Page 15 of Love at First Sight

‘Two decaf lattes please,’ India says to the server at the coffee shop closest to the gym.

It’s a gorgeous Thursday afternoon, we’ve just worked out, and she had a date last night that she didn’t want to talk about in front of everyone, so I’ve dragged her to somewhere more private in order to get the lowdown.

‘So,’ I prompt, as we settle into a window seat. It’s overcast today, typical British summer style, but it’s also really humid, so it’s nicer to be inside and in the air conditioning than outside and struggling to breathe. ‘Spill.’

India comes over all coy, which is not like her.

‘She was … cute,’ India says, and it occurs to me maybe she’s feeling shy because she hasn’t dated many girls.

Last year she casually mentioned that she’d opened up her dating profile to men and women, just to see.

I told her that was cool, to keep me in the loop.

It felt a bit retro to ask too many questions, to get all omg so are you gay now?

on her. But I didn’t know exactly what to say after that, because I didn’t want it to be a big deal.

Though sometimes I think maybe I went the other way, and came across a bit un interested.

‘Not to sound like somebody’s mum,’ I say, ‘but how do you want to talk about this? Like, I want to give you your space, but I also need details. As many details as you’d give me if this was a boy …’

India crumples up her face. ‘That’s kind of the thing …’

‘What is?’

She looks up to the ceiling, like she’s trying to solve a complicated maths problem.

‘Well, let me preface this with how old I feel trying to explain this. I see Gen Z, out there making their TikToks, being whatever they want to be and sexuality doesn’t seem like a major issue to them. Anything goes. And I want to be like that, but being just that little bit older, I don’t know …’

‘Do you wish it was easier?’

India scrunches up her face. ‘Yes,’ she says.

‘Because it feels as though I’m the worst kind of bi-curious girl out there, like I’m using these women to figure out what I want, and in doing so, wasting their time.

Because to be honest, as cute as this girl was last night, I think I might have fancied our waiter more – as in our male waiter.

And that is so bad, Jessie. Like, such a no-no.

Not only am I wasting the time of these women, I’m also setting gay rights back by trying it all on for size and then deciding that just kidding!

I’m straight! I’m undermining every single person who has ever come out, when they’ve been told by their parents or whatever that it’s a phase. But maybe … I have had a phase?’

‘Noooo,’ I say. ‘Not a phase. You just said it yourself, you’re bi-curious. And if your curiosity has been sated, nobody can say fairer than that. Do these women know you’re bi-curious?’

‘Yes,’ India replies, definitively. ‘I make it very, very clear. Some women have said to circle back once I’ve figured it out, and some have ghosted me …’

‘But either way, everyone you’ve gone out with has known your situation?’

‘Yes,’ says India. ‘They have.’

‘Then you’ve done all you can!’ I say. ‘Surely! You’re just one person. You’re not responsible for a whole human rights movement. You can only do what is right for you …’

India slurps at her latte.

‘It just doesn’t feel good,’ she decides. ‘If that makes sense.’

‘Perfect sense.’ I nudge my shoulder into hers good-naturedly.

‘You’re my hero, you know,’ I add, and she looks at me like yeah, right .

‘You are!’ I insist. ‘What people forget when they’re coupled up is how hard it is to keep your courage in the land of dating.

And you do it – you keep putting yourself out there and figuring out what you want, even if it batters you a bit, leaves you bruised.

Finding love is brave. Seeking it out, even more so. ’

‘I think you need to remind yourself of that, too,’ India says, kindly. I accept her point.

‘Touché, my friend,’ I say. ‘Touché.’

I have all these thoughts swirling in my head as I walk home, about how India truly does inspire me.

It stings, what happened with Cal, and I feel embarrassed and stupid.

But at least I followed my heart, and opened myself up to an opportunity just by hanging out with him that day.

It didn’t work out how I wanted, but who wins if I swear off men forever?

Because Cal certainly doesn’t give a damn.

No.

I have to keep the faith, and if life is just one big plot twist, if India and I have managed to have as much fun as we have so far because we do it for the story …

Well. That’s not so bad. Even if it doesn’t work out, I will have lived.

The only safe bet would be to sit at home and never see or do anything. And what a waste that would be.

As I continue to reflect on the situation with Cal, I end up wandering down Church Street.

If you asked me outright if I was doing it to see if Leo was in the butcher’s today, I wouldn’t admit it out loud.

