.”

Silence.

“Well—” She sighed. “I see you woke up on the wrong side of the bed…just saying hello.”

“Dude, I’m working on a story that’s due. I’m trying to keep my job, so I have a fucking career. And I hate everyone! Jesus. Can I live?” Maybe she’d leave me alone now.

“Like I said, just saying hello. You can go back to your dry v-wedgie now.”

Everybody’s got a thing. Kia talks to strangers. Adrienne’s from Hah-lum! I’m a nomad. Adaoha? She had a dry v-wedgie.

If it sounds uncomfortable, that’s because it’s supposed to. We had no clue what a dry one actually felt like but imagined it involved vaginal friction equal to corduroy-on-corduroy action. If this sounds pornographic, it’s not supposed to. The dry v-wedgie is more like an aphorism. A v-wedgie stings for but a moment, a dry v-wedgie for a lifetime. Basically, it’s about spinsterhood. The first warning sign of that apocalypse. It was a joke, and Adaoha, our good friend and sister, had the misfortune of being its butt.

It started like this. We were two years out of college and at another one of Kia’s baby showers. One little girl in attendance was wearing a pink corduroy jumpsuit that was too constrictive. In an effort to escape, she kept yanking it toward her chest as if it were a tearaway, the force of which