Page 68 of Break the Ice

‘I’m not embarrassed. I’m just not comfortable like you talking about that sort of stuff. Can I just ask though?’ I say, lowering my voice, looking over at a group of mums with strollers jogging past in case anyone can hear me. ‘I know we were slightly drunk but was I OK?’

‘You seemed OK at the time,’ she says.

‘I mean, what I was doing. Did it work? For you?’

She pulls a face, confused. ‘Joshua, life is too short to fake these things, those were real sounds, proper orgasms. You were very good.’

‘So were you,’ I say, looking her in the eye. ‘I was just worried because I’ve only ever…’ I don’t know if I can finish this sentence. She narrows her eyes like she’s trying to work me out.

‘OH. Been with the one girl? Really?’ she says, her eyes wide in shock.

‘Yeah,’ I mumble.

‘When you broke up, you didn’t have some wild rebound sex?’

‘Is that the norm? No, I did not,’ I say.

She nods, her brow furrowed. I think her breadth of experience may be different to mine, but it’s not my place to pry. ‘You don’t need to worry. It was all very very good. I don’t lie about these things. I thought we were very in sync.’

This puts a mini spring in my step. ‘I thought that too. Like a well-oiled machine.’

She bobs her head from side to side. ‘Interesting analogy. But I don’t want you to worry. I had a wonderful evening. Much fun was had.’

She continues walking, smiling, her eyes fixed on Steve. I don’t know what else there is to say. Maybe a line has been drawn. Much fun was had. Past tense. Does that mean she wants to park it there? I seriously have so little game, I don’t know what to say next. Thank you? I’d gladly do it again? Not in this park. I believe that’s called dogging. You educated me about that! That would be weird. She’d set Steve on me.

‘So, I’m guessing the lone girl is that altar-dodging bitch Avery of the mixed messages,’ she enquires.

Oh. We’re swinging the conversation in that direction? I wince at her summarising that situation so concisely. ‘Yeah. Actually, you’ll love this. I’m going to see her on New Year’s. I have to go to a party thrown by her parents.’

Phoebe stops in her tracks. ‘You what now?’

‘My parents are old friends with her parents and it’s an annual tradition,’ I say solemnly. I haven’t spoken to my parents since Christmas Day but I’m disappointed in myself that I’ve not been able to tell them that I hate how our lives remain so intertwined, how the idea of this party stings a little. I pull at Phoebe’s arm to get her to keep walking as she digests the news.

‘But why? Don’t go to the party. Surely you can make your excuses and go to some trendy warehouse rave in Brooklyn instead,’ she says, her accent going Stateside again.

‘Because of course I give off that vibe completely,’ I say, smiling. ‘If my parents are going then I should go too. It’s New Year’s, I’m back in the city for only a short time and it’s important to them.’ She says nothing for a moment. ‘It would just be a few hours of faking some smiles, having some canapés, swaying in a corner of the room until the clock strikes midnight.’

She’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. I’m sure she can read that the thought of that party fills me with pain. ‘Am I allowed to be nosey and ask what happened with Avery?’ she asks. ‘You can tell me to mind my own.’

I bite my lip, looking out into the snow. ‘We were all family friends. Our dads went to college together. I grew up with her. We went to the same high school and we’d been together as a couple for seven years before I proposed and then, three months before the wedding, she called it all off.’

Her bottom lip sticks out and she huddles in close to me again. I guess there is no joke or humour that can really gloss over that. ‘Did she give a reason?’

‘She felt things were moving too fast.’

She pulls a face. ‘I mean, seven years,’ she says.

‘Right?’ I reply, grateful she gets it because that part of Avery’s explanation never made sense to me.

‘Was there someone else?’ she asks.

‘I don’t think so. I think she genuinely freaked about the idea of being with the same person for the rest of her life. Or maybe I just wasn’t the person for her, who knows?’

Phoebe pouts and reaches out to put a hand in mine. ‘And this party will be the first time you’ll have seen her since?’

‘Yeah. We broke off all contact, clean break and all that,’ I tell her.

‘So she doesn’t want to marry you but she texts you intermittently on important days to keep her hand in?’ Phoebe says. ‘I bet she wished you happy birthday, didn’t she?’