Page 47 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Quinn doesn’t quite share the same position as Graham.

‘People can be so impatient,’ she says, as we stand in Graham’s kitchen. ‘You’ve still got time. You don’t need to see Dave if you don’t want to.’

She drags out the word impatient , hisses it. Makes me think there’s a wound there – raw and recent – and I consider pressing it. But then she moves on.

‘Okay, done, what’s next?’ She places her hands on her hips. Looks around the kitchen while I re-read the recipe – Mum’s latest.

‘Teaspoon of butter in the pan, then fry the sliced onion until brown,’ I say, stepping towards the fridge. ‘I’m going to season the meat.’

Tonight’s meal is beef and vegetable stew, one of my favourites, and it’s the first time I’ve cooked it with someone other than Genevieve and Bruce. It feels comforting, to have Quinn here sharing the kitchen.

When she first arrived, parking her car in the driveway, she leant over the steering wheel and stared at the house, mouth agape. It might’ve been the first time I’ve seen her genuinely shocked. Unable to compose herself. When she stepped out of her car, she breathed out, ‘Holy hell. You live here?’

On the kitchen bench sits an opened bottle of merlot; we’ve recently topped up our glasses. ‘I’m going to tell her not to send the recipes anymore,’ I say. ‘Mum.’

‘Why on earth would you do that?’ Quinn snaps, frowning. She’s cutting the onion with such ferocity, I feel intimidated.

Her reaction throws me for a moment – her disagreement, her distaste. ‘Because I’m okay now,’ I say. ‘Because I don’t need her to do that for me.’

‘Might not be for you anymore. If she enjoys it, let her do it.’

‘But I feel bad.’

‘Don’t,’ Quinn insists. ‘I’d give anything to have this.’

She says nothing further, but I am reminded that her mother passed many years ago.

Meat seasoned and vegetables frying, Quinn tells me she loves cooking but has never had anyone to share it with. ‘Cinar just doesn’t understand it,’ she says. ‘I find cooking therapeutic. And he just wants it to be ready.’

Impatient. The connection is not lost on me. ‘How is he? How are you both?’

She pauses, and for a moment the only noise in this kitchen is the sizzle of the vegetables on the pan. ‘He’s asked me to move in with him.’

‘Holy shit.’ I choke a little on my wine. ‘He’s never done that before.’

She doesn’t look nearly as happy as she should, instead resembling a frightened animal.

‘So people keep telling me.’ She makes a face.

I get it, all right? ‘You don’t want to live with him?

’ I ask. For months I’ve limited how often we talk about Cinar.

I was salty about how the group treated me, but I also didn’t think this relationship was going to last. I thought I’d give it a few weeks, it’d end, and then I’d never really need to know about their relationship. Could forget all about Cinar.

‘I don’t know what I want,’ Quinn says. ‘Is it weird that moving in with him makes me feel trapped?’

Yes.

‘No.’

‘Because I didn’t feel like that with Perry, so it scares me. But Perry and I didn’t work out anyway, so maybe that doesn’t mean anything.’

‘You never talk about Perry.’

‘Because we were little idiots. So young. Stupidly young. I’m not surprised he had all those affairs, actually. Poor guy must’ve realised pretty early on that he’d made a huge mistake.’

‘And what about you? Did you think you’d made a mistake?’

‘Not at first,’ she says, watching as I transfer the vegetables into a pot then place the beef in the searing pan.

It sizzles, smoke rising up. She turns on the exhaust fan and it whirs loudly.

‘Not for a long time. I was obsessed with him. His long curly hair, his dance moves. He always wore these service-station sunglasses and I thought his confidence was inspiring.’

She sighs, then continues. ‘And then, you know, life happened. We were different people by the time we were approaching thirty. The man didn’t want responsibilities and spent every dollar he had.

And he was so fun, but he also couldn’t hold a serious conversation.

And that was fine when we were twenty, but not so cute eight years later …

And he gave his opinion too freely on what I wore. How I dressed. Told me I looked dowdy.’

‘It’s always the service-station sunglasses who have an opinion on aesthetics.’

She laughs, guttural, head tipped back. ‘Oh, I needed that, thank you.’ Then after a brief pause, she adds, ‘You know, I really like spending time with you.’

It’s the nicest thing she could say to me. The biggest mood booster, and she doesn’t even realise. She twirls around to look for the salt and pepper and I’m here holding my hand to my chest.

I really like spending time with you . The first genuine friend I’ve made since Genevieve left. My heart swells.

On the bench, her phone lights up, and as if on autopilot, I look down at it. A group chat is erupting – messages incoming one after the other. Josie, Emmanuel, Diego, Josie, Josie, Cinar, Emmanuel. And finally, Dave.

So there is a new group chat. Of course there is. And now Quinn’s in it, instead of me. It feels a little like she’s taken my spot in the group. Is it growth, that I don’t feel anything?

‘Sorry,’ she says, turning her phone over. ‘Josie’s trying to organise a dinner now that Dave’s back in town.’

‘It’s okay.’ I straighten.

Quinn eyes me, and I know the topic is about to shift. ‘Dave’s text … Any chance it’s not about the engagement ring? What if he wants to try and convince you it was a mistake leaving? Try and fix things.’

Assessing her, I stammer. ‘W-why? Has he said something?’

She holds up her hands, innocent, and dismisses it. ‘No, not at all, I’m just thinking. It’s what Perry did. Tried to piece us back together.’ She grabs the wooden spoon, stirs the pot.

I look down at my hand, where my ring once lived. Then, I shake my head. ‘If anything, I think he’ll try and convince me that what he did wasn’t that bad.’

She looks up, fast, and I know it’s because I’ve never revealed what he did. What I found out. And I can see it in her widened expression that she would love to know.

