Simone found my awkwardness during the interactive show highly entertaining. Hailing from Leeds, she’s a force of nature, strong-willed, loud, and fearless. Cali is more of a calming soul,very sweet and gentle-natured. Matthew once said Cali reminded him of a Disney princess and, you know what, I can see it. She’s easygoing, optimistic, and the person you want to have a cuddle with when you’re feeling blue. When it was her turn to organize an evening for me, we drank herbal tea, ate chocolate digestives, and watched old seasons ofKeeping Up with the Kardashians.
Awkwardly, Cali’s fiancé, Dominic, is close friends with Matthew. Cali felt the need to promise me over and over that she isfuriousat Matthew, she’s completely on my side, and she doesn’t want anything to do with him. It is, of course, going to be a very difficult situation for them as a couple, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
When I first saw her, I wanted to ask Cali a hundred questions about Matthew—Is he upset? Does he miss me? Does he talk about me? Does he regret this?—but I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her.
And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to hear the answers.
At first, I considered whether something like yoga would be a good hobby for the present moment, but my one attempt didn’t go so well. I had hoped that it would give my brain a nice hour off from its constant whirring, but all it did was heighten it. Yoga is so quiet and peaceful. It literally gives you the perfect opportunity tothink.Every time the instructor went, “Clear your mind,” in that whispery, gentle, mildly unnerving tone of hers, my mind went,I wonder what Matthew is up to right now.
“You learn to clear your mind,” Ruby informed me over the phone, when I rang her afterward. “That comes with time and meditation practice.”
“Does it work with every mind? Or is it just some minds?”
“You’re worried that your mind can never be cleared?”
“Ruby, it was torture. I had to mentally start listing what I needed to get from Sainsbury’s just to keep Matthew from creeping on in there. When the instructor came round with that weirdbell thing at the end and told us to lie back and close our eyes, I was repeating to myself over and over, ‘Don’t forget the salsa, don’t forget the salsa, salsa, salsa, salsa.’ And I’ve just been into the local shop on my road, and you know what?”
“You’ve forgotten the salsa?”
“That’s right. Because once I was out of the class, my mind was too busy freaking out about never being clear.”
“What are you having tonight that needs salsa?”
“Doritos.”
There was a pause at the other end of the phone. “Not for dinner, though, right?”
“Of course not,” I assured her. “That’s my side dish.”
“What’s your main?”
I hesitated. “Cheese.”
“You know, instead of taking up yoga as your new hobby, how about you consider cooking?”
It was a strong suggestion. Sure, I could do a couple of staple meals, which mainly consisted of shoving something prepared into the oven, but I wasn’t exactly adventurous. Since Matthew took the nonstick frying pan with him, I’ve been less inclined to hang around my kitchen (except for the fridge end), but Ruby was right. Cooking was not only a good idea for a new hobby, but it would also be advantageous to my health.
So, after I failed at yoga, I took a stab at cooking. That did not go well.
It turns out that timing is very important in cooking. You’d think I’d actually be very good at that side of things. I’m organized, sensible, and punctual, and my timekeeping skills are second to none. Too good, Matthew might say. Isn’t that what he was hammering home in the broom cupboard? I’m too together for him. Too in control.
Apologies, Matthew, for not being a hot mess. Enjoy your new life of double-booking yourself for events, missing people’sbirthdays, and not knowing the upcoming bank holidays. Good luck trying to reserve an outdoor pub table on a Friday evening in the summertime, mate.
Anyway, timing. Key to cooking, I’ve discovered, especially a curry. But how can you possibly stay on top of getting whatever out of the oven, when you’re busy chopping something else and also supposed to be smothering another thing in some sauce so it marinates?
I got so confused with all my different timers, I couldn’t remember which alarm was for what thing. Safe to say that my first attempt was not a success. But these things are sent to try us, right? I wasn’t going to give up on cooking as easy as I’d given up on yoga. At least the stress of it all had stopped me from thinking about Matthew. I was too busy trying not to set myself on fire. So, I would try again.
I thought maybe I’d aimed too high, so I went on to BBC Good Food and picked a one-pot recipe that was labeled as “Easy.”
Those bastards. It wasnoteasy.
Firstly, what the fuck is a cacciatore? I didn’t even know what it was I was cooking, but the pictures looked nice, and the site sold it as a recipe that you just throw into a pot and Bob’s your uncle, so I thought this was the one for me. I had to pop the onion in with the chicken that had been cooking away, and fry the onion until it was tender.
How do you know when the onion is tender?!
Was I supposed to stab it with a fork? How do you stab one of those fuckers?! They’re all chopped up thinly like instructed. I wasn’t going to pinch it with my fingers, because I’d rather not have burn marks, so I had to just guess. Do you know how stressful guesswork is for a control freak?It is high-stress.
So, then I poured in the wine, ready to let it “evaporate slightly.”What is “slightly”?!How do I know when it has evaporated slightly?! Am I supposed to be able toseethe wine liquidchanging to a gas?! My vision is not that spectacular! It is human vision!
