Francis Maida Avenue
FRANCIS
Maida Avenue
“Hi, Fran…” Anne greets me with a hesitant voice, so different from the confident, vibrant tone I used to hear for years. These days, that part of her only seems to surface when I’m not around.
The real difference is that, with time, she’s managed to return, at least with others, to being the same bright, lively creature she used to be. Whereas the old Francis, the sarcastic, provocative, slightly cocky one, has pretty much vanished.
Even I can tell I’ve become a shadow of myself, and that says a lot. The problem is, I don’t really know how to get back to who I was, and if I’m being honest, I’m not even sure I want to.
“Anne…” I reply, turning slowly toward her, and despite myself, I can’t help but notice how stunning she still looks.
My ex still wears her long, dark brown hair loose over her shoulders, with that ever-present fringe perfectly swept across her eyebrows, giving her a playful look that suits her far too well.
Today she’s wearing a long lavender floral dress, paired with a cropped denim jacket and flat leather sandals. Her pedicure is as flawless as Sebastian’s, though unlike our friend, who’s eternally devoted to black, Anne is rocking a bright violet polish that perfectly matches her dress.
On anyone else, the whole look might come off as somewhere between retro and hippy. But on her, it works effortlessly, enhancing her tall, slender frame and her naturally graceful poise.
Her makeup, as always, is subtle but polished, refined without hiding her flawless complexion.
I wish I could say otherwise, but the truth is Anne has only grown more beautiful since we broke up. More mature, maybe. And while part of me is ashamed of the petty thought, I can’t help feeling jealous of whoever ends up taking my place.
Because I have no illusions someone will. Anne hasn’t introduced anyone officially, but she hasn’t exactly kept her social life a secret either, and I’m almost certain she’s been seeing someone more steadily lately than she has at any point since we split up.
I can’t even say the decision to separate was entirely hers. Sure, when I surprised my girlfriend with an unexpected marriage proposal, she was quick to make it clear she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment, but that was something we might have been able to work through.
What truly ended our relationship was her realisation, at the very same time, that she didn’t want children, not then, and not in some distant future either, as far as she was concerned.
At first, I hoped she might change her mind, but I had to let go of that idea pretty quickly.
Anne was upfront about it, if we were to stay together, it would only be under the condition that I fully accepted her choice not to have kids. And honestly, I couldn’t do that in good conscience.
Continuing with such fundamentally different life goals didn’t seem possible for either of us. It would’ve only led to more pain, not less, if we’d tried to force it.
At that point, we had no choice but to accept the end of our relationship and try to move on with our lives, despite the painful awareness that our feelings for each other were far from gone.
She’s definitely been more successful at it than I have, while I’ve remained stuck in this sort of limbo I can’t seem to climb out of.
“Lovely party, isn’t it?” Anne says now, her cheerfulness just barely forced, pulling me out of the spiral of my thoughts.
I smile at her, doing my best to sound casual. “Yeah… they’ve been so happy since becoming parents, it almost hurts to watch.”
There’s no need to say who I’m talking about, but I can tell right away that it was the wrong thing to say. Anne’s face tightens with a flicker of irritation, and I try to steer the conversation elsewhere, but it’s already too late.
“Will you ever move on, Francis?” she says, her voice weary.
I’m about to answer when she stops me with a sharp look.
Then she lowers her voice and adds, “It’s been two years, for God’s sake.
Can’t you just be genuinely happy for Remi and Seb and stop trying to hurt me every time you get the chance? ”
“Anne… I swear I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out, I wasn’t thinking, and I promise I didn’t mean it in a spiteful way,” I say, regretfully. But she doesn’t look convinced. Not even a little.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” she replies after a moment’s silence, “the fact that you still want to punish me after all this time for something I had no control over, or the fact that you’re so bitter now, you don’t even realise how inappropriate your words sound.”
“Anne…” I murmur, my throat tightening at the sight of her disappointed expression.
“No, Francis…” she cuts me off again. “I’ve tried for a long time, clearly far too long, and I’m done.
I actually came over here to ask if it would bother you if I brought my new boyfriend to the next dinner at the Blackbird.
