‘I’m not sure I do,’ she says.
‘That’s not surprising. Gertie is a whole person who takes up space. And I think you like it when I make myself small because it makes you feel big. I’m not going to be small anymore.’
Bee is still shaking her head. ‘This is why I wanted to have this conversation in a more civilised setting. I wanted to talk to you so that we could get to the other side of this, but if you won’t even be open…’
I can feel the blood pumping in my ears; they feel waterlogged. I’ve been so focused on the next line, the dodge, the parry, that I forgot that we’re not playing a game. It’s one-thirty in the morning. I’m mildly surprised our neighbours haven’t called the police on us for noise disturbance. And I’m only justnow gathering a sense for the weight of my words.
I meant everything I said tonight, but even so, when I give this last word it’s different. I actually understand the consequences of it.
‘I’m not open. I am very, very closed.’
I HAVEN’T ENTIRELYthought this through.
That is not to say that I regret my argument-ending statement and hair-flicking walkout, but it wasn’t an element in any of my many scripts—I was just feeling it in the moment.
Of course, now that I’m sitting on the steps outside my apartment at two in the morning in a not totally safe part of town wondering where the hell I’m going to sleep, I’m starting to realise that there are limitations to late-night dramatics.
I run through the list of people I could feasibly call on at this time of the morning, and it’s not looking good. Nicole lives with her parents. Reg and José are heading out to Daylesford early in the morning, and I don’t want to interrupt their sleep. There’s that creepy-looking motel on the highway, all orange brick and fluoro VACANCY sign (there’s never no vacancy, which might be telling), but I think I’ll take my lumps and wander back inside before I ever getthatdesperate. Then…
Arthur.
Arthur has notifications silenced.
Notify anyway?
I notify him anyway.
Are you awake?
I immediately regret it. He probably won’t wake up to a text. Does it read like a booty call? It feels like a booty call. Maybe he’s out? Is he at the same wedding as William? We didn’t discuss his Saturday plans. If he’s out, he’ll see his phone. But he also won’t be at his house. It wouldn’t do to pull him home.
What if he’s with a woman? No, don’t be stupid. He wouldn’t be with someone else right after and then right before seeing me. That’s the two a.m. panic speaking.
He still hasn’t answered. It has been…seven minutes.
Should I call him? I should call him.
I call him.
I’m hunched over, staring at the phone as it vibrates in my hands, but it’s vibrating because my hands are shaking. The fire that has powered me for the last few hours has dwindled and a chill has settled over my body.
It’s a bad idea. I know that. It’s rude. It’s inconvenient. I should hang up. Come on, Gertie. Lift your thumb and hang up.
‘Hello?’ A raspy, foggy voice. I can imagine him groping around in the dark for his phone, not even looking at the screen before he answers.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry for calling so late.’
‘Gertie?’ he asks, more alert now. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Hypothetically, if someone were without a bed at this currenttime, would someone be able to come and stay with you?’
‘Gertie, are you someone?’
I pause for a moment. ‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
‘Can I stay?’
