Page 92 of What It's Like in Words
I stood and backed away from the bed. What did it mean? The words could be innocuous, but the ellipsis? Mat had seen him with Steph that day, but were he and Steph…? I recalled the joy in her eyes when she told me the story of their meeting.And even though we were a terrible couple, we stayed mates.
The door handle hit my spine. Well, why were you right there? he said, cross. But then he saw my face and asked what was wrong. He looked at his phone and then back to me. He charged to the bed and read the message. You have to be fucking kidding me. Then he moved to the desk like I might open his laptop next. How dare you, he said.How dare you. I asked if something had happened with Steph. He said that he didn’t appreciate being treated like a villain in his own bedroom. Everything in my body went on high alert, and it felt like I was back on the tube platform.We have been here before. I tried to be different, clearer, more assertive. Ruth wouldn’t be afraid to ask for what she wanted. Amy wouldn’t be afraid of saying how she felt. I told him that if we were going to be a couple again, then we needed to be honest with each other. His features settled into a smile. Who said we were a couple, Enola?
I just assumed because you said—
What did I say?
But I didn’t know how to finish.
Go on, Enola. What did I say?
Whathadhe said? No, it wasn’t what he hadsaidbut what he had written:I want you.But was that all he had done? When he wrote those words on my leg, I imagined the pronoun stressed: I wantyou. But what if it was just that he hadwantedme. Hadn’t he then moved up the bath and taken what he wanted?
Oh my god.
My eyes filled with tears. I thought about Ruth’s cold tea.
He told me that he wasn’t interested in watching me cry. He had packing to finish and a chapter to reedit. Then he continued putting things in boxes to demonstrate how little he cared about the argument.Fuck him. FUCK him.I asked what this was if not a relationship, andhe turned, Christmas jumper in hand, and snapped: Look at yourself, you’re in tears because you read a fucking message! I told him to answer thefuckingquestion. He looked startled, but then he waved the jumper and said that we had hooked up once. Yesterday! We’re having fun. Or we were before you demanded to know the state of our relationship.
How can you even—
But I couldn’t finish because tears were streaming. I hated that this was my body’s response to pain. At a sleepover in Nairobi, a boy punched me in the stomach to demonstrate how strong he was, and all I could do was double over onto his superhero rug. But I had wanted to hurt that boy then the way that I wanted to hurt this one now. There was a stack of hardbacked books by the desk. I thought about hitting him over the head with theOxford English Dictionaryand watching the blood drip, the life drain. But then he threw the Christmas jumper across the room and sunk onto the bed like I had made him as stressed as Simon Longman had. That urge to comfort him kicked back in, and the dictionary remained on the floor. I asked why he found it so hard to let me in.
Meletyouin, Enola? Ha. That’s rich.
What does that mean?
He gave me a look.
No. Stop changing the subject. Did something happen between you and Steph?
He said that he didn’t owe me that. You don’t see me demanding to know who you hooked up with, Enola.
His name was Virinder. Please just tell me!
He looked at me like he was surprised that I had said that and then answered: No, okay? Nothing happened between me and Steph.Christ.
I closed my eyes and caught the lights speckling. Outside, the wind moved the branches of a tree. I heard his voice, soft yet grave: Maybe this is a bad idea.
I opened my eyes, and he was shaking his head. My stomach turned. What is?
This, he said, gesturing to me. Clearly nothing has changed. And I get it. I can’t imagine how hard it was to lose your dad, and your mum sounds like a piece of work, and so you have issues with trust, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not a therapist and—
I don’t want a ther—
He put his hands up and said that it didn’t matter because he just didn’t have the time. He said that he had worked so hard to get to where he was with his book and he couldn’t lose momentum now. He buried his face in his hands, and my own thoughts flew from my head, leaving only that paralyzing desire not to lose him. I rushed to him and pressed my face to his shoulder. The softness of his gray T-shirt and the warmth of the blood beneath. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I ran my fingers through his hair and said things that I wasn’t sure I meant but they came as easy as breathing.
The Steph thing is just an old insecurity, but I’m not that person anymore. I promise. Let’s just have fun and see where it goes, okay? That’s what I want. I just want to have fun and see where it goes. Okay?
He listed all the things he had to do on his fingers and then said: The thought of going through all that drama again, honey…
I assured him that we wouldn’t. I said that I was just worked up because of what happened on the way here. He looked confused, and I reminded him about the man on the tube. I mentioned it like it was nothing but recalled the man’s bare ankles appearing from polished shoes.
He rolled his eyes. Oh that. Jesus, Enola, it was just a drunk man. When you called, I thought you were going to say somethingactuallybad.
I felt a whisper of anger again; he’d used similar words in Kenya when I admitted that I was struggling. Why was his instinct to belittle? I told him that it was scary at the time. He said in that case I was stupid to have gotten involved. I told him that I overreacted. About everything. He smiled and I was a baby bird again, featherless and helpless. I rested on his shoulder until he scratched my head andsaid, in a babyish voice, that he really had to keep packing. But then he added that, if I wanted, I could come to Pat’s later.
Really?
