Chapter 12
Jamie picked up some flowers on his way to Ellie’s because it was Valentine’s Day. Also, it was something to do with his hands.
He liked biking for so many reasons, and he didn’t mind taking the Tube, but he never really knew how to act sitting on the plastic bench surrounded by advertisements about hair products and television shows that he’d never seen.
What did people do with their hands while they sat here?
Staring at his mobile didn’t feel right since he was always silently judging the kids at The Library for being glued to theirs.
Also, he now apparently had an iPhone, something he’d never thought he’d get.
It was incredibly overstimulating, always beeping and dinging.
Holding onto one of the poles felt unsanitary because he had forgotten to wear gloves. But stuffing his hands into his pockets felt unfriendly.
So, alas, he picked up some flowers and held them as he watched the little digital map slide from one stop to the next. His heart clenched a little as they passed King’s Cross St. Pancras. It made him think about how much he missed the Library. And Jean-Baptiste, his sassy French coworker.
Ugh, he missed JB.
“Cheers,” a middle-aged woman two seats down said to him, staring at his flowers. “She’s a lucky lady!”
Jamie smiled weakly at the woman and slipped off the train at Highbury and Islington.
He kicked himself the whole walk to Ellie’s for not correcting that woman.
But what was he going to say? No, ma’am, you misunderstand.
I’m gay. But these are for a woman. And I did date her.
For a really long time, actually. So, you’re kind of wrong but not really. Also, help.
The walk to Ellie’s flat felt nice and familiar, which his brain really needed.
It had been exhausting lately, cataloging all these new things—everything about Caleb’s flat, trying to figure out a routine in Soho, and meeting all of these people who already knew everything about him—so turning on autopilot and walking down Queen Head’s Street felt like a breath of fresh air.
Except the fresh air was freezing, and now he really regretted forgetting his gloves and exposing his fingers to the elements by carrying flowers. At least he could stuff one hand in his pocket—
“What the—?” Jamie froze on the sidewalk as his fingertips brushed a ball of fabric. He pulled a pair of leather gloves and inspected them. Whose were they, and why were they in his jacket? The tag said ‘vegan PU leather.”
Okay, mystery solved. Definitely his.
He felt his cheeks heat up, despite the bitter cold. Had Caleb tucked these into his jacket before he left this morning for the Chelsea game? He was always so worried about Jamie; he’d even brought an extra jacket to practice the other day just for him.
“Oi!” Jamie hadn’t realized he was staring goofily at a pair of gloves in the middle of a neighborhood until the voice from the upper window. “Good lad, gettin’ yer lady flowers!”
“Uh, yep!” He held the flowers up in a little cheers and scurried along. With warm hands and the ghost of a dopey smile on his face, Jamie let himself into Ellie’s building and walked up the steep steps to her door.
“Are these for me?” Ellie asked, eyeing up the flowers.
“Of course they are. It’s Valentine’s Day, you dolt.”
Ellie rolled her eyes and let him in, muttering to herself about weird men and out-of-date patriarchal rituals. Jamie smiled as she cut the stems of the flowers and displayed them in her favorite vase.
“I missed you,” he said, pulling her away from the countertop and into a hug. Her hair smelled like vanilla, and it filled Jamie with a cozy bit of nostalgia. He squeezed her tighter.
“I saw you, like, two days ago,” she muttered grumpily into his chest.
“Still.”
“You’re odd.”
“I know.”
She melted into his arms for a beat. He missed her, he missed this place, and he missed feeling like he didn’t need to perform. Or act. Or pretend that he knew what the fuck was going on.
Maybe it was unfair, but he felt a certain pressure around Caleb.
He wanted to act cool and sure of himself and not show how fucking lost he was on the inside.
He didn’t have that urge with Ellie. She had always been his safe space.
He never felt his weird, twitchy anxiety around her.
Probably because they’d known each other since they were kids.
After one final squeeze, he let her go and wandered into the living room.
“I made you banana French toast,” she called from the kitchen as she twisted her straight, jet-black hair into a bun and leaned over the stovetop. “Just have to plate it.”
“My queen,” Jamie yelled. He bopped around the space, cataloging everything that had been there when he lived with Ellie, and slowly taking in everything that was different.
He smiled at the Big Ben coasters that they’d picked up at the corner shop when they’d first moved to London before realizing how tacky they were.
