34 excuse my French, but everything’s going to shit
34
excuse my French, but everything’s going to shit
Ava
I don’t snooze my alarm for work like I usually do. I’ve already been awake for an hour. Or longer, I don’t know. I’d crawled into bed after Max left and lay there for hours with the fading daylight, tears burning my cheeks, muscle memory dragging the old fears back to the forefront of my mind and sending me into a fitful sleep.
In moments of quiet, when there’s nothing to keep me occupied, images blast across my brain in high definition. An empty chair at the dinner table. Family-sized bags of spicy Doritos left in the cupboard because he’s the only one who ever eats them. A Christmas stocking that’ll never be filled. Songs I’ll never play again because I’ll have no one to sing them with. Our special language going extinct, every connection between us disappearing in a puff of smoke. No matter how hard I try to keep them at bay, it’s like the thoughts survive on my fear, consuming it until it consumes me.
And so, I drag myself out of bed and find the energy to make myself look presentable, covering any evidence of my restless night with makeup. The last thing I need is for customers to ask if I’m okay. Go through the motions and keep it together; this is what’s expected of me. I won’t show the fear sweeping through me, or the guilt snaking over my shoulders. Guilt for being okay, guilt for not being okay, guilt for even thinking about my own fear when I see it so clearly in Max’s eyes. When Josie comes back, I’ll tell her, but I won’t taint her time with her parents with this news. For now, I’ll handle it alone.
Because no one else needs to know about the fog seeping under doorways, blocking up any of the fissures that had just started to let the sunlight in. I can’t help but notice that the moment I thought I was safe, the scales tipped back exactly the way I’d hoped they wouldn’t.
It doesn’t matter that this time feels different. Doesn’t matter that we never have to experience the gut-wrenching panic for the first time again. Doesn’t matter that this time, I wasn’t alone in my uni bedroom when I found out, sitting on a rickety desk chair as I feverishly googled everything I could and immediately regretted it, repeating that cycle again and again until I knew every piece of literature, every variable, every study, every statistic off by heart. Until I realised my parents’ fears had frozen them in place and my family was breaking and they needed me home. Going to Tesco, making sure everyone ate, filling up the car with petrol. I was there to keep things moving, reliably stoic and level-headed.
And I was glad I went home in the end, anyway, because I was there when things started to get better, and I was there when it all went terribly, impossibly wrong.
No, this time is a dull ache, an opening of old wounds that were poorly stitched together in the first place, and a reminder there’s too much to lose.
The mundanity of my routine when I step into City Roast is comforting. Lights, till, coffee machine, dishwasher, stock. I’ve spent years perfecting this, relying on predictability to keep myself level. So by the time the first customer walks through the door, everything is as it should be. I am exactly where I should be. I function for the rest of the morning on autopilot, spouting small talk where needed, cleaning surfaces that aren’t dirty, and making drinks exactly how the regulars like them.
‘Did you have a good weekend?’ they ask.
‘It was pretty uneventful,’ I reply.
They don’t know me well enough to detect the lie, and I’m glad.
When Dylan arrives fifteen minutes early for her shift, she gets on with her work, reliable and consistent and somehow detecting my need for space by choosing every task far away from me. Eventually, when we’re both behind the counter, I turn to her, ready to at least pretend my brain isn’t in tatters.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to hang out much on Saturday. Did you have fun?’ We form a mini assembly line; me passing her clean mugs from the dishwasher while she neatly stacks them on the coffee machine.
‘Yeah. I don’t go to parties often, especially without my boyfriend, so it was nice to get out of the house. I liked your friends.’ She grins. ‘Is Finn in? I thought he’d be here by now. He’s usually glued to your side.’
I’m grateful I have a bit longer before I see him. I know what I need to do when I visit him this evening, and I don’t particularly want to do it. We need to keep this strictly platonic until he leaves. I’m not ignorant enough to think I could cut him out completely. I don’t think he’d let me. And I’m selfish too; selfish enough to keep him close, to make the most of the way he makes me feel a little brighter, a little lighter.
But whatever this thing was becoming, it can’t. I don’t have the brain capacity right now for anything other than putting one foot in front of the other. A quiet, mean part of my brain tells me that maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted with him, I would’ve paid more attention to Max and pushed him to get checked out sooner.
‘Uh, no, he’s seeing family today.’ I swallow. ‘I assume he’ll be in tomorrow.’
‘I see you’re both still in the weekend spirit,’ Carl’s grating voice hits my eardrums. ‘But come on, back to work. Nadia is in again today, so I want this place to be perfect.’
