Page 40 of The Best Ex of My Life

‘I—’ he stumbles, the shock etched across his face telling me that despite him pushing me, he wasn’t expecting that.

He takes a step towards me so I’m close enough to see his Adam’s apple dip in his throat. ‘Lizzie, I had no idea.’ His voice is gentle, kind despite me shouting at him, and there’s the hint of something else too that I can’t work out. But hearing it is enough to pull me back to myself, and to see how far this conversation has taken us from where we should be.

I hold up my hand. ‘We should go back in. This is silly. There’s nothing for me to be jealous of. We’re friends, remember? That’s all.’

‘Yeah. Friends,’ he says, his voice now bereft of all the warmth it had. ‘As if I could forget,’ he says, before walking back inside.

Part Two

Chapter16 Three months later

‘Do we have to go?’

‘Yeah, and we need to go now, otherwise we’ll be unforgivably late.’ I wriggle out from under the duvet and sit up in bed, ignoring the groans of protest. ‘Come on,’ I tell him. ‘We do have to leave my bedroom at some point, you know?’

‘Do we, though?’ he counters, turning on his side to face me. ‘A few alterations, and I think we’d be perfectly happy living in here full time. A mini fridge and a bigger TV, and we’d be all set. And just think, if we stayed in here, we could do this as much as we wanted to.’ A slow smile creeps across his face, lighting up his eyes mischievously as his hand reaches for me.

‘Yeah, you try cancelling on my mum with an hour’s notice.’

I roll off the bed and grab my dressing gown off the floor, leaving Jordan lying there as I let myself out of the bedroom to get a quick shower before we need to set off. The welcome blast of warm water hits my skin, and I let it fall over my shoulders for a few seconds before I rush to get out and dry and ready in ten minutes flat.

This morning has been nice. Jordan woke me up, as he often does when he stays over, with a cup of coffee before climbing back into bed next to me. Once we finished our drinks, and he’d read the news on his phone like he always does, we had slow, lazy sex, before dozing off again. It’s the exact kind of Saturday morning I’ve spent so many years pining for but unlike Jordan, I don’t mind it ending. I needed this shower, am looking forward to going to Mum’s for lunch, and I don’t mind having to take a few hours this weekend to mark essays for Monday morning.

I don’t want my world to shrink so it’s just the two of us in a bed and that’s all we’ll ever need. I like that Jordan doesn’t push for that either. He knows he’s become part of my life but hasn’t tried to take over the whole of it. It feels healthier that way, like I’m finally in a real relationship. Being with Jordan has been an education, one that’s made me redefine what romance is. Real romance isn’t a ballad, it’s not a Shakespearian play, and it’s not a reality TV show. What Jordan and I have is real. It’s not earth-shattering, it’s not I can’t breathe without the other person next to me, but it’s ours, and I’m grateful for it.

‘Remember to tell Mum her food is amazing every few minutes, and you can’t go wrong,’ I instruct Jordan on the way to Mum’s house. He’s determined for this afternoon to go well. Jordan and Mum have met before a number of times, and it’s always been fine between them. Jordan insists he loves my mum, and my mum is equally as polite – if not quite so gushing – about Jordan. But this weekend feels different, and we both know it.

Jordan is the first person I’ve brought round to her house in years, but today is also the first time I’ve ever brought someone round to her house more than three times in a row. Normally, it’s down to me to ask Mum if I can have someone over, but this is the first time she’s texted me to specifically ask that I bring my boyfriend round. When I shared that fact with Jordan, it made him nervous, despite his best efforts to cover it up. It kind of makes me nervous too, as though there’s a test that needs to be passed this afternoon.

It’s not like I can offer him a cosy night in a pub or a night sprawled on the sofa if it goes badly. Poor Jordan is also booked in for a night with my friends as soon as our afternoon with Mum is over. Thinking of the intense day I’ve planned for him, I reach over and give him a sympathetic squeeze of his knee.

When I let us in through the back door, the weight of the afternoon and whatever it might hold can be smelt in the unfamiliar air in her kitchen.

‘I’m making a curry,’ Mum declares by way of greeting.

‘Amazing,’ Jordan says, moving forward to hug her. ‘My favourite.’

‘For lunch? Are you sure about this?’ I ask, waiting in line to give her a peck on her cheek. I scan the counter for a pre-made jar of sauce, but no, it looks like she’s making it from scratch, which may go some way to explaining the overwhelming smell of garlic. ‘You didn’t need to go to so much effort.’

She bats my comment away with the tea towel she’s holding in her hand. ‘No effort at all. Besides, I told you, didn’t I, I was going with the girls to that new Indian round the corner? It was so delicious, all I’ve wanted to eat since is saag chicken and dhal. I hope I do it justice.’

I was hoping for a frittata and salad or jacket potatoes – two of Mum’s specialities. Curry is the last thing I want before a big night out, but Jordan seems to think differently.

‘Amazing! Judging how incredible your kitchen smells, I’m sure you’ll more than do it justice,’ Jordan says.

‘Thank you.’ I don’t know if it’s my imagination, or if it’s because there must be a thousand things Mum has to do in the next hour to make the mess in her kitchen come together to produce three plates of food, but I swear there was an uncharacteristic coldness to her tone.

‘Come on, Jordan. We should get out the way for a bit. Do you mind if we help ourselves to a glass of wine and head into the lounge?’ I ask.

‘Good idea. I’ll call you if I need some help.’

‘Make sure you do, Stella. I’d love to learn how to make a good curry.’

Mum gives Jordan a curt smile before turning her back. Jordan goes past me, seemingly unaware of the cold shoulder Mum’s giving him, but I stay for a moment, watching Mum through narrowed eyes.

‘Everything all right?’ I ask.

‘Fine,’ she says without turning back to me. ‘You go through with Jordan.’