Marie: She's lovely. Are you bringing her a week on Friday? It'll be great to meet her. We've spoken a few times but she didn't mention she was dating you. Are you sure you're dating her? She might just think you're being friends. She's very pretty and pleasant, she does know you think you're dating her, right?
Max: PMSL. That's just made my day. Thanks, Marie.
Me: I'm pretty sure she knows we're dating and she doesn't just think I'm a weird stalker. It's the same Vanessa. I'm sure Claire or Payton will give you more details when they phone you.
Me: Max, you're a shit.
Marie: Your dad's just texted back to say that he knew 'watch Netflix and chill' was a euphemism for having casual sex and was going to explain once we had an empty house.
Max: I'm deleting this conversation from both my phone and my brain. Then I'm going to check with Vanessa that she agrees she's in a relationship with Jackson and isn't about to file a complaint about him stalking. I'm concerned he may be fantasizing again.
I rang Max before he had a chance to step outside of his office and find Vanessa, who was spending a day here to finalize the marketing campaign that would support the rebrand.
"What's up?" Max said, answering before the phone had even rang. "You are in the office next to me."
"We've not had the conversation yet," I said. "Stay there, I'm coming to you." I heard him curse as I hung up.
Twenty seconds later I closed his office door behind me and sat on the throne-like chair he insisted on keeping as a 'part of history'. I had figured it was probably the last place he'd ever had sex and was, therefore, an important keepsake.
"What conversation? We talk about fifty times a day. Sometimes we even speak about topics that aren't work or rugby related," Max said, stretching his arms. We'd hit the gym heavy this morning, spotting each other. I would hurt tomorrow.
"Not a conversation between us, you idiot. Between me and Vanessa. That conversation. The relationship one," I said. "I didn't want you finding her and mentioning it when she might not think we're in a relationship. For fuck's sake, she might not want to be in a relationship, after living with that dickhead of an ex..."
"Jacks."
"Yeah?"
"Shut the fuck up."
I stroked my beard. This was out of my comfort zone. I went out with women; I fucked them; a couple I had seen on an exclusive but casual basis for a period of time. But I hadn't had one stay at mine, on work nights, for consecutive days, or take up space with her shoes in my cupboards, or leave half the contents of a make-up counter in my bathroom before. And now I was talking to my elder brother about it, who was terminally single.
"Why wouldn't she think it's a relationship?"
"Because we haven't said it is," I kept pulling my beard. "And it's not even been three weeks."
"People get married after less," Max said, clicking his shoulder which had to be one of his most annoying habits. "What would she do if you took another woman out for dinner on a date."
"I don't know. I wouldn't do that."
"Hypothetically, Jackson. How would she react?"
"I think she'd be hurt and upset. Her flatmate would kill me." I winced at the thought: Sophie scared the shit out of me when she wasn't even trying to be violent.
"Where is she sleeping tonight?"
"At mine."
"Tomorrow?"
"At mine."
"When's she next staying at her own place?"
I re-tied my hair. As far as I was concerned there was no need for her not to stay at my place but if I said that to anyone I would sound desperate and domineering. "I don't know. We don't plan out our diaries in advance, just the next couple of days."
"I think you're in a relationship, Jacks. I think she thinks she's in a relationship too. But maybe you need to have this conversation with her sooner rather than later, especially because when Marie meets her you know she'll start planning your wedding and naming your children," he said, looking at me curiously.
"What?"
