Lucy shrugs. “What? She asked.”
My words tumble out before I can stop them. “Well, you must know, we were good together. I know we were. Actually, we were perfect for each other. He was solid. Dependable. Like, I don’t know, like home. You know that feeling when you walk through the door after a long day, kick your shoes off, and everything just feels right?”
Lucy sighs. “Pippa …” she starts, but I don’t let her cut me off.
“And yes,” I say, rushing on, because I know where she’s going with that sigh. “Maybe the sex was a little … well, plain.”
Sandra nearly chokes on her mojito. I barely even notice the waiter bringing us fresh cocktails.
“Plain?” Lucy repeats.
“Vanilla,” I admit, my cheeks heating up a little bit as I fiddle with the stem of my glass. “But sex isn’t everything – in fact, if I’m being honest, I think it’s highly overrated. I could very comfortably live with vanilla. I like vanilla. I’ve got vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Vanilla is reliable. You know exactly what you’re getting, and it’s very soothing. Safe. And George was safe. He is my soulmate.”
“Did you just use ‘is’?” Sandra demands with a frown.
I shrink back. Oh dear, this conversation is going south very quickly.
Lucy gives me a look. The soft, patient one she reserves for when she’s about to say something she knows I won’t like. “If he is your soulmate, Pips, he wouldn’t have blocked your number.”
“What do you expect the poor guy to do when he can’t get his ex to stop ruining his sleep with hundreds of texts?” Sandra asks sarcastically.
The words sting more than they should. I feel them like a bruise under my ribs. “I only did that one time,” I protest.
Sandra and Lucy both jerk their heads back.
“Ok, maybe a few times,” I concede. “But I was drunk and I just … I wanted to hear his voice. Is that really so bad?”
Sandra winces. “Pippa Fairfax, you texted him an essay at three in the morning. Begging him to get back together.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Oh God, don’t remind me.”
“And what about that time you texted at six a.m. to ask if he remembered the time when the two of you made shepherd’s pie together,” Lucy reminds helpfully.
I peek through my fingers, mortified. “Don’t.”
She sips her gin calmly. “What? I’m just keeping the record truthful.”
Sandra leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “Honestly, Pips, he’s not worth it. I love you to death, but George? He was boring. Nice, yeah, but oh God, so freaking boring. The human equivalent of cold toast with even a scrape of butter.”
“Dry toast is underrated,” I mumble into my cocktail.
“Only when you’re starving,” Sandra shoots back.
I glare at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. She means well. They both do. Still, my chest aches.
To me, George wasn’t boring. Not at all. He was steady. And calm. Beautifully calm. A rarity in this day and age. The kind of man you could build a life with. Maybe being with him didn’t make me feel like fireworks were exploding all around me, but everything doesn’t have to be explosive … all the time. Anyway, explosions burn out. Explosions hurt people. George was consistent, and in the long run, isn’t that better? I take another long sip of my drink, the alcohol loosening my tongue further.
“You don’t get it. He was perfect for me.”
Lucy taps her nails against her glass, her expression flat. “Let’s be honest here, Pips. The man dumped you and made it very clear that he’s not interested in trying again. The more youhang onto this fairly worthless man, the worse you’re going to feel.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Sandra cuts in, waving her hand. “Ok, enough doom and gloom. This is supposed to be a fun night, remember?” She slides another shot towards me. “Drink. And stop saying his name like it’s some sacred hymn. George is the most boring name ever invented.”
“There are Kings named George,” I mutter defensively.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just give it a rest, and drink,” Sandra orders.
I down the shot. It’s strong and bright red, and tastes like cinnamon. It also makes my head spin a little. Good. It should make me forget George. I hate that I can’t stop talking about him. I know I am boring my friends. Hell, I am boring myself, but I just can’t help it.
