Chapter Seventeen
It felt, for the next week, as though Bette was living in limbo. She went to bed early and slept late. She didn’t feel great about it, but passing as much time as possible asleep made complete sense. She filled up the waking hours too, determined not to be stuck at home in her own head. She went to see Carmen’s new work in progress, and stuck around for a drink with the cast. She went for a long walk with Ruth, up the hill and across the suspension bridge, high on endorphins. She spent Saturday afternoon playing a board game with Ash and Tim.
But really, she was waiting. Willing time to go faster. Wanting to fast-forward through these final two weeks.
As the credits rolled on Grey’s Anatomy on Sunday night, Ash apparently reached some sort of limit.
“So are you okay?” she asked, without preamble, as she separated a bourbon biscuit and dunked the non-iced half into her tea. “You’ve seemed off this week. Sort of…manic, maybe?”
Bette bit into her own biscuit and sipped her tea.
“I miss Mei,” she admitted. “I have been, the whole time. Missing, I don’t know—missing the domesticity and it being easy, and having her at the table with us. I don’t really want to be having sex with lots of different people. I really loved having someone.”
“Sure, that makes sense,” Ash said, turning more fully toward Bette, resting an arm along the back of the sofa.
“That night at the hospital? Last Monday? Mei needed me, asked me to help. It was late and she was tired but she tried to kiss me and I stopped things. And now I’m just waiting. I mean, there’s a photo of us on her parents’ fridge. I know we’re going to be okay; I know it’s just a matter of time. But really? I just wish I could sleep through the next two weeks.”
“Have you talked since?”
“No,” Bette said. “I drove her back, and then I walked home. I sort of thought she might have been in touch. Just to talk about it. Where we’re at. But she hasn’t. And I don’t want to push.”
“I mean, you could text her, right? You don’t have to wait for her to call?”
Bette shrugged. There was no reason she couldn’t be the one to make the call.
“I could.”
“But you won’t, will you?”
“No,” Bette confirmed. “I won’t. I’ll wait it out. I want to know she’s done with this too, I want her to want me back. But in the meantime, I’m not doing any more dates. I had sex with other people. Some of it was even good. Really good, actually. But it’s not surprising, I guess, that I ended up knowing it’s her I want. Nothing’s really changed.”
Ash took another biscuit, pulling the halves apart.
“Why have you started buying these again? I miss those chocolate and ginger ones. Bourbons are fine, but they’re mid-tier. At best.”
“I’ve been eating too many biscuits this week to be buying the chocolate and ginger ones. I’m not made of money,” Bette said, reaching into the packet for another. Ash snorted.
“Is there part of you that’s going to miss the dating? When it’s all officially done?”
“Not really, honestly. I mean, not that it hasn’t been fun. Charlie was great.”
“Hot, biker jacket, sex in the club?”
“Yeah. It was a great story, too. I’m glad it happened. And Netta was amazing. And I’m so glad I met Ruth. That’s probably been the best bit. She’s brilliant.”
“She really is,” Ash agreed.
“It feels weird to think about it like this, but honestly, the whole thing has been sort of worth it, to know that I’m sure about Mei. And to have found a friend like Ruth.”
It was a nothing sort of Tuesday, but it was finally October, and it was sunny. Next Saturday, the one after this one, would be the end of the three months. It was so close now that Bette could taste it. Her mood matched the weather: bright and hopeful. And so when Erin caught her eye and suggested an MS lunch in the park, Bette jumped at it. Her packed lunch glared disapprovingly at her from the under-counter fridge and she ignored it.
“This was supposed to be a non-working lunch,” Bette complained, once they were on the grass with crisps and sandwiches. They’d spoken of nothing but work since leaving the office. “We might as well have stayed at our desks at this rate. Tell me about the wedding.”
The next ten minutes were almost enough to convince Bette that marriage wasn’t for her. That perhaps it shouldn’t be for anyone. There were problems with some supply-chain thing that affected the menu, drama with cousins and aunts and people who hadn’t been invited far enough in advance, the fact that Niamh’s suit had been returned three times and still wasn’t quite right. Bette could hardly believe couples survived it.
“I’m so glad you’re still coming,” Erin said, tessellating crisps carefully over the egg in the second half of her sandwich. “I know I’ve known Mei longer, but I’d be so gutted if you decided you couldn’t be there just because of her.”
“Oh, we’re fine. I mean, we’re good,” Bette said. Mei must have finally told her about the break. But it was okay. It was almost done. And she was Mei’s person, the one she called in the middle of the night.
“Well, I think that’s really big of you. Not in a patronizing way!” Erin added. “Just, you know—I don’t reckon I’d be okay being at a wedding with my ex and her new girlfriend.”