Pride swells in my chest, and I grin from ear to ear. “Jared, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I can hear the modest embarrassment in his tone. Jared isn’t one who likes to have a fuss made of him. “She asked about you. Remembered your name and everything.”
I shift in my seat and wince. “Did she mention my Spanx?”
He laughs a loud, throaty laugh, and I feel it vibrate in my tummy.
“No. She just asked how you were. She said you were positively charming. Those were her exact words. She liked your honesty and asked if you wanted a job there.”
“Ha! They couldn’t afford me,” I joke.
“I told her you probably wouldn’t enjoy being bossed around either.”
“Unless it was by you.” The flirtation slips from my mouth before I even knew it was coming.
Jared laughs again.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t mention anything about what’s going on. To be honest, I wouldn’t even know where to start. I just said you were fine and that I’d pass on my regards to you,” he says.
I close my eyes, hating that I put him in that position. “Of course that’s fine. Next time you see her, tell her I said hi.”
“We don’t exactly hang out together in the tearoom or anything, but if I happen to see her around, I will.” I hear the smile in his voice. “So, what time are you meeting Heather? Is she coming to yours, or are you two going out?”
I play with my food, stabbing the pasta and squishing it with the back of my fork. “We’re not doing Tequila Thursday this week.”
“Oh, really? Is she out of the country or dead?” he teases.
I love the fact that he remembers something I once joked weeks ago.
I shrug. “Neither. I just didn’t fancy it tonight.”
This is the first time in five years we’ve not had a BFF tequila night, but I just couldn’t face it. I’m not in the mood to socialise. I know she would want to talk about Jared, and I’m just not up to it yet. It’s too fresh and raw. I’m still too confused. We’d just end up going over the same old stuff until my head ached. Instead, I just want an early night and to snuggle in my Jared sheets.
“Really?” he asks, his tone concerned. “Are you all right? You’re not dead, are you?”
I feel dead inside; does that count?
“I’m good,” I repeat my earlier lie.
“Okay, so if you’re not drinking margaritas tonight, what are you doing?”
“Right now, I’m just eating dinner.”
“What are you having?”
“Microwave mac and cheese from Marks and Spencer.”
“Ah, top-end, processed shit.”
I laugh at the disgust and disapproval in his tone. “Yep, it’s delicious.”
I look down at the congealed mess in front of me and scrunch my nose up. It is categorically not delicious. Leaning forward, I push my plate onto the coffee table and decide not to even attempt to eat the other half of it.
“What are you doing?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Current status: sitting in bed, working on my laptop, talking to you,” he replies.
My eyebrow rises. I can picture it clear as day, and my stomach clenches. “Do you want me to let you go, so you can get on with whatever you’re working on?” Please say no! Please say no!
“No, it’s fine.”
I smile and look down at my nails. “So, how are things? Are you …” I clear my throat. “Are you and Theo okay? You haven’t fallen out over this, have you?” I wince, waiting for his answer.
“We’re fine,” he replies. There’s a tough edge to his voice, but it doesn’t sound like a lie. He’s just finding it difficult, and it’s probably a little awkward. “I told you, it’s not anyone’s fault.”
I nod. It’s not my fault, but I still feel guilty about it.
“Did you finish Stranger Things?” he asks—his turn to change the subject this time.
I raise one eyebrow. “No. I pinkie swore, remember? Why? Did you?” My mouth opens in shock as I think about him skipping ahead without me.
He laughs quietly. “I knew you wouldn’t have. Seeing as you’re not drinking your weight in margaritas and I have nothing on that can’t wait until tomorrow, do you want to watch the next episode now?”
My eyes widen. He wants to come over? Panic surges through me as my eyes dart around my flat, seeing all the mess—the unwashed plates in the sink, the crumbs from my biscuits still sitting on the table, my neat pile of Dr Pepper cans I’ve been stacking on my worktop like a carnival ball toss game, my dirty clothes in a bundle next to my washing machine where I lost concentration earlier when I meant to put a load on. And my very much unshowered self, whose current best friend is a can of dry hair shampoo.
“Um …” I know I’d need to delay him at least an hour, but the excitement at the prospect of seeing him is bubbling in my stomach.
Jared continues, “We can watch at the same time and talk on the phone. It’ll be kind of like watching together. I don’t think that constitutes a break in the pinkie-swear rules.”
I smile in understanding, a little more disappointed than I care to admit that I’m not going to see him in person. But at least I won’t have to rush around like a madwoman on crack and tidy up now.
“Okay,” I agree.
“Great. Open Netflix and select the next episode,” he instructs.
I do it, finding the place we made it to before everything went so wrong.
“Got it?”
“Yep.”
I hear him tapping keys on his laptop. “Okay, I’m ready. Press play in three … two … one …”
I hit play, and we synchronise the episode. Grinning, I put Jared on loudspeaker and sit back on the sofa, getting comfy. If I turn to the side slightly and try hard enough, I can imagine him sitting next to me and that nothing is messed up. It’s nice. Really nice.
twenty.six
By the time the weekend finishes, Jared and I are over halfway through the new season of Stranger Things with just three episodes left. By my calculation, we will be finished on Wednesday night. I’m not looking forward to not having an excuse to talk to him after that. We’ve spoken every day, watching episodes together on the phone, chatting and laughing as we synchronise watching. We pretty much have it down to a fine art now. It works better, we’ve discovered, if we listen to the phone call with one earbud in rather than loudspeaker. Less echo that way from the TV, and we can still talk freely while watching.
During those hours of phone calls, neither of us has mentioned seeing each other again or even spoken of the situation at all. I love that he’s giving me time to get my head in the right place. I appreciate it more than I can articulate. But the trouble is, nothing is getting any easier or clearer. I am beginning to wonder if it ever will. Or will it always be a murky mess? Will Jared and Theo always be interwoven and inseparable in my brain?
I’ve tried so hard to split them. I lie awake for hours, going over our separate interactions. Replaying memories of my crush on the train—him sharing his phone, chatting happily, reading his books, drawing. And I replay my time with Jared—our dates, our lazy Sundays, him meeting my mum and helping my nanna. And just the quiet moments we shared when the rain was pattering on the window and we snuggled on the sofa in our own little bubble or how I’d be perfectly content to watch him work when he was on a tight deadline. The little look of concentration that would create the line between his eyebrows that made my tummy fizz.