‘I’ve only told one person,’ I say. ‘Genevieve.’

Her head tips. ‘Who’s Genevieve?’

‘Oh.’ The small sliver of silence between us is the only indicator of my surprise. ‘A friend.’

Genevieve is such a big part of my life, and I hadn’t realised that I’d never mentioned her to Quinn. Was I trying to hide her? Or simply build a new life without her?

‘You’ve got more self-control that I do,’ Quinn continues. ‘I told everyone about Perry’s mistakes. Made sure they knew that the divorce wasn’t my fault.’

‘Even though you got married too young,’ I say, and she returns my smile.

‘Well, yeah, but I’m not the one who had the affairs.’

Later, after we’ve eaten, Quinn talks about the house. ‘A shame he’s selling it,’ she says. Then she turns towards me with a pointed smile. ‘A shame you have to move out.’

‘I’ve been looking at rentals.’

‘Apartments?’

‘Studios.’

She swallows a laugh. ‘Going from this to a studio, I can’t imagine.’

‘Sometimes I’ll drop something and say “Oops” and realise that’s the first time I’ve heard my own voice since getting home from work.’

Her smile fades.

‘I miss Genevieve’s apartment,’ I say. ‘It was small, and we were on top of each other. But then I moved in here and I realised I prefer it like that.’

She pours me another glass of wine and her phone, now beside her, lights up again. I’m expecting it to be the group chat, but it’s someone else. A name I don’t recognise.

‘Would you have done anything differently?’ Quinn asks me, and I realise she’s talking about Dave. About our marriage.

I think it over, for a moment, because I’ve never been asked this before. Never even contemplated it myself. Would I have done anything differently? She gives me a second to think about it – to process a decade-long relationship in a matter of seconds to determine if I’d do it all over again.

‘The relationship, no.’ I run a finger over the edge of my wine glass. ‘But I would’ve changed other things.’

‘What other things?’

‘I moved here for him. Was so desperate to leave home I think I would’ve followed him anywhere. And my friends were …’ I point to her phone, and she knows who I’m referring to. ‘His friends.’

‘It was his life.’

‘All of it,’ I say. Then I hold up my glass. ‘Even the wine we drank, was always from his family’s vineyard. I’d suggest buying something else and he just couldn’t understand why I’d bother … Might not make much sense, but—’

‘No, I get it,’ Quinn says.

‘It was just always, kind of, about him.’

She points at my phone now, before sipping her wine. ‘Kind of still is. Can’t get rid of him until you figure out what to do about that engagement ring.’

Tell him about the engagement ring, or don’t. But please, please, make a decision.

‘Do you miss him?’ she asks.

I take more time to answer this one, because it’s complex. ‘I don’t miss him . But I do miss having someone. Having the company, and the support of another person.’

‘But that could be anyone.’

Like Genevieve. Like Graham. Like you. ‘It could. But it’s different, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it.’

It’s being alone at night, for the first time. And dividing your belongings. It’s telling your family that you’ve split, and your friends. It’s seeing people get married and have children. Watching as everyone moves on around you, and you’re still processing.

It’s losing your best friend.

‘I think he’s a good person,’ I say. ‘I just don’t think we were right for each other anymore.’

Quinn understands, nodding.

‘If I told you I’ve enjoyed stringing him along, would that make me a terrible person?’

She smiles. ‘Because you’re mad at him?’

‘No.’ I straighten. ‘I’m annoyed I’m here, in this situation. Wasted all that time on a relationship that was probably doomed from the beginning. And then he goes and …’ I trail off. ‘Never mind.’

‘I don’t think you’re a horrible person. But it’s not his fault, though, right? Not his fault things didn’t work out. That you stayed together for so long.’ She pauses before continuing. ‘I don’t know what he did, of course, but before you found out about it, were you happy?’

I contemplate whether to lie here. Tell her I was head over heels. But this is the person I’ve most connected with since Genevieve left. And I know I need to trust her. I need to trust someone if I’m going to build my own life here, without Dave. Or Genevieve. Or Graham.

‘No,’ I say.

Her eyebrows rise, but the rest of her is still.

‘But I kept convincing myself that maybe we could be saved. That it was a hassle to leave.’ I take a sip of my drink. Then another. ‘And then I found out something about him, and suddenly, he was the worst person I knew. And I couldn’t look past it. So I left.’

She nods, running a hand through her hair.

‘I think about him, and I feel sorry for him,’ I say. ‘Because I think he’s weak, and I think he’s going to regret so many things when he’s older. And when he texts me, and I see his name, I feel exhausted. Does that make any kind of sense?’

She doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches across and picks up her phone. Opens something, then slides the mobile across the bench towards me.

A picture of an engagement ring – sapphire, marquise, teardrop diamonds either side. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘I’ve been meaning to send this to you,’ she says. ‘Looks similar, right?’

The tapered band is a little thicker than my own engagement ring, but apart from that, it looks almost identical to the one I lost.

‘Oh. You’re right, it does.’

She gives me a pointed look, and suddenly I understand.

What if I did what everyone has been suggesting, and I bought something similar?

Maybe I don’t need to tell him I lost the original one.

Dave’s lawyer could finalise the settlement and then he’d stop pestering me with text messages.

It’s been so long since he’s seen the ring, maybe, just maybe , he wouldn’t notice it was different.

He didn’t realise that I’d lost it, didn’t even clock when it disappeared from my finger, and maybe he’ll be so relieved to get back a ring he won’t realise it’s not the ring.

I grab my phone from my back pocket. Let it rest in my hands for a moment. And then, I message Dave. After all these months, I reply.

Let’s meet at the apartment.