Page 69 of Darling
“Because he worships you. You should marry him.”
“I’m gonna hold out to see if I can do any better,” she says, and we laugh again. “If he wasn’t such a disaster, he might actually be a catch. Anyway… The daddy. Paris. That’s a positive. If he’s making promises like that, it means he sees this lasting, right?”
“Fuck, Am, I don’t know. He’s been… perfect. The shit he says, the way he looks at me, touches me, kisses me. I’d think he was falling in love with me.” Her eyes pop wide. “But then he’ll make it crystal clear he still loves his wife and that this can’t be anything long-term, and I’m like…” I gesture with my hands. “The other night, he said he still waits for her to walk through the door.”
Her face creases with sadness. “I mean, it is possible to still love his dead wife andalsobe falling in love with you? They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“I mean, yeah, I guess.”
“You wish he’d just stop talking about her?”
“No, it’s not even that. It’s just… It’s a reminder that no matter how I feel about him, there’s this hurdle he can’t get past to get to me. Or something. Does that make sense?”
She nods. “And how do you feel about him?”
I’m scared to look at her, scared to meet her eyes, because if I do, I’m sure she’ll know. So I avoid it for as long as possible. I tell myself it’s because I’m trying to think about it sensibly, strip away all of the mess and emotion from around it so I can get a good look at it. But I’m lying to myself.
I say the words at the same time as I look around at her. “Ithink… I’m in love with him.”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes round, and then there are tears glistening in the dark chestnut depths. “Fuck, Ash.” She throws herself at me and wraps her arms tight around my middle. Just then, Theo appears, looking more alive than he did when he went into the bathroom.
“What? What’s happened?” he says with concern.
“Asher’s in love.”
“With you?” He frowns. “You’re in love with Amata?”
“No, you idiot. With James Bond.” Theo honestly still looks pretty confused, but seems happier knowing I’m not in love with Amata.
Amata pulls back, wiping her eyes. “Fuck, babe, what are you gonna do?” Theo comes to sit next to her and stares at me.
“I don’t know. If I tell him how I feel, he’ll be like ‘Oh, jolly ho, I’m terribly sorry. I thought I made it perfectly clear I didn’t want to do that, good day’.” My British accent is beyond terrible, and Amata has to bite back a laugh, though her nostrils flare. Theo chuckles. “Or, I don’t say a word and just go on like this in the hope that one day he’s gonna feel the same. But that might never happen, and then what? I just waste my good years, my hot years, meeting up in secret with the guy I’m secretly in love with like some dirty little… secret? I want to live my life! I want to go on dates and travel and buy a house and get a dog.”
“You don’t like dogs,” they both say at the same time.
“But I should at least have the opportunity to be convinced that I do! To debate whether we get a dog or not, like, that’s a conversation that all couples should have at some point.”
“Does James Bond like dogs?”
“I don’t know! That’s not the point.”
They both nod, fully agreeing.
We’re all silent for a minute while they both look at mewith empathetic smiles. “Okay,” Am says at last, standing. “I am going to go get the wine, and then we can make a list or something. We’ll figure this out together.” She shoots me an encouraging smile.
“Can you bring the chips and salsa in?” Theo asks. “I’m hungry.”
??
The following morning, as I’m walking back from the store—I’d gone out to clear my head because three bottles of wine and two lists had not solved any of my problems but had given me a new one—a young guy approaches me. He’s tall and slim, good-looking in a nerdy college student type way. Since I look fugly and hungover, I know he isn’t about to ask for my number.
“Hey, you Asher?” He has an accent, one I can’t place at first.
“Who’s asking?” I keep walking, wondering if maybe he’s a ‘fan’, though that has never once happened to me on the street, not even in NYC after theDazedarticle was released.
“My name’s Stephen Gardiner, I’m a journalist withTheSunday Timesin London.” My steps falter as my knees weaken a little. “I just wondered if I could buy you a coffee.”
“Got one, but thanks, man.” I hold up my cup of coffee and give him a practised smile.