My smile stretches wider.‘Please.’
She loops her arm through mine like we’re seventeen again and nothing can touch us.Like we’re bulletproof.
And just like that, the run is forgotten.The ache in my chest, not so much.
But pancakes?Pancakes are a good place to start.
FOURTEEN
My phone buzzes in my handbag.I fish through the mess of receipts, lip balm and a stress ball shaped like a uterus – courtesy of Abbey – and pull it out in time to see Ella’s face light up the screen.
I groan internally.
It’s not because I don’t want to talk to her.I love Ella.I’d sell a kidney for Ella.But my brain has been running on flat whites all day, and I’m dangerously close to snapping at the next person who dares to ask if I’vehad a chance to circle back on that yet.
Still, I swipe to answer and push my voice into cheerleader mode.
‘Hey, you!’Ella beams; I can hear it in her voice.‘I know you’re working but just wanted to double-check that you’re still flying up on Saturday?’
How could I forget?
‘You know it!’I chirp, enthusiasm dialled up to ten, masking the part of me that’s already halfway through a fantasy where I fake a family emergency and spend the weekend sipping red wine and bingeingBridgertoninstead of swatting flies at an outback baby shower.
‘Good.’She sighs, clearly relieved.‘I know it’s not the easiest trip, so I really appreciate it.’
She’s not wrong.It’s only been a few months since I last saw her, but guilt is a powerful motivator – second only to wine and a well- timed meme.
‘You know I wouldn’t miss it.’
Ella hums.‘I can’t wait.’
‘Me too,’ I lie.
There’s a pause.Then, in that faux-casual tone people use when they’re about to lob a grenade into your peace, she adds, ‘Hey, just checking – Dylan’s still coming too, yeah?’
I smile into the phone like she can see me.‘Yep.’
My soul dies a little.
Dylan.My Tinder pick of the month after my time with Andrew expired.His profile said he plays guitar and hikes on weekends.I said I play classical piano and once went on an ayahuasca retreat in Byron.
Both of us were lying.At least I assume he was lying too.Who hikes for fun?
‘Great!’Ella says, far too brightly.‘I’m excited to meet him.Abbey told me he met June.’
I snort.‘Hardly.’
Dylan’s a naturalist type with scruffy brown hair, a fondness for indie-band t-shirts, and a tendency to quote Shakespeare.He smells of incense and late-stage capitalism, and I have no one to blame but myself.Abbey made me promise to tone down the weekly Tinder roulette, so my workaround was simple.Pick one man.Keep him alive.Rotate monthly.
It was going well – until last week, when Dylan and I ran into my mum outside the sushi train, and he introduced himself as myboyfriend.
It got worse when Mum said, ‘Oh, you must be going with Jamie to the NT next week, then?’
‘What’s happening in the NT?’he asked, which would’ve been a reasonable question if I hadn’t already started internally spiralling.
Mum gave me a sharp, theatrical look.‘You didn’t tell him about Ella’s baby shower?’
‘It didn’t come up,’ I muttered.
