Page 24 of What It's Like in Words
Jessica.
And you guys never went away together?
He curled his lip and told me that she wanted to. But she worked a nine-to-five, so the concept of freelance was alien. I asked what Jessica did. He drank half his champagne in one gulp and ignored the question. To be honest, Enola, it got to the point where it was too difficult. She was a lovely girl, but in the end, she just needed help that I couldn’t give her. Steph always says I have crap taste in women, he added with a wry laugh.
I didn’t like the way he said that, but who was I to judge? He was so straightforward. Perhaps shewaschallenging.
I asked when they broke up, and he said two years ago. It occurred to me that he might have easily said “the day before I met you.” I asked whether he had dated much since, and he said he had been on a few but that he always lost interest after date five.
What were you looking for?
Someone to blow me away.
He grinned, and I was unsure whether he was trying to appear as if he was joking to cover up the fact that he was serious or trying to appear serious when he was only joking. Either way, I was relieved to have made it past date five and into an airport.
I waited for him to ask me about my exes, but he didn’t. I was keeping mental lists of the things that he told me in an effort to know him. Pinning snippets on a wall in my head, clues linked with red thread on a true-crime-podcast murder board. But was he doing the same? It wouldn’t have been a long answer: Adam at university; Ben, who was here on a temporary visa; and Thomas, who ghosted me after three months. I hadn’t been on holiday with any of them, apart from a long weekend in Amsterdam with Adam wherein I realized I was more interested in the museums than in Adam.
Oh, I said. That reminds me. You’re invited to Amy’s wedding.
Why? he asked, frowning.
I told him that it was just for the evening do. He said that Amy didn’t really want him at her wedding. I told him thatIdid, keeping my tone nimble so that if I needed to, I could tell him that I was only joking.
I hate weddings, honey…
Me too! I said, because I didn’t want him to think that I was trying to get him to a wedding so that we could organize our own.
I told him there was an open bar, and he said that I should have led with that. I pictured him in a suit. Me in a dress that I hadn’t bought yet. Both of us at the bar, laughing about how much we hated weddings, but then there would be a moment, during the first dance, maybe, where we both justknew.
I told him that we’d have to book a hotel, and he put his glass down and wrung his hands like he was going to deliver important information.
You know, honey, something my dad always said, that people need to prioritize themselves in a relationship.
I laughed but his face was flat. But surely if two people always prioritized themselves, then the relationship would be a disaster?
Ah, he said, as if he’d solved a puzzle. But if two people both getting what they want out of a relationship is a disaster, then I would argue those two people aren’t compatible.
So, you’re saying…
I’m not coming to Amy’s wedding.
All right, we should go, he said, finishing his champagne. I tried to finish mine, but it fizzed up and spilled down my chin. I told him that I wasn’t a fan of champagne, actually.
Did he repeat that to himself? Enola, not a fan of champagne.
As we walked into the terminal, I started to feel dizzy. An announcement told us to go to the gate, but he searched the board like he needed to see the information himself.
We’re boarding. How did we miss that?
The orange letters were blurry. He called me a lightweight. But itwas more than that. My heart was racing. I thought about my words to Ruth:It’s just going to be a fun holiday.For the first time, this felt like a mistake, and more than anything, I wished that Ruth were here. I was going back to Kenya with a man who didn’t know that I didn’t like whiskey or that I faked more orgasms than I had; who didn’t know that I was only pretending to write my novel when he was writing his, and who didn’t know the truth: that I was desperately, painfully, consumingly in love with him.
CHAPTER 8
DAY 1
We arrived at Malindi after fourteen hours of traveling, and the air was thick with the kind of heat that held your body up. A man handed us keys to a car and told us to text when we wanted to return it. There was no paperwork, and the tank was empty.
He had decided that the holiday would be a good time to quit smoking, and so, driving to Watamu, he swore at the hidden speed bumps and the donkeys and the bicycles and the mkokoteni. I had suggested a taxi, but he said he preferred to be in control.
