‘Fine,’ I reply. ‘Good luck to you.’
If she can get me a date with a man I actually like, or a meeting at the biggest romance publisher on the planet, then I’ll take it. But I’m not going to hold my breath.
I take a bite of my sandwich and sigh.
See, this is why it’s great having a male best friend and a female best friend. One to play video games with, the other to flash security guards to get you a book deal.
It’s going to be a long six weeks, with Andy being away, but at least JJ has my back… in her own way. And with what she’s planning, it sounds like she’s got plenty more, shall we say, interesting situations to land me in.
Just wonderful!
4
One thing having a male best friend has taught me is that when men don’t answer their phone, or reply to their messages, it’s not that deep. I know what it feels like – we all do – when the person you’re into seemingly goes quiet. You start overthinking it, wondering if it’s something you said, something you did – something you didn’t do, even. But watching Andy and his relationship with his phone has shown me the light. If he’s not replying it’s because he’s not looking at his phone, or he’s busy, or he’s sleeping. It’s never for a reason.
That said… he’s working away at the moment and he’s so quiet. I remind myself that he’s busy but, I don’t know, I keep getting his voicemail. It’s happened twice already today.
Andy is a lawyer for a big tech company, I know he’s busy, and he’s in Sydney, so there’s the time difference too, but I’m still just a girl: my imagination gets the better of me.
‘Hi, you’ve reached Andy…’
Okay, he’s clearly not getting his calls. I’ll drop him a message, just to check he’s not dead. I’ll use those words; he’ll find that funny.
He did say this project was massive. I don’t pretend to have a clue what he’s doing exactly, but I’ve seen the hours he’s been putting in to get ready for it, so I know it’s a big deal. I’ll hear from him when I hear from him.
I toss my phone onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
I’ve been lying here for a couple of hours now, wasting time, doomscrolling on my phone while my laptop sits open next to me.
My currently untitled romcom (it’s gained and lost so many titles at this point) is open, awaiting my… intervention. I keep changing things, big and small, trying to give it that bit of something that will make a publisher want it. Problem is, I can’t even get them to read it, so it almost doesn’t matter what I do.
The cursor blinks at me, reminding me it’s there, waiting for me to do something. Well, it’s going to have to wait longer.
I roll onto my side so that the pillow supports my neck. It’s aching – probably because I work in my bed, on a laptop, twisted up like a pretzel rather than at a desk in a comfortable chair with good posture. But that’s the beauty of being a writer, isn’t it? You can do it anywhere (even if the furthest you go is your bed).
I’ve been drinking tea and eating Maltesers – which reminds me, there’s one in my bed somewhere that I haven’t yet been able to retrieve – and contemplating everything. And scrolling Instagram. And playingKing’s Match, one of those mobile games, which is what I reach for when I’m trying to avoid downloading a different app… Matcher.
The funny thing about Matcher, though, is that while it is a dating app, it doesn’t really feel like a serious effort to find someone. To me, it feels like something that exists within my phone, a bunch of computer-generated men neatly lined up, all waiting to disappoint me. I don’t even meet them, I gave up on that long ago, I just go through the motions of swiping, chatting, letting it fizzle out. It’s just something to do – sort of like playingKing’s Match, which is far less likely to get you recognised by a random man in M&S, so I try to reach for that instead.
I pull myself back up onto my elbow to grab my tea. Ugh, it’s so cold it almost feels iced. The shock (although Lord knows why I’m shocked; I made it over an hour ago) causes a little to dribble down my chin and spill onto my T-shirt. The one that says:I’d rather be reading.
My phone starts ringing, snapping me from my thoughts. It’s not Andy though; it’s JJ.
‘Hello,’ I say, lying back down.
‘I have good news,’ she announces, no greeting, simply straight to business.
My heart starts pounding. Business! Has she… has she got someone to read my book?
‘Oh my gosh. Is it… Have you…?’
‘I’ve got you a date,’ she sings.
‘For… a meeting… with a publisher?’ I ask hopefully.
‘No…’ She pauses for a second. ‘A date-date. With a man. You know, those things where two humans go outside and flirt and then go home – or sometimes don’t go home – and touch each other. Wow. It really has been a long time, if you’re forgetting what one is…’
She’s teasing, to lighten the mood, but I can’t help but feel deflated.
