“Yes,” I say at the same time.
Brilliant.
“Tea, Coffee? I don’t have anything stronger I’m afraid. Not unless you want neat Vodka or a 10 year old bottle of gross looking champagne?”
“Tea is fine” I say, awkwardly stepping into the space.
We sit opposite each other at the kitchen island, and it’s awkward in that charged, careful way where neither of us quite knows where to rest our hands.
“So,” she says lightly, filling the kettle. “You survived the fair.”
“Just about.”
A beat of silence stretches.
“I won’t stay long,” I add, because I feel like I should say it.
“You don’t have to rush off,” she replies. “They’ll be up there for at least an hour building something structurally unsafe.”
I nod, like this is fine. It is not fine. Because I need to know. The question has been sitting in my throat since spotting the lack of any trace of a man in this house. No larger shoes, no photos, no big coat hanging in the hallway.
I clear it casually. “What time does your partner get in from work? I’d love to meet him.”
It sounds polite. Easy. Mature.
Her forehead creases. “Partner?”
I feel something inside me tighten.
“Yeah. The guy I see here with Theo sometimes.”
Realisation dawns slowly across her face. “Oh. James? That’s Theo’s dad.”
My stomach drops slightly. “And…?”
“And we haven’t been together since I was pregnant,” she says, matter-of-fact. “We split up years ago.”
The world shifts. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just a quiet internal detonation. My pulse spikes so fast I’m certain she cansee it in my neck. I sit back slightly because if I don’t move I might do something profoundly stupid.
She’s single. She’s been single this whole time.
The image of James in the doorway rearranges itself in my head. Not partner. Co-parent. Not husband. Not the man she goes to bed with. The father of her son.
I must look unhinged because she tilts her head slightly. “You thought…?” she begins.
I run a hand through my hair, buying time. “I just assumed.”
Of course I did. Because that was safer. Because it meant I had a boundary to hide behind.
Inside, something is combusting. All those moments at the fair. The jealousy. The restraint. The constant reminder to myself that she belongs to someone else. She doesn’t. She never did. My chest feels tight and my shoulders are locked and I have absolutely no idea what my face is doing.
Get it together.
She’s watching me now with open curiosity.
“Rory?”
“Yep,” I say cough out quickly.
