Suppressing a smile at him still remembering how I like my coffee after months of barely speaking, I take the note off and sip the deliciously hot liquid, letting it warm me from the inside out against the heavily contested office air-conditioning temperature.
My mind slips back to the end of the night, helpingBancroft bring his sister from the taxi up to his apartment. Iris, despite her state, immediately kicked off her heels and took out her dangling earrings, throwing them down into the bowl on the side table near the door as though she’d done it a million times before.
“Will you be OK from here?” I asked. I would’ve offered to come in but it felt more of an intimate family moment than one a colleague should be involved with.
“Yeah, I got it.” My body tingled as he stared at me a little bit longer than necessary—until he seemed to snap himself out of it, shaking his head and grabbing his phone from his pocket. “Let me get you a car.”
“It’s OK, focus on your sister. I’ll be fine.” I gave a tight, closed-mouth smile, which he briefly returned before jumping to help Iris untangle herself from her cross-body handbag strap.
Before I left, I stood in the doorway for a few moments and watched them transform into two kids looking out for each other because no one else will. A trust fund won’t help you get home safe and make sure you drink a glass of water before you go to sleep. I thought about them the whole way home, zoning out from the falsely markedURGENTemails I’d received from Susie over the evening. The only thing that broke my hazy post-adrenaline comedown was the reply from William.
I’ve just started a new job and bought a stunning three-bed out west x
My brow furrowed at the message; did I even ask how he was doing? Or did he just offer up this informationwith no prompt to show off how well things are going for him? I decided to do the same.
That’s great. I’ve been doing great too. I’m up for a big promotion.
To my surprise, this time William replied almost instantly.
Cool, still at the dating app? x
My curved lips faltered as I fought the urge to over-examine every word.The dating app. That’s what he used to call my career, as though acknowledging it properly would turn it from some abstract frivolous concept into something real. Something solid I could use to support myself instead of relying on him.
Yep!I replied, regretting the exclamation point as soon as the blue bubble popped onto the message thread.
Once again, the three “typing” dots appeared within seconds. My chest tightened; why did this rapid back and forth feel somehow more personal than the “wait a few days then reply” tepid exchange I had been assuming this conversation would be? The three dots disappeared and I let out a breath of relief, clicking my phone into darkness.
A few minutes later, my phone dinged again.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately... about how we ended things x
Fuck.
“What’s this?” asks Yemi, appearing over my shoulder and breaking me out of replaying the memory again and again. I choke on my coffee midthought and try to catchit with the back of my hand as the hot liquid drips down my chin. Her finger is pressed into the note as though she’s putting her entire body weight on the one digit.
In an attempt to act nonchalant, my shoulders shrug apathetically. “It’s from Bancroft, just a little inside joke thing,” I state, clearing my throat of the remaining latte.
Her eyebrows rise almost to the ceiling. “Oh, we’re doing inside jokes with him now, are we?” she asks in a high-pitched voice.
“Barely inside, more like a conservatory, a shed... like an indoor-outdoor dining situation.” I shift my palm back and forth in the air to emphasize my super-cool casualness.
“Right...” Yemi looks unconvinced but continues, “So it would have nothing to do with this?” She holds up her phone screen, an Instagram post fromSocieteur Magazineshowing Iris slumped under her brother’s arm as he guides her barely conscious form into the back of the cab. The streaks of a flash bulb bounce off the car’s black paint. The back of my head is visible in the corner of the screen as I hold the car door open for them both.
“Shit.” I grab the phone from her hand and use two fingers to zoom in on Iris’s face. Her eyes are half-open and her head lolls to the side; my gut twists at Bancroft’s look of concern laced with anger. You can barely tell it’s me in the photo with them, the overexposure of the flash making my curly hair look strawberry blonde instead of my actual auburn shade, but the caption still mentions me:
FENDER ON A BENDER: It Girl rockstar nepo baby Iris Fender stumbles out of Matilda’s—after allegedly skipping out on her bar tab—with brother Eric Bancroft and his mystery redhead girlfriend!
My whole body goes cold, the taste of coffee turning metallic in my mouth as I scan the caption again and again.
Poor Iris, I hope she hasn’t seen this. Having your worst moments publicized for everyone to see must be awful. And is this what women who date Bancroft feel like? No wonder he’s practically famous for never being seen with the same person twice; if turning up in paparazzi shots isn’t the goal, who would want this? And if someone does want this kind of attention, do they even wanthim? Dating is hard enough without every private moment becoming public.
“So how was the date?” Yemi leans on my desk with a pointed look.
“It was good, thanks, Mum.” Yemi rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated laugh as I clarify, “And how many times do I have to say it wasn’t a date?”
“For the mum joke, I’m commandeering half of this.” She rips the croissant in two and bites down on her share. “For your date delusions, I’m giving you this.” She slaps down a folder of spreadsheets onto the only clear space on my desk.
“Ahhh, is this the ranking of Paul Mescal movies I asked for?” I hold the papers to my chest. “Thank you so much!”
