‘I wanted you all to officially meet this guy,’ she writes in the caption underneath their happy faces. ‘His name is Justin and I am just thetiniestbit smitten. But don’t tell him that, I’m totally playing it cool.’
Oh, fuck me, that’s charming.
That’s it then, they’ve both shared. They’re Instagram official – both of them. It’s happened. There’s no going back.
Sam reappears at the door. She’s drinking a pint of water. ‘You see it? The smitten thing? Are you okay?’
I nod, unsure if I really am. ‘What does she have that I don’t, Sam?’
‘Nothing,’ she says firmly, coming to sit beside me.
‘No, I mean it,’ I say, insistent. ‘There must be something. I know she’s prettier than me and cooler than me, but is that all it took?’
Sam shifts uncomfortably. ‘Have you considered… no, never mind.’ I stare at her, waiting, and she sighs. ‘Okay, Ijust wondered if maybe she just might not… maybe she… I don’t know, perhaps Orla just…’ She looks sheepish. ‘… doesn’t let him take the piss?’
I frown at her. ‘What?’
She looks a little flustered. ‘I don’t want to make you feel bad. I just mean, maybe he’s had to meet her atherlevel, instead of lowering herself to his.’
‘You think Iloweredmyself?’ I cringe at her words.
‘That sounds worse than I meant it to,’ she tuts at herself. ‘But, look, babe, you did wash the guy’s clothes. He’s an adult man and you did everything for him like he was a small boy. You let him behave however he wanted without a word of protest, and he treated you like you weren’t important. And maybe that ended up meaning youweren’tthat important to him.’ She swallows. ‘I’m saying maybe this woman doesn’t take his shit and so he doesn’t give her his shit.’
‘Jesus,’ I breathe out, unsure how to respond. Unsure how I even feel. Is this fair? It doesn’tfeelfair. It feels really cruel and horrible. I think I need a solid minute with my anger journal.
‘Look, I’m sorry—’ Sam begins, and the doorbell goes.
‘That’ll be Justin,’ I say robotically.
‘Hey, wait, Liv—’ she tries again, and I shake my head.
‘Let’s not,’ I say lifting a hand, my head spinning. ‘I have to go take some more of Justin’s shit before he leaves forever for someone better.’ I don’t look at her as I head for the front door. ‘But thanks for your honesty, I guess.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I can’t stop thinking about how great Justin looked the other night.
Not in an I-want-him-back kind of way, but more of a… huh? Like, what? How is it even possible that he isthisdifferent? In such a short amount of time? Obviously, I thought he was handsome before, but it was always more in a boyish,potentialkind of way. Now, he’s undeniably gorgeous. His hair has been cut nicely, his face is clean and shaved, his shirt is fresh and ironed. And it’s not just how he looks, his whole energy is different. He’s standing straighter and taller. He’s walking with more purpose and direction. He’s got that good narcissist energy Sam and I talked about. Like he really believes in and centres himself. It’s bizarre.
‘How do you cook a kale salad?’ Sam asks me from across the kitchen. We regard each other blankly.
‘Does a kale side saladneedcooking?’ I ask, and she shrugs.
‘What do you do if not then – bake it?’ She blinks at me.
‘What’s actually in a kale salad, other than kale, obvs?’ I squint at the random groceries lined up before me on the counter. ‘Like… other vegetables, right?’ Sam stares back even more blankly. ‘Ughhh,’ I wail, ‘Is it too late to just order a takeaway? It’s what I’ve done every other time I’ve hosted one of these dinners for everyone.’
‘It’s a fine back-up plan.’ Sam nods. ‘But I want to impress Arshiya. I don’t think Domino’s Pizza is impressive.’
‘She may not be the right therapist for you if you’re this concerned about impressing her,’ I comment in professional mode.
‘Whatever,’ Sam says neutrally, reading the back of a packet of pre-chopped kale. ‘Why aren’t there instructions on this? Do you just, like, empty it into a saucepan and heat it up?’
‘That sounds right.’ I nod with certainty, trying to work out how to light the hob.
Sam and I both live on takeaways, pre-packaged sandwiches, and microwave food. It was the one area where I definitely wasn’t the perfect girlfriend for Justin.
Maybe that’s why he dumped me? Maybe Orla is an incredible chef who doesn’t lob everything into the oven at 250 degrees because it surely cooks faster.
