“You’re a tiger,” I say, impressed.
“Thank you for caring, Mara,” she says, her eyes a little glassy. “Thank you for being you.”
“Well, thank you too,” I say, as she passes me.
I check my phone again.Am I going to see if Joe is there? Am I going to resist?There are no further posts on Instagram, nothing tohelp sway me either way, and so I head into the kitchen, hugging both my builders and thanking them again for such a wonderful job. I slide a cold bottle of white wine out of the fridge and pour another huge glass. May as well get wasted.
Ash sees me from across the room, where he’s chatting to one of our lifeguards and a girl I recognize from yoga. We meet eyes and he excuses himself from the group and heads my way.
“Hey,” he says. He stands back slightly, touching the bare skin on my arm, leaving a heated pulse so fierce I pull back. “How are you feeling?”
“Low,” I say, taking a huge gulp of wine.
I shrug and look up at him, feeling guilt and pressure so thick I can’t take it.
“I know what day it is,” he says finally.
“You do?” I say, shrugging.
“I knew when we picked the night for the flat warming. I thought it was over.”
“So did I,” I say.
Ash nods.
“And it is over. I don’t want him, I want you, but I can’t stop wondering if at the last minute I’m turning my back on what I’m supposed to do.”
I turn from Ash, my legs shaky and my heart racing. Then I look back at his face, and I mouthsorryto him. I can’t deny this. I can’t not go. I can’t not see Joe for myself. I just can’t.
Ash puts his beer down and heads toward his room, and Lee from the art class slides up next to me. “Anyone know who I have to shag for a drink around here?” he says, grinning.
“In the fridge,” I say, motioning toward the kitchen. “Sorry, I have to go.”
The room is swimming. All around me, new friends, acquaintances, in my very house. I am so torn between the pleasure of it and the pressing, probing claustrophobia of it. I down the last mouthful of my glass of wine and head for the front door. As I spill out onto the street, where one of the builders is grilling Jackie and Gus, who are both literally drooling over him, I turn toward the Star and Anchor.
Then I feel a hand on my arm. It’s Samira.
“Where are you going?” she says.
“I... ,” I reply.
“You’re not going to go?” she says, looking over my shoulder. “Where’s Ash?”
I don’t answer, feeling the heat in my cheeks as she looks at me.
“Don’t do this,” she says. “You like Ash. Ash is real. Ash is here. Ash knows you.”
“Ash doesn’t know me,” I say. “He knows, like, the first layer or two.”
“Mara,” she says, folding her arms and smiling, “you’re not that complicated.”
“Okay, please don’t do this. Don’t analyze me,” I say, raising my hands. “There’s nothing you could tell me about myself that will be a shock. I know I’m a mess. I don’t need to be told again and again and again and a-fucking-gain.”
“I wasn’t going to say you’re a mess,” she says, frowning. “And who are you comparing yourself to anyway? Everyone’s a fucking mess.”
“Ash isn’t,” I snap. “You’re not.”
“Is that what you think?”
