‘That was nice before too,’ she said, meeting my gaze. ‘With Fiona. You… she’s lucky to have you, Jonah.’
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘For saying that – and for saying what you said to her.’
I was never going to tell Sadie how I felt about her. She didn’t feel the same way I did, and it would be unfair to make her carrythe burden of my feelings. But sitting there beside her in the gentle evening breeze, drinking wine and looking over the river from the balcony of our home, I made a decision.
If I could have this – have Sadie as a real friend, a real ally, a real companion – then even if our marriage would only ever be on paper, maybe, just maybe, I could be happy.
39 Thank God Lex was there, honestly. I had a long way to go as a babysitter.
40 Yes, literally as well as metaphorically.
41 Climate change is real, it turns out.
42 It was the one I’d put all my Norton Anthologies in. Anyone who has ever dropped one of those on their foot, and consequently not been able to walk for a week, will understand how deeply galling this was.
43 And doubly thankfully, Isamu had left after hauling that box of books upstairs, because if Sadie had seen the horrifying sight of me trying to wield an Allen key, there was every chance she would have run after him.
44 Stupidity?
MARCH
Chapter FifteenSadie
Time started to pass.
There was a famous narrative theorist named Paul Ricœur who distinguished between ‘clock time’ and ‘human time’. Clock time was measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days: the things we think of as the basic building blocks of time. Human time, though, was measured in events: the basic building blocks of story – and thus, because humans love nothing more than to narrativize their own experiences, of our lives.
The first couple of weeks of our marriage had been full of milestones, packed to the brim with the eventful stuff of human time, but as we settled into our new apartment, our new jobs, our new (for lack of a better word) relationship, our routines became established, and clock time began to pass.
‘The difference between clock time and human time is really the fundamental conceit behind reality dating shows like this one,’ I explained to Jonah one night, sitting cross-legged on the couch we’d bought a few weekends earlier as I forced him to watch the season premiere ofWherefore Art Thou Romeo?with me. ‘They’re experiments in prioritising human time over clock time. The central question is essentially, “What happens if we run through allthe human time milestones of the romance plot – meeting, liking, dating, kissing, sometimes fucking, committing – in a strictly limited amount of clock time?”?’
Jonah had a mouthful of pasta – he’d made a particularly delicious fettucine dish with a green sauce made from Isamu’s herbs, which I’d been carefully nurturing on the balcony – but his eyes said everything his mouth could not re: the proposition that reality dating shows were actually Ricœurian experimentation.
‘And it works!’ I insisted. ‘Sometimes, anyway. Three couples came out of the last season of this franchise. Three! I know you’re a terrible snob about reality TV, but you can’t tell me that on a basic narrative level, you don’t find that interesting.’
He swallowed. ‘Only for you, Shaw, would I watch something with a title that was such an aggressive misinterpretation of early modern language. You knowwhereforemeans—’
‘Why, notwhere, yes, I know.’ I twirled some fettucine on my fork. ‘I listen when you talk, Fisher.’
‘Then you should know I’m notthatbad a snob about reality TV.’ He nudged my leg with a sock-clad foot. ‘If I’m going to watch this with you, then you have to watch the next season ofSuperchefwith me.’
I pretended to consider. ‘Fine, fine, seems fair.’
‘Good.’ He pointed his fork at me. ‘And I expect the same level of narrative analysis. Going onSuperchefis my only backup plan if you divorce me and I get fired, so I need all the insight I can get on how to game the format to win.’
The show had started. On the screen, the new lead was having an earnest conversation with the host about what she was looking for in a partner (‘I just want someone I can have an intelligent conversation with, you know?’).
But I turned away from it to face Jonah. ‘You know I’m not planning to divorce you anytime soon, right?’
He was looking at his pasta, negotiating a particularly troublesome noodle. ‘I know you’re not planning on it,’ he said lightly, ‘but you never know when I’m going to piss you off again.’
‘Is that a threat?’
I’d intended it jokingly, but his eyes, when he looked at me, were serious. ‘Of course not. But I don’t exactly have a strong record when it comes tonotpissing you off.’
I hesitated for a second, then I put my hand on his knee. Beneath his pyjama pants, his skin was warm.
‘Fisher,’ I said, my own skin starting to heat in response, ‘unless you do something really awful – something where I have to, like, report you to The Hague – I’m not going to divorce you before probation is up, okay?’
