There’s a pause.
‘You sound like shit,’ Abbey says, not unkindly.
‘I feel shit,’ I say, shifting slightly so the ice cream doesn’t slide off my stomach.‘Or at least, I’m trying to match my emotional state to my voice.Seamless branding.Work would be thrilled.’
I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line.The quiet that means she’s deciding how hard she can push me before I hang up.
‘Deep down I knew how this would end,’ I add, softly.‘I just didn’t think it would hurt this much.’
Abbey sighs.‘Jamie—’
‘I mean, it’s kind of poetic, right?’The words are spilling out faster than my dignity.‘Girl meets boy.Girl panics.Girl bolts.Boy ends up happy with his ex.Girl ends up on the couch covered in dairy and disappointment.End scene.’
‘Okay—’
‘And maybe this is fate,’ I say.‘Maybe I was always meant to end up like Mum.Bitter.Alone.With a freezer full of ready meals and a cupboard of unopened merlot for guests who never come.’
There’s a long pause on her end.
‘Jamie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
I blink.‘Sorry?’
‘Shut.Up.’Abbey’s voice is calm but cutting, it’s the sound of a guillotine wrapped in a throw pillow.‘Seriously.Pull your head in.’
‘Well, that’s a bit aggressive.’
‘What’s aggressive is you lying on the couch pretending you don’t have a choice in any of this.’
My mouth opens.Then closes.Then opens again.
Abbey doesn’t wait.‘You do this every time.You find some unsuspecting guy, mould yourself into something shiny enough to be wanted, and then get upset when you get tired of lying.’
‘I didn’t mould myself—’
‘Yes, you did.You always do.’She exhales.‘I’m not saying Luke didn’t matter.I’m saying maybe it’s time you focused on yourself for a change.’
I stare at the ceiling hoping it might offer a rebuttal.
‘You want the truth?’Abbey says.‘It’s time to stop chasing men.
Stop performing.Stop pretending you’re okay with being whatever someone else needs.’
‘And do what, exactly?’I huff.‘Sit here, eat my feelings and join a pottery class in some sad suburb?’
‘If that’s what it takes,’ she says, without missing a beat, ‘yes.’
I fall quiet.Captain Sandy is now telling a stew that leadership is earned, not given.
‘I don’t even know what I want,’ I admit.‘I don’t know what I like.In the words of Marie Kondo – nothing sparks joy.’
Abbey doesn’t laugh.She usually would.That’s how I know I really am at rock bottom.
‘You’ve played so many different versions of yourself,’ she says, voice quieter now.‘Surely one of them left a clue.’
