Page 31 of Do You Ship It

When Anissa and I enter the back room of the board-game cafe just before 2 p.m., the place is already packed. It’s not a very large space, but it’s full with about fifteen people – faces and voices I don’t instantly recognize, even if I’ve known these people for months.

A blonde girl who’s five foot nothing comes barrelling towards us, enveloping me and Anissa in the same hug. ‘Mythic! Lady di Shipper! You came!’

When she pulls back, I realize I saw her on FaceTime just two days ago. ‘Heather?’

She grins. ‘That’s me!’

‘I thought you’d be taller!’ I blurt, then feel my cheeks flame as I stammer, ‘I-I mean I thought – in my head, you were like, five foot ten, or something. You just – not that you’re –’

She laughs, not offended. ‘I totally get you. It’s definitely the weirdest part of meeting someone IRL – finding out how tall they actually are! I thought you’d be more my height, but that’s probably cos of the angle of that Brayden Brown selfie … Anyway, come meet the others!’

Heather grabs us both, introducing people by their screen names then their actual names, which is actually really helpful. @fauningforhim is Fiona, a willowy brunette with thick-framed glasses and a shy demeanour; @wizeguy, aka Andreas, is a stocky guy not much taller than me or Anissa, with a broad, wonky smile and who gives everyone big bear hugs. Sam, @sirmoonypants, turns out to be a beefy, bearded guy and looks more like he belongs in a punk-rock band than studying economics; while @thesebootsweremadeformoonwalking is a waify woman in her fifties called Theresa – with a nose ring, wearing pinstripe trousers and a matching waistcoat – neither of them are who I imagined.

Mostly everyone’s from Discord, but some people brought their partners, and it turns out Anissa and I are the last to arrive. A waiter comes in to take our drink orders, and as the group starts splitting up to grab tables and board games, I see two people talking in the corner.

My heart leaps. Contracts. Falls to the pit of my stomach. Does somersaults.

Generally, goes a bit haywire.

My mouth is dry and my palms sweat, but I’m suddenly laser-focused. Maybe it’s not the perfect time – but when is? It never is! I should just do it. Shouldn’t I?

I’m already walking over, so I guess I really am doing this.

Jake is stood with his back to me, and Max is distracted by the rules on a card game box, so they don’t notice me until I’m right there.

It’s Max who sees me first, doing a double-take, and then opening his mouth like he’s about to say my name, although he never quite does. He just ends up staring at me, which, really, is fair enough, because I’m stuck doing the same thing. Staring at his parted lips, thinking that the last time I saw him, I kissed him , and it was a really, really , good kiss, and …

And I’ve missed him. I have.

Maybe not the way he doesn’t actually talk to me, but his insights on the show, and the kind of conversation we shared through the bathroom door at the party, and … and his arm around me, like he was looking out for me, and the kiss …

I drag my eyes back up to his, and my whole body feels simultaneously on fire and like jelly – like pins and needles prickling all over my skin, and a mushy mess inside. I should say something, I know I should, but what do you say to a boy you kissed once and haven’t seen or spoken to since?

Before I can manage something very casual and ordinary – maybe hi , or why didn’t you text me? – Jake has turned round.

Relief floods his face and he hugs me, looking so honestly, earnestly happy to see me, like the same old Jake and like nothing’s ever changed or gone wrong between us. I’m too stunned to react properly. I half-hug him back, and keep staring at Max, who keeps staring at me.

Jake finally draws away, but doesn’t quite let go of me.

‘Oh, man, I’ve missed you like crazy. Can we not do this again, please? I know I’ve been a right prat to you, but –’

‘No, it’s – you – I should have …’

Get it together, Cerys, come on! This is your big MOMENT. This is it! Remember? And for God’s sake, stop staring at Max!

Right. Yes. The New and Improved Plan.

Jake.

Not Max.

I finally wrench my gaze away from Max, looking somewhere down at Jake’s feet, and then managing to look at the neck of his T-shirt, which is somewhat better, and I take a deep breath.

