Page 77 of Break the Ice

‘Yeah, you told my mom we go to a Beyoncé-themed spin class together on Thursdays. Really? Is that a thing?’ he says, recalling one of my very tall stories from dinner.

‘It is. I go to it. It’s brilliant. When you come back, I’ll take you. My instructor is called Hector. Calves like hocks of ham,’ I tell him. I did say many things to his family during that dinner. In between mu shu pork, scallion pancakes and lo mein noodles, I told them I had had a short-lived stint as a DJ in Ibiza and that my father went to school with Pierce Brosnan, and I made up stuff about astrophysics. I think I actually said we were going to reinstate Pluto as a planet because of miscalculations about its atmospheric pressure. They all nodded when I said that. That was when Joshua choked on a pot-sticker.

‘Well, maybe we keep tabs on these stories so we don’t get caught out, yes?’ he asks, diving into his pocket and getting a notebook out. I look at it curiously. He’s drawn up a table listing all the members of my family. It has details like my birthday, my favourite colour and the fact that I’m scared of pigeons. I told him that in a very cold car once. I didn’t think he was listening. ‘Is this weird? You think I’m weird.’

I pause. ‘I think it shows attention to detail. All I’ve done is stalk your Avery girl on the socials. I had time at the airport.’

‘You have?’ he says.

‘Call it research on the opposition,’ I say. It’s because I’m nosey as fuck as well. He closes his little book and looks up at me, and it looks like a challenge to see what I know. ‘Last name Patton, which makes her sound like a war general. Redhead, loves her tennis, always has to be on the left in a photo, hair over her left shoulder.

‘Yeah. How did you…? She was paranoid about her chin,’ he mutters.

‘A girl knows,’ I say, nodding. ‘And now with some bloke who looks like a complete tosspot. Very slappable face.’ He freezes when I say that, a breath almost stuck in his throat, the spark draining from his eyes. ‘Oh fuck. You didn’t know?’

He shakes his head silently, trying to summon a smile. I feel crappy for bringing it up. I never want to hurt you, Joshua. But it’s sad to see that sadness at the news, to see how it’s like a stake to his heart. I hope it gives him some clarity about everything though. She’s moved on. But by that same measure, if there’s another man on the scene then messaging Joshua at the same time is completely disingenuous. I hope he sees that.

‘Do you want to know more?’ I ask. ‘I can completely change the subject if you want. I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew.’

‘What’s his name?’ he asks quietly.

‘Naveen. Naveen Sharma. Some finance bro. He gives ick. He wears shirts done up halfway, loafers without socks, Ralph Lauren knitwear.’

‘I wear Ralph Lauren,’ he says.

‘Lemon Ralph Lauren, Joshua. No man should wear lemon.’

He nods silently. ‘And I guess you found out because she posts about him?’

‘There were selfies,’ I tell him.

‘Oh,’ he says, still a little glum.

‘Well,’ I say, exhaling and sitting up. ‘Fuck ’em. We are fake dating, we can also play at that game.’ I grab my phone from my bag and reverse the camera. ‘Huddle in,’ I order him.

‘Yes, Coach,’ he replies.

‘For a selfie. We’re creating backstory, this needs to look authentic, cosy. Plus I want to send this to Norah to show her I’m alive and thriving,’ I tell him.

He leans into the middle of the table and I put an arm around him, pulling him close, and snap a few, pulling some faces with my cheek next to his. Slowly, a smile emerges as he sees me clowning around. That’s much better. I put my phone down and Josh peeks over as I post them to my stories with #ilovenyc. See, I can be classy when the moment demands it.

‘Hey, is that Steve?’ he says, another smile growing on his face as he looks down at my camera roll.

I enlarge the picture. ‘It is.’ It is many pictures of Steve. Selfies, him on walks, him in the snow, him wearing a hat I bought him from the market. I scroll through them and we both look at them proudly, almost like parents, reminiscing about car trips and runs on the beach. ‘Look how happy he is…’

‘Send me a few of those. Was he OK when you left him?’ Joshua asks.

‘Yeah, he’s settling into my place. I bought him this fleecy bed. He still loves Martin the Monkey to bits.’

Josh grins when he gets to a photo of Steve and me. I let Steve in my bed and the pic is a big blur of fur, teeth and my hair. He laughs and for some reason I feel relief that he’s back in the room, that he’s not dwelling on what I told him just minutes ago. Don’t let that girl take up your head space, Americano. Please. ‘I’m going to send that one to you. You can make it your wallpaper,’ I tell him.

‘Really?’ he says.

‘For the illusion,’ I say, waving my hands in front of my face like a magician. ‘You’re my fake boyfriend. Your camera roll should be heaving with my pictures.’ Before he can protest, two massive fishbowl-style glasses appear at the table, half chocolate, half whipped cream, decorated in sprinkles, red and white straws and a giant spoon in the middle. I inhale with shock as they’re laid out in front of us, along with my fries and pecan pie, and I clap my hands excitedly, swaying from side to side.

The server laughs. ‘You enjoy now.’

I don’t stop for air. I put the straw in my mouth and take a gulp. It’s icy but sweet as the richness of the hot chocolate hits the back of my throat. My eyes roll back and I let out quite a feral sound that makes Joshua flinch back but laugh.