I clear my throat, keen to stay on safe ground. ‘I honestly am loving it,’ I tell them truthfully. ‘It feels so different – I feel so different.’
‘You’re really helping people,’ Arshiya tells me solemnly. ‘My mum, she had to stay in one of those places for a while when we were little, and they, well… they saved her, quite honestly.’
Beside me, I can practically feel Sam’s eyes bugging out. Arshiya spots it and she shoots her a warning look. ‘Sam,’ she says carefully, ‘don’t go getting excited. That’s all the human, personal info you’ll be getting from me tonight.’
Sam nods silently. ‘This is a safe space,’ she tells her, and we all start laughing. She brightens. ‘Speaking of workplaces, my awful boss quit today!’
I turn to her, gaping. ‘What? No way!’
‘I wanted to tell you in person,’ she says excitedly. ‘Apparently, he was the subject of a massive internal investigation – something to do with appropriation of admin funds – and was about to be sacked, so he beat them to it.But it was proper unhinged stuff. He came storming out of the CEO’s office, shouting about being betrayed. He then yelled at the whole office about traitors and started throwing staplers.’
‘Do offices still need staplers?’ I murmur, awed.
‘It would seem so,’ Sam confirms. ‘And then he took off his tie, put it around his head, and tried to steal a computer.’
‘Let’s hope no one was filming it,’ I say, sombrely, with too much wisdom.
‘He would deserve to be put on TikTok,’ Sam says with conviction, and we grin at each other.
‘I’m more than happy to pass along my viral sensation mantle to him,’ I say.
Fran leans even closer. ‘I still see you pop up on my timeline a lot,’ they say mistily, wobbling slightly. ‘People sharing the Frankenstein Feminist, crusading all over social media, empowering women. Bloody cis men.’ They shoot a dark look across the room at the two cis men here – Jamal and Edward.
Sam and I exchange a discreet glance, wondering the same thing: What the hell has been going on over at the therapy collective?
I snort, trying to keep things light. ‘Yeah, well, being the Frankenstein Feminist is certainly better than being Tiramisu Girl.’
‘Or Cheesecake Woman,’ Sam offers helpfully.
‘Either way.’ I side-eye her. ‘It’s not a bad online legacy. The only part of the internet that still hates me is themanosphere. But I can’t tell you how fine I am with a bunch of incels in their mums’ basements ranting into their little boy headsets about me.’
Fran roars at this as the rest of us smile politely. They start talking about incels and snakes and politics – it’s becoming clear that they’re going through something.
I guess every therapist has their own issues, not just me. Every person.
I glance at Sam again, wondering if we can extract ourselves from this conversation, but it’s clear my flatmate has the opposite intention, shuffling even closer to Fran and their drama. I sneak another look across the room. Edward’s no longer standing in the corner with Jamal, and my eyes dart around frantically, trying to find him. I can’t see him, where has he—
And suddenly he’s there. Standing beside me, shoulder to shoulder, taking over my personal space. The woody smell of him fills my nostrils. I didn’t even know I knew his smell so well until I am breathing it in. It sends all kinds of familiar sparks shooting through my unprepared body.
‘Olivia,’ he says, his head tilted sideways, looking down at me.
‘Edward,’ I reply, fighting the urge to laugh. It’s all so formal. He places a hand on the small of my back. The warmth of it radiates through me.
‘Look, can I—’ he begins, speaking to me in a low voice. I turn to face him properly, feeling the heat coming off the rest of his body. ‘Can we—’
We’re interrupted by Jamal shouting from the kitchen about something burning.
‘Dammit,’ Edward mutters, heading off at speed towards the kitchen. I feel suddenly very thirsty, watching him go, and look around for the wine. Maybe I should join Fran in the bitter drunk club.
As we sit down for dinner, I find myself seated across from Edward. A part of me wants to stretch my legs out to touch his but he’s got them carefully and strategically tucked underneath himself. The message is clear.
‘We’re so glad you came tonight, Liv!’ Fran shouts loudly from down the end of the table.
‘Thanks, everyone,’ I reply warmly. ‘And thanks loads for inviting me.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Fran is still shouting, but there’s much more in their voice. Much moreunsaidness. They sound even more pissed off. The table looks down at them. They raise an eyebrow. ‘C’mon, let’s not be fake about it.’ Fran takes another long swig of their wine. Sam’s mouth gapes open – she’senthralled.
Arshiya tries to interrupt, ‘Fran, let’s not—’
