“Oh, I seeeveryOscars best picture nomination,” I say, adopting a very posh voice, “and have done since 2005. Bit easier then when it was only five films. Now you have to see around ten. Still, it’s a glorious hobby.”
He laughs at me, looking back to the screen and then to me. “I have to concentrate, Mara,” he says. “Subtitles?”
“Okay, sure. I’ll um... Friday night curry?”
“Lamb biryani, raita, and rice. Popadams. And a garlic naan,” he says without looking at me.
I laugh. “Are you up for an all-night movie marathon?”
“Yes,” he says, “I can’t think of anything better. My brain is hurting and I need to decompress.”
Ash has been doing otherthingsall week. I realize I don’t really know what a workweek looks like for him. I’ve assumed like my father’s, but is it? I recall the books in his room for a moment, wondering if he does project planning or some kind of administrative work. Maybe that’s why his brain hurts.
“Okay, I need to clear out my clothes drawers, so this is basically a perfect Friday night otherwise. Samira has sent me a step-by-step guide to streamline my wardrobe.”
“Project Mara?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“I just want to open my cupboard to the perfect capsule wardrobe in more shades than black.”
“I always think black looks quite smart,” says Ash, who usually wears a boilersuit.
For the rest of the evening, we are full to the brim with curry, and having finishedParasite, I’m forcing Ash through back-to-back romantic comedies that feature a makeover or a self-improvement scene. My secret happy place, which Ash is now fully abreast of. And, remarkably, enjoying.
While we watch, I have tipped the contents of my drawers on the floor and am going through each item one at a time.
“Is that another black hoodie?” he says, laughing loudly, on his fourth beer.
“Shhh... ,” I say, holding my hand up. “They’re just about to spot each other by the fountain.” We are watchingMoonstruck. A gorgeous, quirky romantic comedy starring the legend that is Cher. We watch her spin around in her red sparkly heels as Nicolas Cage finally spots her and she spots him.
“Oh God, it’s just so romantic,” I swoon.
Ash puts his hands deep into his tracksuit bottoms and cocks his head to the side. “Why on earth do you not work in movies?”
“Ha,” I say, shrugging. “I do adore movies. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go back one day and finish?”
“You should,” he says, looking like he wants to elaborate, but doesn’t.
I hold up an old black T-shirt withI’VE GOT A SAG VAGemblazoned across the front. A Sagittarius vagina, but no one ever got the joke but us. A gift from Charlie. I’ll keep that one.
“Have you ever started to spring-clean and then at some point everything is much worse than before you started and you can’t be bothered anymore? That’s where I am.”
“You have a lot of black clothes,” he says, stretching his arm uphigh, the edge of his biceps reaching through his sleeve. I must work hard not to look, except that I fail and he catches me.
“Show-off,” I say, feeling the heat in my cheeks.
“It’s good to have a clear-out,” he says, smirking.
“I thought so four hours ago. This is the pile that sparks joy, this is the pile that sparkssomejoy, and this is the pile that sparked joy a decade ago, were not cheap, and I think I’d better hang on to in case they come back into fashion and spark joy again. I tell you what; they can peel black skinny jeans off my old dead corpse.”
“What’s that pile?” he says, pointing to the mountain in a bag by the door.
“They all spark despair,” I say. “Mostly because they don’t fit.”
He laughs before walking to the fridge, staring into the abyss, and then closing it again before he turns back to me. “Out of beer. Do you fancy getting some air? I want to stretch my legs.”
“Oh yes, please. I want ice cream.” I look up at him, touching my hair, which is a right bird’s nest. “I guess no one will see any of this in the dark.”
“You look fine,” he says.
