William and I were thinking next Sunday?
You’re not working, right?
No, I’m not working.
So, you’re free?
He isn’t making this easy, and now I’m in a corner. Well, it isn’t like my dignity is any part of the chat at this point, anyway. What’s another layer of humiliation?
I can’t do so many $$ activities in a row.
The emoji makes me sound light-hearted and fun.
Sorry, I should have asked! Are things tight
this month?
Things are always tight for me. I’m a waitress.
My phone starts vibrating. He is calling me. What kind of self-respecting man is he, making a voluntary phone call in his thirties?
‘I’m sorry,’ he says by way of greeting.
‘You already texted that,’ I reply.
‘No, this is a different sorry. That one was a specific sorry for not considering the ice skating, but I need to give a much wordier apology for having just dumped the cost of the karaoke on you without you even having consented to the activity and spend in the first place. I literally just spent your money without thinking. I’m sorry for being presumptuous.’
As apologies go, that’s a pretty good one. Acknowledged the action and the hurt caused, apologised without qualifications. Has he listened to a podcast on active listening or accountability or some shit as well? There isn’t much I can do but accept it. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate that.’
And then he goes and ruins it. ‘Don’t worry about transferring me.’
‘I’m not trying to get out of paying,’ I say. Logically, I probably should accept him at his word. But I can’t. I wish for so many things. To be in my late twenties and have a regular job with regular hours and a respectable salary. To not have to stress just that little bit more in winter because there are fewer events and therefore fewer hours to go around. To be able to treat myself to a bit more cheeky takeaway or not worry about getting an Uber back after a night out (or not have to worry about the general financial implications of just one night out). I would love to know what draws everyone to those fancy Pilates joints, but I can’t justify forking out thirty-five dollars foroneclass. I wish I could take sick leave without sacrificing two hundred dollars from my pay. Or go on holiday.
I know these are not real problems. I have a home. I have food. No needs are on the chopping block with the way I live.But there is something about living so tantalisingly close to a certain life but not being able to reach out and grab it. To walk out onto an Albert Park street and see little luxuries scattered everywhere, to occasionally get a taste through Bee, just enough to keep me hooked until the next hit.
‘No, of course you’re not,’ Arthur says, snapping me out of my perverse pity party. ‘Think of it as my dickhead tax. My investment in learning a lesson in douchebaggery.’ And look, he’s laying it on a little thick, swooping in like my white knight to fix a problem he caused himself. But it’s nice to have a considerate friend. (Just a friend.) I think of mani-pedis for some reason, but I can’t for the life of me make the connection.
‘Thank you,’ I say, partly because I can’t be bothered with the inevitable circular argument my continued denial would set in motion.
I hear him exhale deeply. Relief? ‘Do we need to stop doing all of this then and finally shove the happy couple out of the nest and into the big wide world?’
‘No!’ I exclaim, baffling myself. That’s exactly what I was angling for ten minutes ago.
‘You’re a very contradictory person. I think we’ve learnt this much about you.’
‘It’s just…I’m not ready to let go of this weird journey you and I are on together. I really feel like it’s doing something… or it could, if we keep going.’ As the words leave my mouth, I realise that they’re true. More real than my anxiety over fake dates, anyway. I should be selfless and set him free, but I think he will need to be the one to let me go.
‘It’s definitely already doing something!’ I think I detect ahint of pride there. ‘Okay, how about this? We’ll continue, but I will now be on a personal mission to choose cost-effective or free activities. I will also alert you to any and all activities ahead of time for the raising of objections. You, in turn, will give me your roster so that you’re not forced to swap and cancel shifts to make this work.’
Is it really that simple? ‘We can’t just revolve all of this around me!’
‘Why the hell not? If the others want to do something else at another time, they are more than welcome to do it themselves and stop involving us. But you and I, we will revolve around you.’
Hard to argue with that.
He sends me an honest-to-God survey to determine suitable date activities, times and budgets. I send back a gif of a nerd pushing up his glasses and make him wait two days for a response. I only cave after he sends a follow-up request because my ‘feedback matters to us’.
He then refuses to give me the results of the survey, stating that the element of surprise is still crucial to his plans. Bee and I are instructed to be ready at ten o’clock on Sunday morning and to wear comfortable athletic wear and closed-toe shoes. This doesn’t put my mind at ease. Will there be something that can bite my toes?
