Liv Carpenter says closure is overrated…
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CHAPTER THIRTY
I wake up to Sam’s left big toe inches from my face. We have passed out on my bed, talking late into the night. After almost a week of not speaking, there was so much inane guff to catch up on.
She grunts awake, looking over at me blearily. ‘Morning,’ I say, and she looks at her watch.
‘Shit, I’m supposed to be at work in twenty minutes.’ She rolls over. ‘Sod it, I’m calling in sick. I haven’t skived in – ooh – must be at least a month. I’m long overdue.’
‘Want me to call for you and pretend to be your mum?’ I offer, and she shakes her head.
‘No thanks, but if you could write a note to get me out of PE tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.’
‘No problem,’ I say.
‘Can we hang out all day together doing nothing?’ Sam smiles shyly. ‘I’ve felt a bit… untethered without you.’
I feel the same way. We still have so much catching up to do. I want to hold her tightly and not let go.
I check my own watch. ‘I would love that, but I have to go into my office to fetch some files and books. I have a meeting lined up with that domestic violence charity in a few days and I need some paperwork – my qualification certificates and that. I was also meant to be seeing Jools for a coffee at some point.’
‘Oh, I love Jools!’ Sam says joyfully. Her face lights up. ‘She’s such a style queen with those glasses – such an original.’
I won’t tell her about Elton John.
She grins. ‘Could we combine?’ she suggests. ‘Get Jools to meet us at the therapy collective office and we’ll help you sort out your paperwork while we chat and drink coffee?’
‘God, you’re so needy.’ I roll my eyes, and she tells me to fuck off.
Things are back to how they should be between us. But hopefully even better, from now on.
We get ourselves dressed and head over to my office, where we ignore the many overpriced bits of furniture I own and squat directly on the floor. It’s a lot easier when you’re sorting through several years’ worth of ignored boxes, rammed with invoices and client notes. Jools arrives a few minutes later, bearing steaming cups of coffee that we drink greedily as we work our way through the paperwork. We’re trying to locate my certificates and any old recommendation letters, but we’re not having much luck. Sam has been less than helpful, instead focusing her efforts on filling Jools in on my phone call with Justin.
‘God,’ Jools breathes out heavily, ‘I can’t imagine having proper closure like that with an ex.’
‘It does feel pretty good,’ I admit. ‘It turns out, being honest is a solid way to go. Who would’ve guessed.’
‘And maybe Justin sort of turned out to be a halfway decent guy in the end?’ Jools offers, removing her Elton John glasses and waving them about.
I shrug. ‘I don’t think he’s an awful person or anything, but I’ve realised that he didn’t really like me that much as a human.’
Sam pauses, hovering over a document. ‘I agree, actually. I’m sorry to say it.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ I grin at her. ‘It seems obvious now. I’m just struggling to understand why I couldn’t see it at the time. He always acted like spending time with me was a chore, he never laughed at my jokes, he got annoyed when I sang to myself around the house, he thought my job was kind of stupid and boring…’
‘Don’t forget how he refused to be in any photos with you ever!’ Sam adds helpfully.
‘We got that one photo once!’ I protest weakly. ‘At Christmas.’
‘You mean that one where he deliberately ruined it by scowling in every shot?’ Sam asks, and I nod. Jools grimaces.
‘God, yeah.’ I make a face. ‘He just didn’t like me, did he? But why did I put up with it? Why didn’t I notice?’
Jools raises an eyebrow. ‘I think it’s because we’re taught from a really young age that boys who are nice to girls aresoft. They are taught to have disdain for us and for anything consideredgirly. You can’t have any girl hobbies, you can’t like girl things. Pink is pathetic, romance is pathetic, crying is pathetic. Man up, where are your balls, don’t be a girl. They’re cruel to us, they mock our interests, they treat us with utter disdain, and we think that’s normal!’ She shakes her head. ‘How would you know he didn’t like you when we’re so used to men being like that about women?’
‘Oh, and plus!’ Sam looks inspired. ‘It doesn’t help the way we tell little girls that boys being horrible and pulling our pigtails actually means they like us. We internalise that messaging too. We even make a big thing of how “nice” men are boring and give us the ick. Because we’ve been taught at a molecular level that boys being arseholes to us is a sexy thing.’
