‘It wasn’t a sacrifice, though, was it? Because you love me. So you wanted to do it.’ He looks very slappably smug, like he thinks he’s madethemost unarguable-with point.
It’s weird, really, when people can’t see the obvious counter-arguments to their own stupid ones.
‘Areyouin love withme?’ I ask him.
‘Of course I am.’ He strokes my hands again, which I don’t like.
‘And so it would not then be a sacrifice for you to move here, for me?’ I know I’m being slightly unreasonable because I’m not sure how easy it would be for him to move jobs, but intheorysurely I’m right.
He tilts his head to one side, and looks at me slightly pityingly, like I’m a small child who doesn’t understand what the grown-ups are talking about, and then says, ‘It’s different, silly.’
I tilt my own head to the side, mirroring his, and glare at him.
Then I decide I just cannot be bothered to have this conversation now.
It’s going to be a straight choice for me if I want to have kids: stay in England surrounded by family and friends and hope that I meet someone or successfully go it alone with a donor; or move back to Sydney with Jed. Assuming wecanconceive kids, of course.
That is not a choice I want to think about while he’s wittering on at me. I want to think about it by myself, in peace.
Which in itself tells me that he is not my actual soulmate.
But, as I keep telling myself, we have to be realistic in life. Who does get to live with their soulmate? And, after all, I have lots of girlfriends in Sydney who I really like. It wouldn’t have to be all about Jed.Iwould never have chosen to leavehimand I would have been perfectly happy if I’d stayed.
Given, though, thathechose to leave me for that period of time, because I was ‘putting pressure on’ him to have babies (that still rankles, because suggesting, once a year, that we should maybe consider trying to do the thing he’d always sworn blind he wanted to do is not, in my opinion, putting pressure on), maybe I should take this second chance at life happiness and… not, in fact, go back to him.
But will I regret it?
Jed has been talking thewholetime I’ve been thinking, and I haven’t heard any of it. Just like he didn’t hear most of what I told him about my job. Right now, it’s six of one half a dozen of the other. By contrast, when we were together, I listened to him and he did not really listen to me and it was much more of a ninety-ten I’d say.
I think wecouldbe happy together. Spending bland time as a couple and deriving emotional sustenance from girlfriends (in my case) and golf (in his case). He isn’t abadperson. I think.
I really do not know.
Suddenly, I really, really want to go home.
Our main courses have just been put in front of us.
I eat mine as fast as possible, while Jed chats about something, and then I say that I’mreallytired and have work tomorrow morning so I’m going to skip dessert and coffee and get going if that’s okay.
‘Why don’t I come home with you?’ Jed suggests. ‘And we can talk on the way. And then I can stay the night.’ Wow. The breathtaking arrogance of him.
‘That would be lovely,’ I lie, because I don’t want an argument. ‘But I really can’t do that. We haven’t made any kind of a decision about us and I don’t want to do anything we’d both regret…’
‘I wouldn’t regret it,’ Jed interrupts with a very annoying leer. ‘And I’m sure you wouldn’t either.’
‘I might well regret it,’ I say firmly. ‘And also my job isbusyand I amtired.’
‘Okay. Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow evening then?’
‘Erm, no, sorry, I’m going home for the weekend.’
‘To your mum’s?’
‘Yep.’
‘Do youhaveto go?’ He is so thoughtless.
‘Iwantto go.’
