Patrick didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but not that. He turned to face her, tea tin in hand. “Sorry?”
“I can’t be like Pastizzis,” she said desperately. “I just can’t.”
“Who or what the fuck is ‘Pastizzis?’”
To his surprise, she smiled. “You know, those pastry things you put in the oven?”
“No, but why does that matter?”
Cheryl flapped a hand at him. “That girl you were dating made pastizzis when you had that housewarming party, remember? She’s Pastizzis.”
“Who? Diana?”
“Diana! Eden and I call her Pastizzis. Anyway, I can’t be like that. I can’t be like her.”
It started to dawn on him what she was trying to say. “You mean you can’t be my girlfriend because you don’t want to put pastizzis in the oven?”
“Yes. And because Pastizzis was, like, a baby blonde fairy, and younger than you, and studying law—”
“KitKat…”
“—and she’d probably never even sucked anyone off before you, and she had that high-pitched girly voice guys all say they hate but secretly love—”
“KitKat?”
“—and I bet her family is all normal, and her mum does Pilates and is nice to all the instructors—”
He slammed the tea tin on the counter. “Cheryl?!”
“Yes?”
“I don’t give a fuck about Diana! I broke up with her because I wanted to walk past your office to ask you out for coffee more than I wanted to fuck her.”
Silence fell between them. His chest was heaving, and when he let go of the tea tin he saw it had dents in the side from his fingers. He swore under his breath.
“Patrick,” Cheryl said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“For calling my ex ‘Pastizzis?’ Or for thinking all I want is a girl who heats up oven pastries?”
A small smile. “Both.”
He didn’t smile back. “When are you gonna get that you’re all I want? That I don’t love you because you’re some pretend fantasy woman, I just love you.”
She raised a hand to her face, as though blocking his words.
He shoved his hands in his hair and pulled. “You’re killing me, woman.”
“Stop calling me ‘woman!’” Cheryl snapped. “I’m older than you!”
“Who fucking cares!?” It came out in a rush of ancient resentment. Almost a yell. It was what he’d wanted to scream at the world ever since he thought she might feel that way about their age difference.
Cheryl’s expression became vicious. “I care.”
“Age is just a number.”
“That’s what pedos say!”
“You’re not a pedo and I’m not a kid!” Heat was rising in his face and across his neck. He didn’t like getting angry, but he also didn’t feel like he was arguing with the real Cheryl, more the shell of the stupid idea keeping them apart for no reason. And when it came to that shell, he was done playing nice.