Dylan’s eyes widen and she scurries away, still afraid of his authority in a way that I’m not.
I pull out a folder from below the till. For months now, I’ve been keeping track of our deliveries, noting down when each tin of coffee beans or box of crisps goes out of date so we’ll have a record of everything and can push sales on soon-to-expire items. Not that Carl knows I do this. I set up this system less for the purposes of saving the shop money and more for the fact this job makes me feel braindead and the task keeps my mind occupied. But we’re killing two birds with one stone.
The irony is not lost on me that I try to be frugal with the shop’s expenses here but continue to stuff my face with stolen KitKats and give away free drinks to Finn.
‘What’s this?’ Carl asks as he sees the folder, disconcertingly close as I make a latte. He watches my every move with uncharacteristic attention. He never stays behind the counter – presumably for fear of being dragged into doing actual customer-facing work – and his presence distracts me enough that I don’t immediately notice who enters the shop behind Nadia. It’s only when I hear the soft laugh he shares with her that I realise who it is.
Carl grabs the folder and greets his guest, calling out an order over his shoulder as he leads Nadia to his table.
‘Morning, Ava Monroe,’ Finn says, his voice and movements slow, like he’s approaching a wild animal.
‘Finn,’ I say curtly. I thought I’d have more time to steel myself to talk to him. I’m not sure my resolve is strong enough yet. I drop my eyes, worried about what he might see on my face. And yet, despite everything, it’s a little easier to breathe having him nearby.
He waits for me to finish making Nadia and Carl’s drinks and Dylan takes them over to them on my behalf, probably detecting my need to talk to Finn alone. I continue avoiding eye contact to ask, ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were seeing your dad.’
He takes his glasses off to clean them, and I take the opportunity to look at him properly. He’s less rumpled than I’m used to – shirt starched, hair almost too neat, stubble as short as I’ve ever seen it. He looks younger than usual. My heart squeezes at the sight, at the effort he’s made.
‘He’s had to push it back. I’m meeting him for lunch in a bit.’ He checks his glasses for smears and sets them back on his nose. ‘But there’s something I want to talk to— are you okay?’
His affable tone switches instantly, the question shooting out of him like a bullet. Concerned eyes roam my face and I know he’s noticed everything I’ve tried to cover with makeup and a fake smile.
‘I’m fine.’ I really need to come up with a word that doesn’t sound like a lie. I hunt for a way to distract him. ‘We can’t have this conversation while I’m at work.’
This conversation being that we need to address what happened on the weekend.
This conversation being that I need to tell him I can’t do anything else. I can’t be anything else.
His fingertips brush mine where I’m resting my hand on the counter, and he dips his head to say, ‘Please?’
I wish the touch of his skin against mine didn’t simultaneously ground me in comfort and send my heart cartwheeling. It’s this kind of complication I can’t handle right now. But I need to rip off the plaster.
‘Dylan,’ I call her name, already untying my apron. ‘I’m going for lunch.’
I don’t know if either of us outwardly suggested it, but we find ourselves back at the rooftop we went to months ago. This time, we have iced coffees instead of wine. This time, we aren’t strangers.
‘Is this awkward?’ he asks eventually, after a few minutes sitting on the bench in silence, the incessant noise of cars down below barely covering my racing pulse. ‘I’m never awkward around you.’
‘Then let’s get it out of the way. Let’s talk.’ I’m a coward, because I say, ‘You go.’
He nods and brings his cup to his lap. ‘Okay. I’d like you to listen to all of it before you say anything. I think we should talk about what happened on Saturday, but I need to say something else first. I heard back about the San Francisco job yesterday.’
‘On a Sunday?’ I try to keep my voice even. ‘The legendary American work–life balance in action.’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah. I found out I didn’t get the one I applied for—’
‘Really?’ My heart forgets a beat or two, discordant and stuttering.
Finn’s knee starts to bounce as he continues, ‘There’s more. I didn’t get that job because they’ve decided to hire internally. But it turns out someone else in the company left unexpectedly and they need a replacement ASAP. They were impressed by my interviews and really liked me and think I could bring good things to the team, so they’ve offered me that position instead. It’s better pay, more opportunity for progression. They somehow found out who my dad is, even though I have my mum’s last name, and I think that swayed them. I have big shoes to fill.’ He swallows and watches my face as he says, ‘That job starts in three weeks.’
Oh. I let out a weak, ‘Congratulations.’
‘I haven’t accepted it yet.’ A siren passes below.
‘You should.’ My voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else. Wasn’t this what I was hoping for? There I was, looking for a way to tell him that whatever was brewing between us couldn’t work, and here he is, with exactly the kind of opportunity he was looking for, but better. Serendipity.
