Page 75 of What It's Like in Words
CLOSE YOUR EYES ANDhold out your hands.
In my palms, Ruth placed a black T-shirt with gold writing thatread:THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE. She was wearing the same one in pink and silver.
We were meeting Sasha and their friends in Soho for Pride, but the plan was to walk there along the river and stop in different pubs on the way. We got ready at mine, drinking dark rum and putting glitter on our faces. Ruth did us both, because the last time I did her face, she told me that she looked like a child’s finger painting.
There, she said, finishing the last gold star on her blue cheekbones. What do you think? I told her that she was hot and politically relevant. Ruth said that she’d have to put that on her Tinder bio.
Didn’t Virinder want to come today?
Nah, it’s not really his thing.
Hates the gays?
Can’t stand ’em.
She asked how long we had been dating now. I told her since February. Nearly five months. Ruth’s eyes widened. That long? I smiled, thinking about how great things had been going.
It’s just soeasy, Roo. He actually cares about my needs. And he’s such a grown-up! I told her that my favorite thing about staying over at Virinder’s was falling asleep to the sound of the dishwasher and waking to the sound of the coffee machine.
So, you like that he’s rich?
Ilikethat he’s organized.
I asked Ruth if there was anyone that she was interested in at the moment, and she shrugged and rummaged inside her bum bag for her lipstick. She applied a matte pink to her own lips and then offered it to me. Can you? She held my chin, and I closed my eyes.
Okay, she said, blot. We turned to the wardrobe mirror. Her: leather skirt, pink T-shirt, hair in caramel braids. Me, jeans, black T-shirt, and a checked shirt. We had stood so many times posing like this, like we were still eight-year-olds saying cheese for a disposable camera.
Do I look too emo?
Ruth laughed. Was that not what you were going for?
I told her that I loved her hair like that. She said that she wasn’tsure. She had wanted the braids to be a cooler shade; it was too warm. Then she looked at her strawberry watch and said that we should leave. I turned her wrist. Roo, it says seven in the morning! She laughed, but then I looked at my phone and conceded that she was right. She put on her platforms, and I reminded her that I had plasters in my bag. She told me that going out with me was like going out with a girl guide. Then she summoned the lift while I checked the lights and the stove. Virinder did the same thing when he left his flat. Being with him made me feel normal. Better than normal: fun. Because he thought Iwasfun.
Outside, it was perfect June weather. Pale blue sky with cartoon clouds. I felt the same as I did last September when Ruth and I were floating in Hampstead ponds. Everything was fresh and exciting andlight; like how I used to feel at the beginning of a school year with my new pencil case and shiny shoes. Diana and I had agreed to have my book ready to submit to publishers in the autumn, and so weeks of editing lay ahead. But first, Ruth and I headed to Soho.
THE NEXT DAY,Iwoke to the smell of toast. There was a pint of water by the bed with a Post-it that readDRINK MEand two painkillers with another that readEAT ME.I rolled off Ruth’s mattress and followed piles of clothes, like stepping stones from the night before, to the kitchen, where Ruth was sat on the stained counter. Sasha was at the stove. They still had glitter on their faces.
You’re awake! How do you feel?
Good!
Ruth said that she felt rough this morning but better now. She asked if I wanted to come to Catherine’s later. I told her that I was going to Virinder’s. She said he was texting a lot yesterday. I grinned. Yes, he does that.
Sasha grunted toward the French press. Ruth reached for a mug. I poured a cup. Ruth said the beans were from a new place in Hackney Wick. I jumped up next to her, and she leaned on my shoulder. She smelled like last night’s perfume and secondhand smoke.
All right, Sasha said. Bacon’s ready. Sorry, Enola, it’s vegan. Toast’s in the toaster. But there’s no butter becausesomeoneforgot to buy it.
Ruth looked to me and said thatsomeonewas grumpy becausesomeonedidn’t get any at Pride.
BEFORE HEADING TOVIRINDER’S, I stopped at mine for some clothes, but as soon as my keys hit the monstera tray, I heard:Don’t be silly.Six months and the flat was still a graveyard.
When I got to Primrose Hill, Virinder was wearing a white tank top and tracksuit bottoms. Sweat glistened on his skin. He asked if I wanted dinner. I said that I had just eaten breakfast, and he laughed. How was Pride? You and Ruth sounded pretty hammered.
It was fun and, no, it was more sugar than anything else.
Ruth is a bad influence!
He said that he had set my writing desk up for tomorrow. I reminded him that I didn’t have to work at his, but he said that he loved me being there. I told him that I didn’t want to take advantage. He moved toward me. Oh, I see. Using me for my flat, is that it? I told him that I couldn’t help it. Primrose Hill had the good pastries. Don’t you dare work anywhere else, he said. We kissed, and he tasted like peppermint.