‘I understand,’ I tell Jake. ‘I do, really. And I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve been more upfront with you, and –’

‘No, no, Cer, this is my fault. I’m the one who –’

‘But it was just – it wasn’t … I mean …’ A mistake, reckless, stupid, just a kiss , but I can’t say any of those things, not with Max right there, and not when I’m trying so hard to be honest right now.

I regret losing Jake; I do not regret that kiss.

But I can’t put aside the last few months and everything that’s changed and grown between me and Jake over Discord for a single kiss.

For Max.

Jake’s holding on to my elbows, and he falls quiet to let me speak.

‘I was scared that I might lose you as a friend, but now I’m understanding how ridiculous that is, and I thought it was all just some one-sided crush, but it’s not . Is it? Because we – I mean, we are friends, aren’t we, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? That’s what all this has been about, right?’ I gesture between us, my heart racing. My smile is nervous, but I can’t help let it spread across my face, and my voice sounds a little steadier when I carry on. ‘The 87 missed messages gushing about a season finale, and staying up til midnight swapping theories and talking , properly talking – about uni and our families and college and everything . Analysing why we love certain characters so much because we relate to them a little too hard! And – and being the “newbie” and the “rascal”, and I know things have changed between us, and we don’t always talk like we used to, but – it’s changed for the better, hasn’t it? And we – what I mean is –’

Oh, God, I’m going to do it, I’m going to actually really finally do it –

‘And it’s not just a crush, anymore.’ I drag my eyes from Jake’s collar to his face as I say, ‘Because I’m falling for you.’

But even as the words leave my mouth, my brain registers that something about this is off – and not because none of this is like I would’ve imagined last summer: in a tightly-packed board-game cafe surrounded by Of Wrath and Rune nerds.

Because Jake’s mouth is slack and his hold on my elbows is loose, and it’s not that there’s a spark of hope in his gaze or a twist of regretful rejection in his eyebrows, it’s …

The completely, utterly blank look in his eyes.

‘Cerys,’ he says slowly, and my smile falters. ‘I don’t … What are you …?’

He’s not rejecting me …

… because he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

There’s a small, strangled noise from just behind him, and that’s when I notice the wide eyes, flushed cheeks and speechless, stunned, confused look – on Max’s face.

And, suddenly, it all falls into place.

Truce? Truce . In the Discord chat. Through the bathroom door.

The way he kept calling me ‘newbie’.

The admissions about being defensive of his fandom.

Mentioning football or school or the sister at uni, and I always assumed it was Jake, but – but it wasn’t, was it? Because Max shares the same classes, and is on the same football team; he has an older sister at uni too.

Being so bothered by how upset I was about Jake and Anissa at the party, like we had a connection of our own, enough for him to care about my feelings.

Talking to me about how I was afraid of being judged and liked, like he knew what he was talking about, like I’d told him – because I had .

The times he scoffed when I said something about the show or the characters, and I thought he was being disparaging and didn’t believe I was genuinely invested, but he was probably just reacting to something he already knew, like it was blatantly obvious already, and went without me saying, and …

Oh, my God.

It’s not Jake.

It was never Jake.

The shock sets in, turning me cold all over. My body doesn’t feel like mine; it’s leaden and heavy and when I fall back half a step, I see Jake’s hands drop back to his sides more than I feel it happen.

I’m not even sure which of them I’m talking to when I say, ‘You’re not Runic Rascal.’

Jake says, ‘Who? Cerys, what’s …?’

I force myself to look at Max. ‘ You are .’

Max gulps. Audibly. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard knot, his jaw clenched so tight now that it strains all the tendons in his neck. He inhales sharply, but again, doesn’t manage to say anything.

‘Oh my God. Oh, I – I don’t …’ Another step back. Another. I bump into a table, and there’s a clatter of some game pieces toppling over. Someone asking if I’m okay.

I don’t know what I am.

I don’t think I know anything at all anymore.

So I do what, apparently, I do best in this sort of situation when faced with a mess of my own making: I leg it out of there.