And the blanket his mum had knitted for them to bring to ‘the big city,’ draped over the sofa that they’d picked up at the thrift store.
The floating shelves that Jamie had installed so poorly that Ellie only trusted them to hold paperback books. So much was the same.
How had so much changed, as well?
As he floated around the room, poking things with his finger to make sure they were real, he wondered what it felt like when he’d moved out. Had he been sad? Had Ellie been happy for him?
He paused in front of the gallery wall and smiled at a framed photograph of him standing in front of one of the exhibits in the British Library. The first exhibit he’d ever been asked to help curate: Egyptian mummies. His whole family had come out from Bucks to see it.
He still felt proud of that one, even if he’d curated over a dozen exhibits since then.
His smile faltered as he noticed the photo beside it. A selfie of him and Ellie laughing in front of the Eiffel Tower, taken a few months before the breakup. Back when Jamie was determined to fix whatever was broken inside himself and make it work with Ellie.
He’d emptied his savings on a romantic weekend away in Paris, only to come back one hundred thousand percent sure something wasn’t right. Apparently, French men made Jamie’s gayness hard to ignore.
Ellie had ended it that winter.
“Love that picture,” she said now, coming up behind him with a plate full of French toast. “I look hot.”
Jamie chuckled. “You do look beautiful, yes.”
“I took it down for a while. Will was a bit touchy about you at first.”
“Will?”
Ellie nodded to the picture beside the selfie. She was seated at a little wooden restaurant table, wearing more makeup than she normally did, across from a guy about their age. A handsome guy with a cut jaw and big, broad shoulders.
They made a pretty couple.
In the photograph, they had bowls of ramen in front of them and, while Ellie was smiling at the camera, Will was staring at her.
A weird mixture of emotions flooded Jamie’s chest as he stared at the photo.
“I also look hot in that one,” she said.
“Yeah.” Jamie scratched the back of his neck. It was true. She did.
They settled onto the couch with their French toast, and Jamie tucked his away at record speed. Ellie was the best cook ever.
“So, how long have you been with Will?”
Ellie bounced her head from side to side, doing mental math. “A year? And a half? He’s great. You like him.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, he reads a ton. You guys nerd out all the time. You’re friends.”
“So he’s not touchy about me anymore?”
“No. He knows you’re gay as hell.”
“Right.”
“He says hi, by the way.”
Jamie frowned down at the last piece of toast. “Oh. Hi.”
Ellie paused for a moment, then said, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s still weird that people have to tell me… how I feel about things.”
Ellie shrugged, like that wasn’t weird. Like it wasn’t odd to hear “yeah, you’re friends with Will” when you had no recollection of Will at all. Like, until two seconds ago, you didn’t know a single person named Will.
It frustrated Jamie, and yet, Ellie shrugged it off. But, she was just like that. Not easily shaken by things like injuries or accidents or anything that most people would find scary or out of the ordinary. It was probably from spending so much time in hospitals.
“Tell me about him,” Jamie said, genuinely curious who had won Ellie’s heart. “Oh, wait, shit.” His fork froze halfway to his mouth. “I shouldn’t have asked you to hang on Valentine’s Day when you have a boyfriend. Sorry, El.”
She waved his concerns away with her own fork.
“It’s fine. He’s taking me out tonight.” She went on to tell him all about Will.
How they met working in the same ward at the hospital, and everything she adored about him.
They’d first bonded over their Asian heritage—his parents were from the same part of Japan as her dad—along with both being huge Chelsea fans.
“God forbid you date anyone who isn’t a Chelsea fan,” Jamie joked.
“I dated you!”
“I like Chelsea.”
She deadpanned. “You know literally nothing about football. Nothing.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. He probably knew more now that he was with Caleb. Or did.
His heart sank in that way it always did when he was reminded about what he’d lost. Everything he had to catch up on. Everything that others would have to catch him up on.
Ellie didn’t seem to notice his glumness, because she continued chattering about Will, their plans for Valentine’s Day, and how she’d recently charmed his extremely intimidating parents into liking her.
She talked about getting promoted at the hospital, and her dad finally visiting her in London, and Jamie’s heart sank lower and lower the more he realized how much of his best friend’s life he’d missed.
Was this his life now? Hearing the headlines from the last few years, without remembering a single thing?
An overwhelming sadness pressed on him, forcing him to put his fork on his plate. His hands started to shake, and he tried hard to hold back the tears that prickled behind his eyes.