Chapter 21
‘Thirty-six per cent?’ Cian exclaims as he squints at the bottle of Chinchón.
I push the playing cards to his side of the kitchen table and finish the water I poured as soon as I felt the alcohol hitting.
‘What does this mean?’ he asks, while holding the bottle up.
‘I’m too drunk to read that.’
‘I knew you couldn’t speak all those languages. You just said it to impress me.’
‘La difamación!’ I shout.
‘You can’t just make up words and do a funny accent. Ah,’ he says suddenly, ‘I still haven’t shown you what I ordered.’
‘Is it a present for me?’
He points at the top of the fridge, and I reach for the package I dropped off weeks ago. ‘Why haven’t you opened it?’
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he says, taking it from my hands.
He’s been waiting for me. He always saw us making up, while I’ve been busy catastrophising about us never speaking again. I fight a wave of feelings around this until he adds, ‘I was also waiting for Stormzy. Mad how he’s not been around in ages, then he reappears when you do.’
I’d forgotten Wuffy was in the kitchen with us, sitting under the table.
Cian rips the packaging so chaotically it takes him twice as long as it would have if he’d done it with scissors. It’s his usual enthusiasm twinned with a kid-on-Christmas-morning energy. He shakes the box at me and smiles.
‘Are you waiting for me to pretend to be interested?’ I ask, barrier up.
‘It’s a kitty wellness centre. A head, neck, face and body massager plus catnip dispenser and gum stimulator.’
Once the batteries are in, the contraption starts to buzz. Cian’s face hardens as he lays his palm on it. ‘This is intense.’
‘I can’t believe you bought Wuffy a sex toy.’
‘Stop lowering the tone.’ Again, he puts his hand on the massager and his mouth twists. ‘The gum stimulator is a bit over the top.’ He grabs his glasses from the table and tries to put the box together again to read the sales pitch.
‘If Wuffy doesn’t like it, can I have it?’
‘Zoe, do you need to go outside and touch some grass?’
‘Probably.’
‘You’ve been single two minutes. Control yourself.’
With the massager now on the floor, Wuffy, ever the sceptic, moves towards it. He sniffs it, then walks away, tail haughtily swishing side to side.
‘I paid nineteen ninety-nine for this. Come on,’ Cian baby-talks. ‘Come and have your tummy tickled.’ Then, ‘Stop,’ he shouts at me.
We spend another ten minutes trying and failing to coax Wuffy to use the massager, before giving up.
‘The only joy I’ve felt recently was when I found a voucher code for this product.’ Cian leans down to grab it, but accidentally flips it over, causing it to spin across the floor. Wuffy gallops over, grabs it and begins attacking it with his back legs.
Cian tuts as I fail to hold in my hysterics. ‘Okay, Cartman, enough.’
‘Cartman? That’s a new one.’
‘Can’t believe I’ve never used it before,’ he says, pleased with himself. ‘Why have you wasted your food?’
‘The portion was way too big for me. Only people who work out need this much protein in one sitting.’
He picks up the plate and walks over to the sink. ‘You’re the most inactive person I know.’
I bunch up my skirt as I pull another chair under my feet. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Your body shouldn’t look like that.’
‘Cian Walsh! Did you just give me a once-over?’
Quickly, he turns away. ‘No. I did not. Your phone.’ He collects it from the counter and brings it back to the table with him. ‘It’s gone off like ten times. I’ve worked out it’s because you’re not on socials, everyone has to constantly text for your attention.’
There are indeed ten messages, all from Ikenna. I skim through a few.
Ikenna: The invite for tomorrow is smart/casual.
Ikenna: We should make an effort.
Ikenna: Look good, feel good.
Ikenna: Dress for the day we want.
‘Your face just ran through so many expressions.’
‘It’s Ikenna,’ I admit, because I can’t imagine what my face is doing.
Cian goes to top up his drink, then realises it’s still full. ‘You two still close?’
‘Not sure if I’d say close. We’re still friends.’
‘Being friends with an ex is like . . .’ He makes a disgusted noise as he deals the cards.
‘Your situation is different,’ I say gently, not wanting to get into it. ‘For me and Ikenna, we were more sort of friends anyway. This works.’
‘Yeah, it works if you’re still sleeping together.’
‘Not that it’s your business,’ I start, and Cian holds his palms up.
‘Change of topic, change of topic,’ he yells.
‘We’re friends. And I doubt Ikenna would want to sleep with me again. He’s after a different kind of woman.’
‘Yeah, one who laughs quietly.’
‘I wish I’d never told you that.’