Can you believe that? What an idiot I am.
Well, now I’m just letting you know, I’ll be showing up with William, whether you like it or not, and I expect you to behave like a decent human being. Good day, Francis.”
And with that, she turns on her heel and walks away, her hair whipping furiously around her shoulders, while I stand frozen for a moment, trying to fully register what she just said.
The worst part? She’s absolutely right.
Luckily for me, before Anne’s words can drag me into a pit of self-pity, I see Noah heading my way with a much-needed glass of Champagne and his usual knowing smile.
We’re quickly joined by Jamie, his husband, and I’m not sure how much they overheard of my exchange with Anne, but just having them nearby, with their steady, familiar presence, is enough to ground me again.
Still, I decide to steer clear of anything remotely emotional, I’m nowhere near ready to talk about what just happened with my ex.
“So, guys, what’s new with you?” I ask, trying to sound casual as I clink my glass gently against theirs.
But I needn’t have worried. Their attention is already captured by the tiny guest of honour. “Leo is just the sweetest thing…” Noah replies, eyes full of wonder.
He’s watching little Elliott Arnette, who’s currently stepping confidently into a giant soap bubble conjured by one of the entertainers hired to keep the kids busy.
As the shimmering bubble bursts around him, soaking him in foam and laughter, Leo squints and scrunches up his nose in the most adorable way, prompting my two friends to let out a soft, synchronised: “Awwww…”
“Have you ever thought about expanding the family?” I ask cautiously.
The topic has already landed me in enough trouble today, and I don’t want a repeat. But I know Noah and Jamie are pretty open about their private life, at least with us, and I hope they won’t take the question the wrong way.
They’re a solid couple, have been together for eight years and married for three, so I figure my curiosity is more or less fair. But their reaction still catches me off guard: they both turn to me at exactly the same moment and start answering, talking over each other.
“No way, are you kidding? With all the kids I already look after five days a week?” Noah shoots back immediately. “Don’t get me wrong, I love teaching and I adore my students, but right now I still need my own space too much. I’m not ready to take on a child of my own.”
“And what about me?” Jamie jumps in. “With the academy growing and the waiting list getting longer by the day, thankfully, I can barely carve out time for the two of us.” He gestures between himself and his husband, then pulls him in close with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
Jamie’s a freelance dancer, though these days he mostly focuses on the dance school he’s successfully set up in Chelsea, just a stone’s throw from their flat.
As usual, Jamie and Noah lose themselves in each other, forgetting anyone else even exists. When their kisses start edging toward the overly passionate, I take it as my cue to make an exit.
Is it just me, or am I being constantly ambushed today by blissfully loved-up couples?
My mood wasn’t exactly stellar to begin with, thanks, Anne, and as much as I’m genuinely happy for my friends, I can’t help but feel that creeping, all-too-familiar sense of failure seeping back in.
No matter what I do, it never quite leaves me.
I wander aimlessly through the party, exchanging polite small talk with a few mutual acquaintances and admiring the imaginative decorations Sebastian’s put together, while swarms of excitable children whizz past me from every direction.
I take the opportunity to snatch another glass of Champagne, and I’m just starting to seriously consider making my escape when I spot, fashionably late, of course, the one person whose love life is possibly even more chaotic than mine: Ian McAvoy.
His love life, at least, is anything but dull, judging by the rotating carousel of boyfriends who’ve taken turns sitting beside him at Saturday night dinners at the Blackbird. All of them young, attractive, and suspiciously Sebastian-adjacent.
I’ve got a feeling that his old crush on our mutual friend never really went away, even if, according to what I know, he and Seb never shared more than a single kiss, and that was back in high school.
Still, I can easily believe that unrequited love can haunt you just as much, if not more, than a love that actually came to be. If nothing else, it lets you romanticise something intangible and flawless: something that doesn’t really exist… or not quite.
Couples as solid as Remi and Seb, or Noah and Jamie, are one in a million. And even they had to weather their fair share of storms before they found any kind of lasting peace.
“Hey, Fran!” Ian calls out to me as he crosses the garden, politely nodding at friends and familiar faces.