Nudge 33 The Escape #2
‘You’re on the committee?’ I try to hide my shock, but I can’t help it – it’s so unlike him.
‘You’re not the only one who knows how to join a society, Ms Twelve Extra-Curriculars,’ he says jokingly.
The guys laugh behind him before introducing themselves again, Monts pouring me a drink as he does so.
‘Ants, you never said your sister was this fine,’ Tyrell says, throwing me a flirty nod.
‘Never say that again,’ Anton warns them off before I have a chance to respond.
They nod before shuffling up on their sofa so we can squeeze in and join the fun.
Anton glows while he’s around them, approaching their conversation with wit and charisma I never get to see.
I nervously tap the plastic cup with my nails as I listen to them talk between themselves, throwing in a stray laugh from time to time so as not to seem like some awkward bystander.
They race through topics quicker than light, breaking only to shout their favourite lines of the songs that sound off in the background.
‘So, what’s your deal, Maddison?’ Monts asks me softly as the other three depart to find us another bottle.
‘Well, I work in events at a baggage company—’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ he replies, cutting me off. ‘Why are you here with us tonight? Anton said something was up.’
Of course he did. Apparently, I can’t trust my brother enough to understand that my breakdowns should remain secret.
‘Hey, relax,’ he says, noting my tense demeanour. ‘He didn’t say what was up, just said you might need a chat. I’m pretty good at getting people out of their funks.’
‘Are you?’ I ask, chuckling softly at his mock-therapist voice.
‘Ask your brother. I’ve helped him through a couple of things before,’ he says. ‘So, go on, what’s the issue? Uncle Monts’ ears are open.’
I shrug it off and wait for him to get bored, drop it and move on, but he continues patiently waiting. He may not be Anton’s biological brother, but he sure has the same annoying willingness to wait for my confessions.
‘I’m just getting closer to thirty and stressed about where my life’s headed. You wouldn’t understand,’ I say.
No one would in this place because they don’t know how lucky they are. Uni was the last place where I still felt like my future had hope. So, to share all of this with some ACS member who’s still in such a malleable stage of his life is pointless.
‘Actually, I would understand more than you think.’ He leans back on the sofa and looks me in the eye. ‘I’m twenty-nine.’
‘What?’
I hate the tone of it the second the word comes out of my mouth. Luckily, he laughs off my shock.
‘Yeah, I get that a lot,’ he chuckles.
‘So, you’re what? Doing your masters? PhD?’ I ask.
‘Undergrad. Second year, like your brother.’
I clench my jaw tight to avoid any more reactions I’ll regret. He takes my silence for the question that it is and takes a relaxed sip of his drink before continuing.
‘I didn’t want to study anything when I left school. Went straight into a job as a plumber. Seven years into that, after some pretty big life events, I decided I wanted to be a psychologist. Turns out, that requires a degree and a whole lot of training. So, here I am, three years later.’
‘So, you started at twenty-seven,’ I say, doing the sums in my head.
‘Yep, and will hopefully start my doctorate by the time I’m thirty-two. But who knows about that yet.’ He shrugs.
‘That doesn’t scare you? Starting over so . . .’
‘Old?’ he asks, laughing at my embarrassed face. ‘Twenty-nine is nothing. Thirty is nothing. If I wanted to start again at fifty, I would. Time is just that – time. It dictates too much of our lives already for us to start letting it dictate what we can and can’t accomplish.’
‘But how do you stop it from dictating everything?’ I ask, staring at him intensely.
I can’t help it – the booze has seeped into my system and I’m suddenly desperate to hear his advice. He pauses to look up at the ceiling, arranging the words in his own head before imparting them to me.
‘You gotta get to the root of your issues. Figure out why it’s so important for you to reach your dream life by a certain age. It’s your dream life, not your dream thirtieth year; you literally have your whole life to go through the motions and figure things out.’
I don’t know if it’s the drink or the music or the long sentences, but his advice leaves me more confused than where I left off. He can instantly tell as he looks down at my face, my lips parted and eyes wide as I stare back dumbfounded.
‘OK, let’s try something else,’ he says, shifting his stance so he can stare at me head on. ‘Speed round – no thinking, just answer straight up. What are your biggest goals for thirty?’
‘House, promotion and fiancé,’ I say, the alcohol drawing them out of me with ease.
‘And what happens if you don’t achieve them by then?’
‘I fail,’ I say, obviously.
‘Fail what?’ he asks.
‘Life.’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . .’
But I don’t know, I don’t have an answer. I haven’t thought past that point, or even about what that point looks like if I don’t succeed. When I think about it now, I guess I’d still just be me. Still lost and behind, trying to reach the goals I set out for myself.
‘Look at me.’ He waits until my eyes meet his before he continues to speak. ‘Answer honestly. Would you call me a failure?’
‘Of course not,’ I say. I’ve never seen someone calmer or more confident in where they need to be.
‘Well, by thirty I won’t have a house or promotion – I won’t even be qualified for my dream job yet. And as great as my girl is, I can’t see us getting married till I’ve graduated, so I probably won’t have a fiancée either. Is that OK?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say.
‘So why isn’t it OK for you?’
And just like that, it makes sense. All the pieces arrange themselves in front of me, delving inside and freeing the knot in my chest. I flick through pages of goals and charts in my mind, each one revealing itself to be more superfluous than the last. I hear a voice, see his face without closing my eyes, repeating the same thing he’s been telling me since he re-entered my life.
‘Nobody asked me to do all this but me,’ I say.
Monts cheers. ‘Exactly! Couldn’t have put it better myself.’
And I couldn’t either, because none of those were my words. They were the echo of a man who will barely talk to me now. A man who saw all this months ago and tried his best to coax me through seeing it for myself.
‘You all right?’ Monts asks, leaning to catch my eye again.
‘Yeah, sorry. Thank you,’ I say. ‘Honestly, this was exactly what I needed to hear.’
The boys return with more booze, top up my glass and get back to their banter without missing a step.
But I can’t focus, can’t think of anything but Aiden and just how badly I’ve screwed this up.
He saw through all my worrying and tried to help me before I even knew I needed his help.
And now he’s gone, thanks to me and the conclusions I jumped to because I was too scared to let him in properly.
I make it through the night, the next morning, the hug goodbye with Anton, with thoughts of Aiden pushed as far back as I can manage. But as I sit on the train home, back to life, back to London, there’s one thing that dominates my mind, clear as day.
It’s time for a change. To take a leap that’s been years in the making.
Time to believe in myself.