Forty-One
Days go by after the present is dispatched, and I hear nothing. I double-check it went to the right address. Yes. I triple-check it was delivered. Yep.
Friday morning, in what feels like an inappropriately early hour, I’m roused from sleep by my phone ringing. I glance at the bedside clock. It’s bloody 7am. I panic immediately. Are my parents OK? Has something happened? Nobody who knows me would ever try to raise the dead at this ungodly hour without it being an emergency. Could it be Ryan finally reacting to my gift? My heart does feel like it stops for a moment as I pick up the phone.
It’s only Adam.
I greet him with, “What the hell, Adam? Are you OK?”
“Where are you?” he demands.
“It’s seven in the morning. Where do you think I am? I’m in bed.”
“It’s actually closer to 8am. Did you just decide not to bother with changing the clocks this year? Become your own timezone again?”
“I just didn’t get around to it when the clocks went forward,” I mutter.
“Three months ago,” Adam helpfully adds.
“OK, well. I’ll start again then. It’s 8am. Where do you think I am?”
“Well, a lot of people might be grabbing breakfast or doing a morning jog. Some people are already at work. Some are on their way,” Adam continues with his not-unreasonable list.
“Gah! Why are you being so annoying? What about that time I interrupted your 10am beauty sleep, you hypocrite? Where are you? What do you want?! Tell me now so that I can go back to sleep.”
“I’m in Regent’s Park. I’ve just been here since six this morning doing military fitness with a few clients. No big deal. Just a normal day for us plebs who aren’t snoozing on their chaise lounges.”
“This hasn’t answered my question,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Look, it’s better if I show you. Can you come to the park? I’ve got another session about to start, so say 9am? You’ll actually have to vacate your mattress. I don’t reckon they can get it into your Sudan chair.”
“I think you mean ‘sedan’ chair, and there is nothing I have any desire to see in Regent’s Park enough to lure me out of bed right now.” I snuggle down further into my duvet.
“You’ll want to see this,” Adam replies confidently. “Trust me. I’m not going to tell you, though. Better for you to see. I want to see your face when you see it.”
I groan in annoyance. “Are you trying to trick me into exercising again? Like that time you told me there was 50% off at Oddbins so that we had that run across Clapham Common? Because if you are…”
“I’m not,” Adam insists. Look, you’re wasting time. Get up and get over here. I’m by the boathouse.”
I mutter dire threats against Adam all the way through the shower, my hasty breakfast and Tube journey. By 9:05am, I emerge from Regent’s Park Tube to a barrage of impatient texts, eventually getting there a quarter of an hour later.
Adam is tapping his foot. “Good job you’re not in the emergency services.”
I roll my eyes, “Yes. I think we agree on that. I’m not in the emergency services; I don’t have a pole to slide down into my clothes…”
“I think that’s Wallace and Gromit,” Adam points out.
“Or a blue light…”
“No, I figured that. I’m into my next session now.”
I look around for a client, “Oh, where?”
“It’s OK. I sent him to run around the lake a couple of times. He’s just starting out and was a bit of a fish and chips fan, so I reckon we’ve got ages.”
“For what?” I plead. “Why am I here at the crack of dawn?”
Adam pulls out his phone. “For this!” he says triumphantly, bringing up the latest edition of Ladditude on his browser like it’s a winning lottery ticket.
I take his phone very coldly. For this, I missed Coco Pops and my usual nine hours of slumber?
I mutter dangerously as he instructs me to flick to the Dear Alex pages. There may be a whole new Alex, but they’ve kept everything the same, down to Alex’s muscly silhouette. The only new thing is the disclaimer at the bottom of the page and the small print: “Alex is a pseudonym for one of our writers.”
I look up in irritation. “You dragged me here for this? I already knew they were keeping Dear Alex and just adding a bit of a disclaimer. I spoke to the editor the other day. I can’t believe I’ve been dragged…”
“Not that bit,” Adam says, more gently than usual. “This.” He points to the letter on the page:
Dear Alex,
This letter has taken me a long time to write. I’ve got a problem, and you’re probably the only person who can fix it. I fell for a girl. This funny, beautiful writer. She’s made me laugh more in the last few months than I have for years, and I really fell for her. But then, three months in, I found out quite a few things had been made up, and some stuff happened that left me feeling betrayed like I had been once before. Except it felt even worse than before because this girl seemed so far above that.
So I was left feeling really shitty, and we broke up. Since then, I’ve been thinking about her every day, and instead of missing her less as time has gone on, I’ve been missing her more. The other day, I got a birthday present from her via post. And it brought back everything we’d talked about and how thoughtful she was. And the more I thought about it, the more I pretty much decided life really is too short not to be with someone you’ve fallen for. Dumb lies or not. And if she forgives me, too – for how I reacted – then I guess what I’m hoping for is a second chance for both of us.
Always,
Ryan
I never understood what ‘heart soaring’ really felt like before. But suddenly, in Regent’s Park, mine not only soars but also does a few loop-the-loops around passing aircraft. I hug Adam. “He wants to get back together! He’s forgiven me!”
“I told you it was worth it!” Adam replies smugly. “Oh shit, but wait. You need to read the response.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot… the new Alex.” My eyes leap back to the page:
‘Ryan, man,
You got it bad. You’re sounding pretty loved up, but all that says to me is that you’re not thinking straight. You don’t go into details, but what you’re basically saying is that you had a relationship for three months, and it hit the rocks. I have worn underwear for longer. Give it up, man. If it takes twelve weeks for things to go so badly wrong, it sounds better for both of you to call it a day. It’s lonely splitting up, and it’s pretty normal to miss your ex, but you made your decision for a good reason. Stick with it.
Yours
Alex’
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh. “Damn it, damn it, damn it! I hate that Agony Uncle! I hate Ladditude ! Ryan doesn’t know I resigned! What if he thinks this is the final brush-off from me? I have to get to him. Now.”
Throwing his phone back to Adam, I start a sprint out of the park, barreling past the sweaty form of Adam’s latest client/victim as they stagger through their second lap.
“Good luck!” Adam calls after me. “I knew I’d get you running eventually!”