Page 5 of What It's Like in Words
I quickly said goodbye and walked away. I got three paces before hearing his voice, building like a sneeze: Maybe we could have our own writing club soon or just that drink…? I turned back and he was grinning. But, he added, I already know your pretend favorite book and you already know how to murder me and make it look like an accident, so I suggest skipping to date three.
He handed me his phone. I took it, and the warmth of it felt like my hand in his pocket. I typed my number under where he had already typed “Enola, the” and waited for him to drop call me. But he didn’t.
Okay, I said. Bye.
Bye.
I went to leave but then stopped and asked him if he knew that Chris had based his protagonist on himself. He grinned like I had given him a compliment. I mean, it was fucking obvious. Besides, theywerea bunch of cunts, weren’t they? I opened my mouth but expelled only air as he walked away, clutching his jacket to his chin.
A shop alarm cut through the night, or, wait—
MY BUZZER IS GOING! Someone’s downstairs! It can’t be, can it? It’s only ten past four. I’m not dressed. It’s the afternoon, and I’m still wearing the pajama T-shirt he gave me. I reach the receiver, and the noise stops. Wrong number.Thank god. I lean against the door and pick us back up like a book.
BY THE TIMEIgot home, the wind was howling through the gaps in the windows. I opened my laptop and picked at the words on the page. I imagined Amy, Chris, and Hugo typing manically while I alternated between making a vase red or blue, deciding that it was just a vase. I put a pen to my lips the way that he had held one to his. Apparently only two percent of the population has green eyes. Whenwould he text?Wouldhe text? Did I even want him to text? His face confused me. It was like his teeth were too big for his mouth. And he didn’t even seem nice. And I couldn’t date a smoker. And what was that kiwi thing? Fuck. Why did I tell him my favorite show wasGrey’s Anatomy? I liked the show, but it wasn’t my favorite. I didn’t know what my favorite show was. Ruth would have said something that no one had heard of yet but that everyone was about to. I should have told him that my favorite show was something political or funny or—
Shit! A knock sounds behind my head. Could it be Ruth? No, of course not. She’s in Bath. She has a key. And we’re not speaking. Was I lucid enough to have locked the door last night? Then a familiar voice:
“Enola, it’s me, are you in?”
Fuck.
CHAPTER 2
I found him on the sofa by the windows: the Nairobi sunset sliced him in half like a magician’s trick. He put downUlyssesand stood to greet me. His skin was warm like he had been lying in the garden.
You’re readingUlyssesagain?
Honey, you know it’s my favorite book.
I told him that I was going to make risotto, and he made a sharp sibilant sound. I hit his arm, and he drew me closer. He smelled like the house, comforting and warm. Come on, he said, I’ll make the risotto. He led me to the kitchen, where he pulled out the chopping board that Ruth got us as a wedding present withEnola & Ruthscorched into the wood. My dad was on his way over with a pack of Tusker and we were going to watch the sun set from the porch.You must always take time for a sundowner.
He pulled a kiwi from the shopping and started eating it.
There was a knock at the door.
Are you going to get that?
Then the sound of a train like a wave.
Enola, are you going to get that?
The dusty warm air.
Enola!
It’s getting closer.
I looked back at him, but his face was bloodied and swollen.
For fuck’s sake. Enola, answer the door! Why are you such a cunt?
“ENOLA?”
Please go away, just go away.
“Enola? Are you in?”
Why is he here?
