Chapter One #2
Well, at least I don’t think he is… Pfft. Who am I kidding? I checked his Instagram this morning like an idiot. He’s skiing in the French Alps. It’s as if I’m chasing that gutless feeling it gives me whenever I go looking for updates.
He doesn’t want me anymore. He doesn’t love me anymore. And I have moved on.
Sort of.
“What’s on your mind?” Dylan asks. “You’re grinding your teeth and it’s giving me shivers.”
“I keep panicking that I’ve wasted my twenties,” I burst out.
Maybe I really do belong in this tragic club, eh?
See, look how pathetic I am. “But so what if Adam doesn’t want to be with me anymore?
It’s been a few months now and it’s less sore.
I’m ok. I’m enjoying having my own flat near the beach and being able to watch the TV I like without having to worry it will be too girly for him.
I like cooking Thai and seafood in my own kitchen without having to think about all his undiagnosed allergies.
And you know what? I like sleeping alone.
He used to take up too much of the bed. You know? ”
Dylan scrunches his face up. “Not really… but go on.”
“What if he stole my twenties?” I say, my voice raising a pitch. “What if he never actually intended for us to be long term and I was just convenient? Hmm? And now I’ve gone and given him my entire youth? I’m going to be old soon, Dylan.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“Yeah. Right now. But what about in two years? Next week will be the last birthday in my twenties.”
My pulse is raising. Am I sweating? I can feel a lump forming in my throat.
Dylan looks restless, like he’s regretting his decision to join me outside.
“I can’t get those years back. And now all of the good men are gone!”
Dylan watches me, wide-eyed. “You do know I’m probably the worst person to be giving advice, right?
I haven’t got my shit together either. Hell, I don’t even know where my shit is.
How am I supposed to get it together? You’ve always been the golden child round here and now you’re coming to me for advice? ”
“I didn’t ask for advice…”
“Maybe you need to let your hair down. Stop being perfect for ten minutes. Go and do something, or someone, recklessly. Screw rules. Screw that lot,” he says, tilting his head towards the house. “Screw giving this final year in your twenties to someone else. Make it your own!”
I nod quickly. “Yes! This sounds right.”
Dylan shakes his head. “Meh, it’s most likely terrible advice.”
“No! It’s good. You’re right. I need to take this year. I need to own it.”
“What’ve you always wanted to do?”
“I want to see the seaside.”
Dylan purses his lips. “Babe, you live in Seaford.”
“I know, I mean better sea sides! Croatia, the Greek Islands, California and…” My eyes widen. “Shit! There are so many places I should go. Why haven’t I been?”
“Didn’t Adam hate travelling?”
“Yes! He only ever wanted to go skiing, and I wasn’t invited.”
I feel feral. He only ever wanted to go away with his mates, and his excuse was that I wasn’t very good at learning new things (which I’m now convinced isn’t true) and he didn’t have time to train me while also getting out on the best slopes.
Dylan cups his hands around his mouth and blows to warm his fingers. “Are you coming to the family New Year’s Eve party then?”
“Oh hell. I forgot they’d roped me into that too…
” Panic sets in. But then I remember what I just said.
“No! I’m taking back the final year of my twenties.
New Year’s Day is my birthday! I’m making plans for New Year’s Eve,” I proclaim, a little over-excited.
“And you know what? I want to have another house party. I was meeting up with my friends after anyway at the pub. Might as well make a bigger deal of it.”
“Isn’t your flat more of a studio?”
I clap my hands at him. “You’re becoming less helpful now, Dyl.”
“I’m just saying. You being irrational is making me squirmish.”
“Squirmish?”
“I don’t know what it means, I just know that’s how I feel.”
“Ugh, maybe you’re right.” I lean back in the garden chair, the icy armrests sticking to my coat sleeves. “I should ask someone sensible first. I’ll call Fliss; she’ll know what to do.”
“Good idea. Check in with someone sensible. Would you be open to signing a waiver that resolves me of all liability from giving advice?” he asks. He’s being funny, but there’s a nervous glint in his eye.
“No, sorry. You should’ve thought about that before you gave it to me.”
“Crap. I better lawyer up.”
I snort as I take my phone out to message my sensible person.
Fliss used to work for a high-end marketing firm in the city.
Her mum is friends with mine, so we’ve always known each other by proxy.
She’s two years older than me so we didn’t really cross paths as children, except for at family barbeques, and she was always too cool to hang out with me back then anyway.
But recently, she’s moved back to Seaford and has been doing freelance work for the gallery’s events.
We’ve bonded over our shared love of fish ‘n’ chips and lunchtime cocktails on a Friday while staring out at the grey abyss that is Seaford seafront during winter.
Dylan blows out a long stream of apple-scented steam. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get wasted before they ask us any more questions about our life plans.”