‘Well—’ he lowers his cards and looks at me ‘—you did. So, fuck Ikenna.’
‘That’s not fair. You’ve only heard my side of the story. Ikenna was there for me. He’s still there for me, even when I’m a complete drain.’
‘You’re not a drain. Though I imagine you’re a very difficult woman to satisfy.’ He winces and covers his face. ‘I didn’t mean to use the word satisfy. Shit. My next drink is a coffee.’
‘Some men can’t be trained.’
‘Maybe you need to find a man who doesn’t need to be trained.’
‘That’s not a thing, Cian. Trust me, I’ve looked.’ I don’t know how we’re onto this, and I’m being very disingenuous about Ikenna, because sex was the sole reason we stayed orbiting each other for so long.
‘Maybe you were looking too far and wide.’ Cian pretends to search around the kitchen then stops and focuses back in on me.
Is he serious? We’re only just getting back to what we were, how we used to be, and now he’s throwing this in.
‘Moving on,’ he says loudly, ‘play your hand.’ He splays his fingers and pushes them through his hair. ‘I am so drunk. Maybe I should eat more.’ He goes again to the counter and gestures at the tub of dolmas Brendan brought home earlier. ‘Should I microwave these? How d’you get the leaves off?’
‘No. What are you doing?’ I get up and try to budge him over with my arm. ‘You’re not meant to unwrap them.’
He leans his elbows on the counter then, out of nowhere, asks, ‘Are you seeing anyone?’
In response to the shock on my face, he marginally sways away. ‘There are some guys at work who . . .’ He tips his head side to side.
I try to set my face to neutral in order not to give away how little I care about guys at work.
‘Taron,’ Cian offers.
Now what’s happening? Is he going to try and set me up with someone in the hope it’ll take the pressure off us?
‘Blond guy, works in Finance.’
I try my hardest not to squash the wrapped rice in my fingers. ‘Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you violating the bro code? Here.’ I push the vine leaves towards him. ‘Fry them on low.’
‘Dev always thought you were pretty.’
Is this moment still going on?
‘Though maybe now he’s spoken to you, he’s changed his mind,’ Cian laughs.
‘Dev barely looks at me and I really don’t want to talk about this. Not with you.’
Cian straightens up. ‘How come?’
‘I just don’t.’
He ducks away to grab a frying pan from the cupboard and lets it drop heavily onto the hob. ‘Would you say yes if he asked you out?’
‘I would say no.’
‘Is it a blanket no for everyone?’
‘Yes,’ I answer quickly.
The ignition flicks on.
Everything feels heavy as I consider this blanket no, this declaration of no men, no dating. Then there’s Cian. Cian, who would absolutely be the exception to this rule. Cian, who I can’t answer truthfully, because when I tried to open a space for us to have this conversation, he blanked it.
‘Actually, it’s not a blanket no.’ The words float out easily, as if they’re from someone else’s mouth, someone far braver than me. ‘If you asked me out—’ I stop. I cannot lose confidence, not now. ‘I would say yes.’
He puts the rewrapped leaves in the pan and stares at the flicking spatters of oil while I squeeze my hands into fists and hope to vanish into thin air.
Is this it? I’ve been driving myself mad going back and forth with this, then I tell him, and he ignores it. Again.
‘Cian,’ I try, my heart jackhammering in my chest, ‘you need to say something. Even if it’s change of topic or moving on.’ He reaches for my arm and tugs me towards him, and after how slow we’ve been to touch, a kiss could only happen at this speed.
His lips are warm and taste of aniseed and while it’s exciting to finally have him like this, it’s also like every drunk kiss there’s ever been.
It’s fast and frantic, our hands too grabby and bodies slightly clumsy.
Cian sways to put his back against the counter, and my hand comes down to keep my balance against him.
I move too close to the hob, which makes me flinch, then he does too and just like that, he lets go.
‘Shit,’ he says as he steps away.
The vine leaves burn in the pan and Cian fumbles to turn off the gas. A thick, cloying smell blooms around us, and I open the window to let it out. When I turn back, it’s clear from the set of his jaw he regrets what just happened.
Without making eye contact, he says, ‘I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.’
‘No. It was me.’
‘I’m so drunk,’ he says. ‘I’m so—’ He looks in my direction, but his eyes seem to go past me, to a point over my shoulder.
‘No, Cian. It was me. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘It’s late,’ he says, and then with a mirthless laugh, ‘we’ve been drinking for hours.’
‘Should I go?’ Please say no, please ask me to stay. He doesn’t and I can’t wait for it, so I grab my phone from the table. ‘I’m going to go.’