Page 14 of What It's Like in Words
Why? Do you think that’s bad?
She said that it had been very intense so far and she didn’t want to see me get hurt. I reminded her that the last woman she’d been seeing moved in after two weeks.
Yes, and you see how well that worked out?
When the afternoon light faded, the music was turned up and the bass pulsed like a heartbeat. The waitress lit the candle on our table. She had short black hair, and her neck was swanlike. As she cupped the tealight, Ruth mouthed to me that she was beautiful. I told her that she thought everyone was beautiful.
Everyoneisbeautiful! Is he telling you how beautiful you are?
Roo, you’re the only person who thinks I’m beautiful.
You’re the only person who thinks you’re not. But is he being good to you?
I smiled, because earlier he’d said that I looked like someone who would stand for their stop while the train was still moving. But I didn’t tell Ruth that because she might not understand the joke. Her instinct was to protect. Even when we were children, if a grown-up told me to smile, she would snap:Leave Enola alone, she’s just thinking.
The song changed, and she laughed, because we had missed thisband at a festival. We had waited for two days to see them, but we were hungover and exhausted and decided to lie down on haystacks, just for a moment, waking only to fireworks above us.
How amazing this summer would be with him now, too.
Ruth put an olive in her mouth and licked the oil from her fingers. She spoke, probing her tongue around her teeth: Speaking of your birthday, Mum is asking if you’re free for a dinner next weekend. Em says she can be around, although she might have had the baby. They’ve got a dog now too! God, my sister is fucking insane.
I thought about Emily and Samson’s beautiful beige home, soon to be filled with a new baby and a dog to run into a room and demand love, love that they would give effortlessly. But Catherine was the epitome of Celtic warmth, and Jon had been adopted from Colombia by a Norwegian family, who then returned to adopt his biological brother. Emily and Ruth were born with love in their bones. I couldn’t keep a succulent alive.
My phone rang on schedule, and I turned it straight over. Ruth asked whether I was sure I wanted to ignore her. She probably wants to say happy birthday.
She sent a card.
But didn’t you miss last week’s call too?
The device vibrated twice more before stopping. See, Roo, she doesn’t want to speak to me either.
We drank our wine quietly, and then Ruth said: So, a week Sunday for dinner?
Sounds good. I love Catherine’s birthday dinners!
That’s because you’re the favorite. I got leftovers. Speaking of, she said. Noodles? There’s a new place round the corner that’s meant to be epic.
As we stood to leave, a man knocked into us and his hand lingered on Ruth’s shoulder. She lurched back. Do you mind? He laughed it off, and I smiled at him in apology. Her eyes flicked to me. Why did you do that? I didn’t know what to say; it had been an impulse.Ruth’s figure drawing came to mind; the model’s severed penis hovering like a rain cloud. Ruth smiled to let me know that she wasn’t cross, and as we walked to the noodle place, talking about films and restaurants and people, my feminist guilt sunk to the place where I kept the other hidden things.
CHAPTER 4
Nine o’clock and Amy arrived immaculate and loud.
He had been the first to arrive. I had opened the door to find him holding a chocolate cake that he had baked himself. It was the first time I had seen him look nervous.
Twenty-eight! Happy birthday, darling girl!
Thanks, Ames.
David can’t come, she said with a saccharine tone. He really wanted to but he’s hell for leathered at work. I told her that she wasn’t using that expression correctly. She waved her hands and then pulled me in for a kiss. Coats?
On the bed.
I led Amy through the flat, where my friends were spaced around the living room and kitchen. I handed her a plastic flute, at which she looked confused and said: I suppose it saves on washing up. She forced eye contact before clinking my glass. Bad sex for seven years, remember! Then, noticing him, she lowered her voice: I cannot believe you’re dating him! He’s so… and you’re so… She couldn’t find the words for him but concluded that I was “quiet,” “reserved,” and “intelligent.” I told her that those were adjectives people used to describe serial killers.
Do be careful, though, babe, she said. I’ve always said that about your writing. It lacks an identity. I don’t mean that as a criticism, but, well, it does, and he—from what I can tell—is someone who hassuch a strong identity. Do you remember when he just waltzed into the pub?
He didn’t waltz, Mat invited—