But, as it happens, when I walk past the shop, Leo must sense me and he looks up, a massive smile spreading across his face. He immediately beckons me inside.

‘Here comes trouble,’ he says.

‘All good stories start with a bit of trouble,’ I bat back, and he bites down on his lip and nods. Very I’ll say .

‘Have your ears been burning?’ he says, leaning on his counter. Nobody else is in; it’s just me and him.

‘Should they have been?’

‘Your dad came by before,’ he says, and my stomach instantly flip-flops. Oh Dad, what did you do …? First telling India, and now coming in to talk to Leo directly?

‘Steak night again?’ I ask.

‘Couple of pork chops and some smoked bacon, actually. Plus an invitation to his engagement party tomorrow.’

Dad asked Leo to his engagement party? What?!

My face must do a thing, because Leo starts to laugh.

‘He said you’d love to see me there,’ Leo presses. ‘Which obviously got me to say yes. Even if it’s not true yet, I figured, maybe it could be? If I told you I’m really very good fun at parties?’

I cannot believe my father. It’s one thing to encourage me to recognise Leo’s flirting, but quite another to engineer a quasi-date.

‘How fun is fun?’ I ask, arching an eyebrow and desperately trying to keep my cool.

‘Hold-on-to-your-knickers fun,’ Leo retorts, and I feel myself blush.

‘You didn’t strike me as a knickers man,’ I say. ‘I thought you’d be more of a boxer-briefs dude.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

I shake my head, light-heartedly. ‘Did he give you the details?’ I ask, changing the subject slightly as a way of admitting flirtatious defeat.

‘He did,’ Leo confirms. ‘So if you really are fine with me coming …?’

‘I am,’ I say, but he can hear my hesitancy.

‘But …?’

‘Just so you have all the information, I don’t get on with Simone, his child bride-to-be. Like, literally, she’s only a couple of years older than me. So I’m going to stay for two hours, max, and my leaving early will have absolutely nothing to do with you.’

‘For what it’s worth, I am an excellent bitch once I’ve got a drink in me,’ Leo counters. ‘If you want to sit in a corner with a couple of gin martinis and slag her off for a hundred and twenty minutes, then I’m your guy.’

‘Okay then.’ I smile. ‘Sold. See you there.’

Leo nods. ‘It’s a date.’

As I meander through the residential streets of Stoke Newington, my phone beeps, and I lift it up to see it’s an unknown number.

There’s a photo attached, so I stand still to open it, and am suddenly plunged into a fit of fury.

It’s Cal, selfie-style, pulling a funny face and pointing to a piece of paper behind him.

It’s one of India’s posters. Underneath he’s written, Is this you?

Oh my god. We must have missed one. Cal has actually seen that I cared enough to look for him, and now he dares to take the piss out of me for it? Well, no. No thank you, sir, not today.

I spin on my heel before I can even think this through, and march at the speed of light to the Whole Foods, all the while plotting witty and cutting things to say to a man who, honestly, I find repulsive.

Anyone can be a dream date for an afternoon, but in time their real colours show themselves, always, and I know exactly what kind of a man Cal is now.

I see him from a distance, sat at one of the small metal tables on the pavement, a paper bag of groceries on the chair beside him, reusable coffee cup in hand.

He must feel my ire from metres away, because he looks up, and I swear, despite my red mist it really does look like he’s pleased to see me.

And then he realises I am furious, because he frowns, concerned.

‘You!’ I spit, when I reach him.

‘Me?’ he says.

I make some sort of humph noise, shaking my head to let him know that texting me was absolutely the wrong thing to do.

He waits for me to say something else, but no words form in my mouth.

I cannot speak. I am mute with anger. All I can do is stand there, hands on my hips, shaking my head, trying to breathe fire.

I decide to sashay into the store, looking for any stray posters we missed.

I find one by the skincare, and another one on the noticeboard – how did we miss those?

I intend to stuff them in the bin on the corner and not address Cal again, mostly because I’m worried I might cry and he’ll get the wrong idea.

They’d be tears of anger, not sadness. But as I strut past him and press the button for the crossing, he comes over.

‘Go away,’ I say, pressing the button again, like I have any control over when the green man will show up. I look left and right, determine there’s no traffic, and trot across the road without waiting.

‘Jessie, please,’ Cal says, chasing after me. ‘Can I just explain? Please. I owe you that, at least.’