“It’s nine thirty at night. It’s cold, and it’s raining,” said Eliza, looking at me like there was something medically wrong with me. “Strike two.”
Another message came through. I swallowed.
“You read it.” I handed the phone to James. He paused, then started to read.
“‘Female present. Red hair. Approx. twenty-five years.’”
James started typing on the phone.
“But Rudy hated redheads,” I said to Eliza, confused. “He went on about it all the time, said he could never understand the appeal. So it can’t be someone he’s… um… seeing, right?”
I felt a weight lift. If she was a redhead, maybe it wasn’t suspicious. Maybe she was a cousin or an old school friend. Maybe his weekend away had been canceled, and he hadn’t got around to telling me. Maybe I just had trust issues, like he said.
“‘Seeing’? That’s a polite way to put it. Some men like a bit of orange roughy, you know.” James didn’t even look up fromhis iPhone. “Especially if it’s not their usual home-cooked fare. Exotic.”
“Orange roughy? Isn’t that a fish?” Eliza made a gagging sound.
“Bazsaid that?” I asked. “Jesus.”
“Wait!” shouted James, holding up a finger. “No, he didn’t, I said it. But yes, it is a fish. I’m confirming on the hair. He’s messaging now, shh! ‘Yes. Dyed red hair.’”
I blinked.
“Dyedred, like a darkpinkkind of red?” The room fell silent.
“I’m checking.” James exhaled sharply. “He says, ‘Yes, like juice from a beetroot can.’”
“Strike three, he’s out.” Eliza brushed her hands together and looked at me with aggressive finality, like she expected me to defend him.
“The Banana Store ho,” said James, never one to hold back.
His words hung in the air. I didn’t know what to say. Turned out my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend was cheating on me with the puce-haired waitress—the one he always flirted with when we were there together.
Why do women do that to each other? She knows he’s cheating onme.
I wanted to feel angry and cynical, like James and Eliza, but I just felt empty.
“Sorry, Andy,” said Eliza. “That sucks. I’m getting the ice cream.”
I felt the slight sting of tears at the backs of my eyes. Why had I ignored what was right in front of my face? I hadn’t even minded about him borrowing and breaking my stuff. Intermittent texting and calling his band “a job.” I’d thought it was charming. Free-spirited.
I took a swig of my wine.
All along, I was just useful.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see the warning signs.” I dug into the tub of Häagen-Dazs, aiming for the biggest spoonful I could get.
Eliza shrugged. “When you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags.”
I pulled the blanket over my knees. It was cold in the living room, and the ice cream wasn’t helping.
“He turned out to be a pretty good detective, old Baz,” said James, after a minute. “Detail-oriented. Quite bitchy too. I like him.” His face fell as he looked at me. “Oh, seriously, hon, fuck that guy. You werewaytoo good for him.”
I sucked the spoon. “It’s fine,” I said. It wasn’t really, but there wasn’t much else to say. “I think I’ll just take a break from men for a while.”
If I was honest, I wasn’t even that surprised. My pride was just hurt—that was probably all it was.
“Pfft,” James scoffed. “While you do have, shall we say, a type? I don’t think you need to go cold turkey yet. Maybe just think about dating guys with jobs this time. You’re too nice to arseholes.”
