I’m driving, and Bee is texting in the passenger seat next to me. ‘William is going to bring coffee for us. Do you want your flat white?’ I say yes. ‘Did you know that he texts me “good morning” every day?’
I do know; Bee already told me twice last week.
‘It seems like you really like him, Bee. And that he likes you.’
‘I know it’s early, and you probably think we’re rushing into things…’ They are still going on chaperoned double dates. I do not, in fact, think they are rushing anything. ‘But it just feels right.’
I’m hit with a wave of déjà vu and try to keep my hands tight on the wheel.
‘I know I’ve said that before. I’ve found my happily ever after at least half a dozen times at this point,’ she chuckles, self-deprecating, with a bashful smile on her glossed lips. ‘But this feels so different to all those other times, so that’s how I know that this time it’s real.’
‘Different how?’ I ask, and I’m really not just making conversation. I’m hanging on Bee’s every word. What I wouldn’t give for that kind of certainty—even the kind of certainty that comes from meeting The One half a dozen times in a row. Just in case the sixth time’s the charm, I’m going to keep on asking.
Bee ponders for a moment. ‘It’s hard to say,’ she says. Unhelpful. Uninformative. Try again, Bee. (I don’t say this; I put on my indicator to turn left.) ‘I guess it’s just the little things. Like wishing me a good morning, and remembering my coffee order, and genuinely listening to what I have to say.’ Perhaps William has hidden depths beyond his first, second and third impression. I make a commitment at this moment to try harder with him, because it seems like he’s sticking around.
‘Doesn’t hurt that he’s stupid hot, either, I suppose.’
Bee laughs. ‘That doesn’t hurt at all.’
But there is one thing that has been nagging at me. ‘You have to admit the “William” thing is a little weird, though.’
‘What do you mean, the William thing?’ Bee looks genuinely confused. Which takes me an even further step towards confounded.
‘How he refuses any kind of nickname for William. And he insists on calling you Bianca at all times.’ I really want to ask if he is that formal in bed, but the question seems a bit out of pocket. Arthur would find it funny.
‘I hadn’t really noticed.’ Oh shit, have I shattered the glass and pointed out the one thing that would annoy Bee about William forever? ‘But that’s just an adult relationship, Gertrude. You’ll understand one day.’
We fall silent again while Bee replies to William. ‘Also,’ Bee says, looking at my old black leggings, ‘We really need to get you some new activewear. That old sports bra is giving you uniboob.’
We arrive at a rock-climbing wall, and I nearly hop right back in the car to drive home. I watch Bee run up to William, ponytail swinging in the breeze behind her, and throw her arms around his neck. He holds the cardboard tray of coffee cups out to the side to avoid spilling them and wraps his other arm around her waist (naughtily close to her ass, if anyone asks me). William offers her one of the cups on the tray and they stand there, sipping their coffee and chatting softly. Mine is getting progressively colder so I join them to relieve him of another cup.
This is it, Gertrude. Time to Make An Effort with your best friend’s The One.
‘Hey, Will…iam!’ I really need to get better at that. ‘How are things?’ Titillating. Riveting. How am I not constantly at the centre of things with such telegenic conversational prowess? It truly boggles the mind.
He smiles, but if I had to read something into it (and I definitely do; there is no doubt that this is a key hallmark of who I am as a person, for better or worse), I would have thought that it was not remotely genuine. It’s my fault, though. I haven’t given him much of a reason to warm up to me. Which he will, now that I’m Making an Effort. ‘Things are good, thanks Gertrude.’ He tips his coffee cup at me. ‘I was just telling Bianca about my upcoming week in Hamilton Island.’
‘Oh, cool! That sounds amazing.’
‘Yeah, it will be.’ Come on, Gertie, he’s handing it to you. Just talk abouthimandhis holiday.People love talking about themselves. He’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.
‘So great that you’ll get to see the reef while it still has some colour left in it, right? I read somewhere there’s going to be something like eighty per cent bleaching in the next twenty years, and…’
He frowns. Wait, what did I say? How have I already fucked this up? ‘I don’t think that’s correct,’ he says.
‘I’m sure that’s what they said…’ Was it, though? Now I’m not so sure. But I said it with so much conviction, didn’t I?
‘No.’ Just no. Actually, not just no. William has now handed his cup to Bee to get out his phone. Wait, is hegooglingit?
And then Bee turns to me with just the worst look ofcondescension on her face. ‘William is probably right. He’s very well informed about current events.’
Urgh. I’m going to be thinking about this painful exchange at three in the morning five years from now.
William is still frowning at his phone when he hears his name being called. Arthur is walking over. William stows his phone in his pocket and says, ‘Whatever. It doesn’t matter.’ Then he walks off to give Arthur his coffee. Bee gives me another look before following him, which is unnecessary because I already know that the conversation has been a truly spectacular clusterfuck.
Truth be told, I’m not thrilled about the idea of rock climbing, but I feel it’s appropriate to practise gratitude or whatever in exchange for Arthur’s efforts. He looks a bit like an overexcited toddler as the three of us approach, clearly not at all picking up on the weird vibe. Bee is still holding two coffee cups. William is scowling. I am shuffling along behind them in faded black leggings and a too-big T-shirt I got for free at an event I worked a few years ago.
‘Are you excited?’ Arthur asks as Bee and William get fitted for harnesses.
