Page 43 of What It's Like in Words
You did! You just said it was a mistake!
I told her that wasn’t what I meant; Imeantthat we should have gone there together like she wanted. She said that she wasn’t upset about that. Yes, I wanted us to go back together, Enola, but that’s not why I didn’t want you to go with him! I don’t like how he treats you and how you treat yourself when you’re with him. You were just telling me how upset you are and now you’ve flipped because he’s texted you back?
I told her that she couldn’t hold everything I said when I was upset against me. Roo, if I held you to every time you said you wanted a new job, you’d still be standing on people in the name of medical research. Please just forget it, Roo. Please?Please.
Ruth squeezed her hands and then stood up. She said that she was putting the kettle on. If you’re not going to eat, then you have to at least drink something. She went to the kitchen, and I read the message again and again and again, trying to recapture the feeling of when I first saw his name on the screen.
I’m back this Friday. Drink? Xxx
CHAPTER 12
We sat on gunmetal stools in a tight corner of the speakeasy. The air smelled like burnt orange, and fifties music played from a laptop on the reclaimed wood bar. I was drinking something short with moonshine, and he was drinking something long with tequila. Our kiss on the street had been quick, but now that he was back, things would settle. My grandma used to say that about houses:They just have to settle.
I started by talking about my new book, and he said that it sounded great but then added: Just don’t let it take away from youractualwriting. I told him that it felt different, and that he was right when he had called my last book pretentious. He said that he didn’t remember saying that. I told him that I hadn’t taken it in a bad way. I asked if he wanted to read some, and he said that he would read it when it was finished. Then he added: I’m not trying to be disparaging. I just want to see you finish something, honey. You’ve never expressed an interest in writing for children before.
Honey.
He took a sip of his traffic light–striped drink. I asked if it was nice, and he nodded, then asked how mine was. I said that mine was nice too. I felt a swell of relief at the normality and leaned over the table to kiss him. I’m so glad you’re back. If I had known you would have been gone for that long, I would’ve—
Enola. It’s been two weeks. I was in Norwich, I didn’t go to war.
The waitress asked if we wanted more drinks. Tracing a finger down the menu, he stopped at: Weapon of the Gods? She looked to me, and I asked for the same again, but I thought I saw his chest fall, so I changed my order to a pistachio martini. That sounds fucking disgusting, he said.
The waitress left, and the conversation stalled. I asked how Norwich was, but he said that he didn’t want to talk about it; he and his dad had been arguing about his career again. I looked around for inspiration: there was a picture of a bison constellation on the wall. Oh, I wanted to talk to you about Patrick!
He frowned.MyPatrick? Why?
Amy says it’s better to have illustrations—
What’s Amy got to do with anything?
Her agent’s assistant specializes in YA and, apparently, I should look at submitting illustrations when—
Wait, is the book forkidskids?
No, but I wanted illustrations. The protagonist is doing this art therapy and—
He was looking at me like I was insane, so I quickly explained that I thought Patrick might like to do them. He finished his drink with a rattle and said that Pat illustrated high-end stuff. I raised my glass to my lips, but it was empty. I took a fake sip. No worries, it was just an idea, I said, pretending to swallow. I asked how his writing was going, but he tensed up and said that he didn’t want to talk about it. Before I could decide whether or not to push, his phone vibrated. He mouthed the words as he read them, then expressed relief; he’d left his wallet at Steph’s last night and she had just found it.
Didn’t you get back today?
He said that he was meant to, but then Steph organized last-minute birthday drinks and it was late so he just crashed with her afterward.
My brain struggled to process:He came back yesterday, he went to a party, he slept with Steph?
Where did you crash?
With. Steph.
But in her bed?
He put his phone on the table with the screen facing down and told me that it was no different to me crashing with Ruth. That was probably true. But I asked him why he didn’t tell me that he was back early. His brow creased. Why would I tell you that I was back early when I already had plans? That doesn’t make the sense you think it does.
He made a good point. Or did he? Because I had been desperate to see him, but he clearly didn’t feel the same if he chose Steph’s bed over mine. Something was wrong. There was still tension. We hadn’t seen each other for two weeks; the conversation should be electric.
I’m sorry, but—
But what? he interrupted wearingly.
