Page 39 of What It's Like in Words
Amy looked confused and cross. Diana’s looking for a book like yours. It’s not afavor, Enola. Then she stared like she was trying to understand me and told me to advocate for myself. I apologized and thanked her. That wasn’t so hard, was it? she asked. It had been, actually, but I wasn’t sure why.
Mat turned with a fresh pint. It had been nice to think about something other thanhimthis evening, but they were friends and so his name was bound to come up. Mat said that he enjoyed my chapter, and I asked how his book was. Mat answered that he was rewriting it in the past tense. I sympathized and said thathewas rewritinghisin the present tense. He’s just gone back to his dad’s, actually, to work on it. We’ve just had a week in Kenya, so I think he just wanted a place without distractions, you know?
Mat looked confused and then slapped his forehead. I’m sorry. I forgot that you guys had met!
Mat doesn’t know we’re a couple?
The bartender asked what I wanted. I answered that I had changed my mind, but Amy ordered a white wine. As I moved to leave, she asked me if he had decided about the wedding yet. I said that I would ask him soon. I didn’t tell her that he had already said no, because I had been secretly hoping to change his mind.
Please hurry, Enola. I have other people I can invite.
Amy started telling Mat about her house extension. He threw small noises like grenades to show that he was listening, but it was making her lose her rhythm.
I went to the bathroom to collect my thoughts.
Him and Mat weren’t that close, but still, what if none of hisfriends had heard about me? He could vanish from my life with no one to explain my absence to.What if he already has?We had gone from waking up next to each other every day to me sending a video in the morning of an otter washing its face and hoping that he might replyhabefore midnight. I hadn’t even told him about my new book yet. I wanted him to come back and for us to write together like we used to, this time with me actually writing.
I snapped the elastic band around my wrist. Everything would be okay. Tomorrow I was seeing Ruth, and the world would make sense again.
SASHA,RUTH’S FLATMATE,WASDJing in Dalston. Melodyless music thumped from black speakers, and groups of friends defended their dance circles like they were in bumper cars.
Air?mouthed Ruth.
On the terrace our voices emerged quietly as our ears adjusted. Ruth asked whether tonight was too full-on, and I told her it was better than moping at home with the post-holiday blues. She looked concerned. You’ve barely spoken about it, Laa. And you’re looking really skinny.
I’m really not.
You are. You’ve lost weight very quickly.
Ruth asked when he was back from Norwich. I tried to sound casual: It was meant to be a week, but it might be longer because he’s writing. Then I changed the subject, because I wasn’t ready to tell Ruth how bad things were. When is your job interview?
Monday, but I don’t want to talk about it.
There we were, two hiding places: her, the threat of a stable career; me, how empty London was now. The wind changed, and a couple’s cigarette smoke blew over. I looked to them: a slim, matching pair with bleached hair and torn leather. I wondered what their sex life was like.
Do you have gum? Ruth asked, palm on her chest.
Juicy Fruit.
Taking a piece, she screwed up her face and said: Great, now I taste like the nineties.
We leaned against the wall, bricks damp from rain, and as the dance floor left our bodies, the air grew colder. Ruth asked if my new book was going well. I said that it was, and I meant it. She shook my shoulders: That’s the spirit! I’m so excited about this. I’m so excited foryou. I told her that it was scary, but that I was excited too. She told me that she was proud of me, and I moved closer into her warmth.
I wonder how his writing is going.
She asked if I was enjoying Sasha’s set. I answered that he was great. She corrected the pronoun. Sorry,they’regreat, I said.
She told me that I didn’t have to lie. I know your music taste, Enola!
Is my music taste the reason he isn’t calling me back?
I asked Ruth what was wrong with my music taste, and she said there was nothing wrong with it. You just like songs with words. Don’t let him get in your head, Laa.
I’m not!
I wonder if his tan has faded.
I needed to stop thinking about him. I told Ruth that I might need another drink, and, catching something in my eye, she lifted a silver hip flask with a pagan symbol from her leather bum bag.