A dent forms between his brows. ‘I should?’
‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ I need to read the signs. Max’s news reminded me why I can’t take risks, and Finn’s news has given me a way to resolve all of this with minimal hurt. The universe wants me to stay on the path of least resistance, and I’m going to listen.
‘It was . But recently I’ve felt less sure.’
‘You were sure when you applied.’
‘That was before . . . everything.’
I don’t know how to tell him that the portcullis has dropped, the drawbridge is up, and the fortress is as closed as it’ll ever be. What comes out is, ‘You can’t just drop your whole life plan because you had one good night with someone.’
His jaw clenches. ‘One good night?’
I wave a hand dismissively. ‘Fine, two if we count the night before.’
‘Stop.’ His voice reverberates through me, dangerously low, and the command sets off goosebumps along my skin. He meets my eyes, and if my gaze is steel, his is a blazing furnace. ‘Don’t act like what happened this weekend is all we are. As if it doesn’t feel like we’ve been laying the foundations for something for months, even if we don’t know what it is. Lie to yourself all you want, but not to me. Not about this.’
There’s a beat of silence, then two, before he speaks again. ‘Now is the first time in a long while that I’ve wanted to see what could happen if I let myself try for something more with someone . ’
‘You know what would happen? It’d go to shit before it ever really started. Do you think we’d be able to maintain that kind of relationship from across the world? Over the phone? You think you’d be able to do long-distance again?’ I swallow hard. ‘Do you think I’d be able to give you everything you need?’
I’m not just talking about the distance. It’s not enough just to want and be wanted. He needs someone who’s able to give back, and I can’t. I need him to know that.
He shakes his head, and I think it’s less to disagree, more to shake the thoughts loose. ‘You’re still assuming I’m taking the job.’
‘You’re taking the job, Finn.’ Exasperation coats every word. ‘You want to prove yourself. And that’s okay. This was your goal. You say I’m lying to myself, but so are you. You wanted a new job in a new city, and then this one shows up, better than you even imagined.’ Maybe one that’s enough to impress your dad , I silently add.
‘Come with me,’ he says in a bout of desperation, eyes wide, hands raking through his hair and reverting it to the messy curls I’m used to.
Anger pulses through me. ‘I’m sure my life seems small in comparison to yours, but I can’t uproot it. I’m needed here. I want to be here.’ As if to remind me of what’s at stake, the familiar shadows skulk at the edges of my brain. I set my jaw too, lifting my chin. ‘You have a habit of investing too much of your heart into people who can’t give you any of their own.’
He flinches like I’ve struck him, and I regret it immediately. But instead of hitting me back with a deservedly cutting response, his eyes dart between mine and he asks, ‘Is there something else going on with you?’
I can read you like a fucking book.
He’s going to know if I lie. But I haven’t survived this long by being vulnerable. In the end, I go for something in between. ‘Do you remember what you said to me the other day? You said you’d be whatever I wanted you to be. Did you mean that?’
I see the earnest man I met on that very first evening. ‘Of course.’
‘Well, I could really do with a friend right now. Like we were meant to be from the start.’ For half a minute all I pay attention to is the steady rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, the tension between us goes slack, marking his resignation in parallel with mine. My voice is level when I speak again. ‘I’m sorry for what I said. I like that you put your heart into things.’
I wish I could do that too. I watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
‘That’s okay. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I thought your life was small or insignificant when I said you should come with me. So I’m sorry too. I was just,’ he sighs like he’s releasing an entire summer’s worth of stress, ‘clutching at straws. I like your life. I like being in it. I guess that’s what I was trying to say.’
‘I like you being in it too. But you’ll do well in San Francisco. You’ve wanted this for years.’ I let my knee touch his, tentative. He looks down and I wonder if he’ll pull away, but he presses his leg against mine in response.
‘Yeah, I have.’ His resolve sets in, and he sits up a little straighter. ‘So I’ll accept the offer.’
‘And we’ll complete your bucket list like we planned. No stone left unturned.’ I sip my watery coffee, the ice almost completely melted by now.
He lifts his cup and taps it against mine in a toast. ‘No stone left unturned.’
His phone pings with a calendar notification and he looks across at me guiltily for a fraction of a second. But there’s a renewed excitement to the lift of his shoulders, to the tilt of his eyes, like he’s only just remembered what his plan is for today.
‘Go and see your dad. Tell him about San Francisco.’
When he catches my eye and smiles softly, it feels like a truce. Like maybe we really can go back to how we were, if we try. If we pretend.