Page 47 of What It's Like in Words
My body went rigid.They dated?
He returned, putting a Guinness and a whiskey chaser by Steph. Sorry, that took fucking ages. He said he ordered a platter. Steph slammed her hand on the table like a drunk pirate and said: We’ll have to get through it without Enola—she’ll just pick like a bird by the looks of her! Where did you get that dress, darl? It’sgorge.
They dated.
Enola, Steph asked you where your dress was from.
What?
Your. Dress.
Oh, M and S, I think.
Breathe. He must have had his reasons for not telling me.
The evening went on and left me behind. I ate too much of the platter because I was fed up of skinny people telling me that I was too skinny, while he and Steph howled about places I had never been invited to and people I had never met. All I could think was:Steph helped me with the cake;I crashed with Steph;Steph tells me I have crap taste in women.
I bet she fucking does.
When Steph went to the bathroom, he folded his arms and asked what was wrong. He reminded me that I had pushed for tonight. The least you could do is make an effort, Enola!
I told him that I was trying to but— I had a gulp of my wine.
But what?
Butwhy didn’t you tell me about you and Steph?
The righteousness fell from his face. Glancing to the bathroom, he asked what she had said.
Just that you dated.
He curled his lips and said that he didn’t realize he needed my permission to date peoplein the past. Should I run all my ex-girlfriends by you? I lost my virginity to Pippa Macdonald. She lives in Boston now but I can find her online if you’d like?
I explained that I had felt ambushed. Whydidn’tyou tell me?
Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because I knew you would react like this?
I was so angry that he would invite me to meet Steph without telling me their history—and now to make it my fault that I didn’t know? I recalled every moment in Kenya when he checked his phone and put it on the table with the screen facing down; how he smiled with his mouth but not his eyes, like he was trying to tell me that there was someone in his life who was a threat to me while, at the same time, getting ready to attack me when I felt insecure about it.
Steph returned, tucking her shirt into her leather skirt as if she didn’t have time to do it in the bathroom. She announced that she needed to stop spending money. But we could go back to mine, have a couple lines?
He said that he was keen but that I was working in the morning. Awesome, she said, and like she was concerned I might contradict him, lifted me into an immediate goodbye, silver rings digging into my arms. I hope we see you again soon, Enola!
I tried not to scream at her use of the collective pronoun.
He put on his jacket, and I willed him to return my gaze, but he wouldn’t. I wanted to finish the conversation, but Steph was on his arm. I said goodbye, and he mumbled that he would text me later. I tried to kiss his lips, but he gave me his cheek. Steph pretended not to notice, but she did, of course.
IGOT HOME ATmidnight, drunk from three glasses of bad wine. The flat smelled like blocked drains, and as the light clicked on, dust was visible in the corners. There was always so much to do. I couldn’t remember the last time that I cleaned the oven.
How could the evening have gone so badly? My evaluation probably started the instant they left the pub.B, she’s sweet but she’s just not right for you.Or perhaps she just looked at him pointedly and he shook his head and saidSteph, don’t start. Or maybe they didn’t mention me? Maybe they just restarted the night like I had never been there? Did I even care? That thought stopped me as I removed my left boot.DidI care? Because he should have told me that they used to date! Or should he have if there was nothing going on between them now? But if there was nothing going on between them now, then why was the evening so uncomfortable? Was that the real reason he didn’t want us to meet? Although I hadn’t met Patrick either, and they had never dated. Or had they? I still only had a handful of clues on my murder board, all of them fought for, nails bloody.
I slid down the wall and rang him. He didn’t answer, and so I rang again and again like I was picking a scab. The more obsessive he thought I was, the more obsessive I became. I pictured him turning the phone over, shooting a glance to Steph, having another line.God, she’s a little intense isn’t she, B?Fuck. I hated her. I hated her! But that wasn’t fair. It was me. I was the problem.
Fuck, why isn’t he calling me back?
I slammed my palm into the floor and, feeling a twinge in the base of my wrist, did it again, harder, until I clutched my hand to my chest. In the pain, I saw a girl crying until her nose bled over her suitcase. Screaming for her dad, screaming for her mum, screaming not to leave her home. I didn’t want to be that girl. I wanted to be a woman who didn’t wait by her phone at midnight with one boot on and one boot off, and who knew how to clean the oven. I wanted to thrive, to feel about my relationship the way that I felt about my book when I was alone with it, not childish and silly, but like anything was possible. But I was becoming smaller and smaller. All the choices, all the words, were his. Ruth was right: happiness was precarious. And I couldn’t keep giving him the keys to mine. I removed my other boot and put my phone inside so that I wouldn’t be tempted to use it.
I got into bed at one, but I was still resolved to wake up and write before my shift. Even through my white-wine emotions, I knew everything would be okay as long as I had my book. That was one story I had control over. I went to set my alarm but remembering that my phone was still in my boot, went back to the hall to retrieve it. I turned on the screen and burst into tears. A message sent fifteen minutes ago:
