Peckham
PECKHAM
In September, when summer draws to a close, Shirin sees Kian again. She’s spent the last month assuming she would see him at every social event, only for him not to be there. They message occasionally—small talk—though the subject of them meeting again does not arise. It is ironic, therefore, that she sees him just when she has assumed she never will again.
They’re at Millie’s twenty-seventh birthday drinks at a bar in . A large outdoor table has been reserved, and Kian is across from Shirin talking to a dark-haired woman with strong eyebrows and full lips. They lean in close to speak, and in their closeness Shirin feels embarrassed. Embarrassed to be here, to be glancing over at them, like it is obvious to everyone that she is looking at him.
She sits in the only empty space, next to Henry and a girl she does not know, who has her back to Shirin, in conversation with someone else. She leans past Henry over to Millie.
“Hana told me to say sorry again that she couldn’t make it,” Shirin says.
Millie waves her hand in the air. “She’s always unreliable, it’s fine.”
“It’s a hard time for her right now,” Shirin says gently, so as not to seem defensive.
“It’s always a hard time for her,” Henry says, a speck of spit landing on the back of her hand when he says this. Shirin can feel it there, sitting on her skin, and she hasn’t got it in her to embarrass him enough to openly wipe it off. She waits a few seconds before scratching the back of her hand against the table. “Like, how hasn’t she got a job since uni? What does she do with her time?”
“Fashion is hard to get into—”
“We don’t live in fucking la-la land,” Henry continues. “She should get a shit job like the rest of us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Millie says. “Shirin and I have jobs we love.”
Henry’s jaw tightens and they begin a dull bicker that Shirin interrupts to ask Millie what she wants to drink. Millie points to the table; there are three full drinks there—she is fine for now.
Shirin climbs out over the bench and makes her way toward the bar. It is situated under the railway arches, the walls curved, the floor gray and unfinished. On one side are five or six long tables and benches, and they are filled with people who look just like Shirin and Millie—young people in Dr. Martens and Reeboks and wearing gold hoops or cord shirts. A stark reminder that none of them are original, that they are a product of being millennials in London.
In the queue, she texts Hana.
Shirin: Wish you were here
Shirin: Kian is here with a girl
Shirin:
Hana: Damn, and you’re jealous?
Shirin: No. It’s just weird to see
Hana: Well, have a Ginger Bonfire for me to get through it
A Ginger Bonfire is a cocktail that consists of gin, Cointreau, elderflower, and ginger beer. Hana gets drunk off two and makes terrible decisions thereafter.
“Hey.” Shirin hears a familiar voice next to her.
She turns and it is, of course, Kian. He is wearing a dark green T-shirt, which complements his skin tone well, and clear-framed glasses. He looks good.
“Hi,” she says. “How’s it going?”
“All right,” he says. “I’ll get this one. What you having?”
She shakes her head and says it’s okay, but he insists. When she tells him her cocktail choice, Shirin notices his eyebrows rise marginally. She knows what he’s thinking, so she says, “They weren’t working for me.” The antidepressants.
“They weren’t?”
“Maybe they were. I don’t know. I can’t be bothered anymore.”
He nods. “I get that.”
They reach the front of the bar, and he orders for them. She leans against the bar; it is damp from some unknown liquid that gets onto her sheer blouse.
By the bar the voices are louder, echoing around the space, and she has to lean into Kian to hear what he is saying properly. He asks her something about work, to which she waves her hand and says, “Work is what it is.” He smiles again, though when he looks down at her she can tell he wants to press it further.
So she leans over to the bartender and asks for two J?gerbombs as well. Kian looks initially surprised and then laughs. Shirin puts her hand on top of his at the bar and says they must down them. She isn’t sure what she is thinking in doing this. Something about being around Kian makes her do things she ordinarily wouldn’t. She expects him to move his hand away, but he leaves it there, and she likes the feeling of her hand on top of his. It is such a brief moment but seems to go on forever. In fact, she wishes it could, but realizing herself she eventually removes it and gives him a quick smile.
When the J?gerbombs are placed on the counter, she picks up the weighty tumbler glass with the shot glass inside. They lock eyes before they drink the shot and Red Bull in one quick motion. The effect is a sugary burning down her throat and a warming in her belly. It is pleasant and she licks her lips afterward, relishing the bitter and sweet taste of it.
They take their drinks away from the bar, though they do not go outside, back to the rest of the group. Instead they stand to the side of the bar.
“Jesus, I didn’t think I’d be doing shots so early, but sure,” he says, shaking his head jokily.
“Who is she?” Shirin asks, nodding toward the dark-haired girl outside. Or just in the general direction of outside. Either way, Kian knows what she means.
A sliver of a smile traces his lips, which he touches with his thumb, his eyes following her gaze. “Salma. She’s on my course.”
“Are you guys dating? You’d make a cute couple, if you are.” The words come out so easily that she thinks if they were not her own and she were to hear them, she would believe them. They are also incredibly familiar, though she cannot tell why. It is not jealousy, she thinks, but something indescribable. Kian is a figment of her past, someone she thought she’d never see again. She shouldn’t be seeing him around unannounced now, or the women he’s dating. It’s like seeing Christmas decorations in spring. It isn’t right. Or so she tells herself.
He raises both eyebrows. “I wouldn’t say dating.”
An image of them having sex flashes before her eyes and that’s even worse.
“Cool,” she says, biting the side of her mouth lightly, repeatedly, to divert her attention elsewhere. She picks up her cocktail from the bar and takes a long sip. It is sweet and juice-like. That’s why Hana likes it; it’s so tasty you forget the alcohol content.
“Cool?” he repeats. His eyes have a glassy look and he is smiling, which makes her smile—and that is how she knows she is already on her way to intoxication.
“Well, she’s beautiful and you’re very good-looking, so yes, I’m happy for you, whatever you’re doing.”
“You think I’m good-looking? That’s news to me.” He sips his beer, and when he puts his drink down, his lips are glossy.
“I mean,” she says, “I think you know you are. Look at the glasses you’re wearing. Very few people can pull them off naturally, without looking like they’re trying too hard.”
The tops of Kian’s ears are pink and this gives her satisfaction—like Yes, let’s both be embarrassed.
He rolls his eyes. “So what you’re saying is: you don’t like my glasses? Thank you for humbling me.”
“No, I do like them. They suit you. You look good. I mean, you always look good.” Saying the words now doesn’t really embarrass her because they are factual.
Neither of them says anything for a moment. They just look at each other.
Kian steps closer to her, bends down to meet her gaze. “That’s interesting.”
“Interesting how?” she asks lightly, though she feels a stirring inside her belly from being so close to him. She hasn’t felt this way in a long time. She’s reminded of her old self, and she realizes how much she has missed it—and him.
Her eyes flicker down to his lips, and he very gently bites his bottom lip, probably absentmindedly. The moment—and their conversation—is so delicate and still. They’re both keen not to disturb it, to see how long they can prolong it, until Henry bounds over and puts his arms around their shoulders, jolting them both into reality.
“What are you both talking about?” he asks, his beer breath entering Shirin’s space.
“Fashion,” Kian says at the same time as Shirin says, “Nothing.”
They all go back to Millie’s house. It’s getting darker earlier, which is jarring in comparison with summer’s long evenings, but she is pissed so barely notices.
Millie puts “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus on her Bluetooth speakers, and Henry groans that he wants proper music on, but the women in the group insist that no, this is important. The living room is a haze of cigarette smoke and flashing lights from the mini disco ball Millie whipped out from the storage cupboard (at whose appearance they all yelled in jubilation).
She is conscious of Kian and Salma. Of the way Salma leaned into him at the bar when they returned to their seats. Of the way, when they walked back to Millie’s, they hung back together to walk separately. And of the way they are now outside in the garden together, while she is singing along badly to the music with Millie—enjoying herself, but a small part of her is outside with them both. She wonders if she imagined their moment at the bar. Like most times in life, Shirin cannot be fully present in the now; there is always something niggling away in her mind.
It is at the end of the fourth Miley song that Henry interjects, putting on Travis Scott. Shirin rolls her eyes, staggering to the sofa and plopping herself down onto it. It is only when she is seated that she realizes how drunk she is. Though she is sitting still, everything around her is moving. She closes her eyes, but she can still sense that everything is moving, and that just makes it worse. She liked the way it felt to drink, that with drunkenness anything she felt toward her work, her life, faded away. But now she is left with regret.
She staggers toward the downstairs toilet and, once inside, sits on the floor, head between her legs. It is enjoyable, sitting on the floor. Until there is a tap on the door. Then she scrambles up, washes her hands, and leaves. The girl Jasper is seeing stands before her, and she gives Shirin a polite nod before going into the bathroom.
Back in the living room, it is only Henry, Millie, Jasper, and Kian left. Shirin is not sure how long she has been in the bathroom, but the party is decidedly drawing to a close. She cannot see Salma. Then she looks back at Kian, who is looking at her too, and rather than look away, he continues to gaze at her. She makes her way to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water, and Millie laughs when Shirin stumbles.
She fills a glass, and the tap water runs between the glass and her hand. It is soothing against her skin. She closes her eyes and leans her body against the countertop. In the near distance, she hears Kian asking if she’s okay.
“I’m fine,” she says, the tap still running, the drink overflowing.
Kian reaches across to turn it off, and it’s the closest she’s been to him. She lets herself lean into him, be supported by him. In the process she inhales his scent too. It’s more than pleasant.
“Do you wanna get some fresh air?” he asks.
“Okay.”
He places his hand lightly on her waist and guides her out of the room, through the sliding doors, and out into the garden. He pulls up a chair, which she sits on. The plastic is cool against her legs. He has brought the glass with him and lifts it to her lips for her to drink. Shirin wants to make a joke that she’s not an invalid, but as she struggles to sit up straight, she concedes that she probably does need some assistance.
After she takes a sip, he pulls a chair to sit opposite her, clutching the glass in his hands. “Just focus on breathing,” he says.
“This is embarrassing. I didn’t even drink that much.”
“It’s probably because you haven’t drunk for a while. It happens to the best of us—don’t worry.” He strokes her back briefly and it is calming. It is exactly what she needs and when he stops, she wants to tell him to continue.
“Where did Salma go?” she asks.
“Home,” he says.
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
Her vision is hazy, but she can hear Kian chuckle. “Because I wanted to stay.”
“The party is pretty much over now, anyways.”
He puts the glass of water down on the floor and leans forward, his hands on his knees. “Well, I’m still here.”
“I have a lot of regret, you know,” she says, words coming out thick and fast. “The past ten years I’ve thought about you a lot. I even wrote you a message a few years ago, to say I miss you and I’m sorry, but I never sent it. I was too scared you’d tell me to fuck off—or, worse, that you’d say nothing.”
“Shirin,” Kian says softly. “You don’t have to—”
“But I want to,” she interrupts. “You said I was special to you. Did you mean it?”
He breathes out deeply. “You’re drunk. Let’s not talk about this, not now.”
“I want to though.” She sits straighter and leans forward. “It feels important.”
“Important how?” he says, his eyes dark, though the sides of his mouth are perked up. He has such a defined Cupid’s bow and Shirin finds herself staring at it now, until she realizes he’s asked her a question.
She shrugs, intending the movement to be casual, but she overdoes it. “I just want you to know you were special to me too.”
“Shirin…”
They lock eyes, and she notices his flicker briefly down to her lips before looking back up to her eyes. She had done the same thing earlier in the night, and when she did it, deep down, it was because she wanted to kiss him. This gives her the confidence to ask what she does next.
“If I asked you to kiss me right now,” she begins quietly, “would you?”
Kian chuckles again, though it’s clearly one of surprise. He clears his throat and looks away. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean any of this.”
“But what if I did?”
“If you weren’t drunk, then yeah, I would,” he says, his voice serious in a way that is incredibly sexy to her.
Her heart is beating quickly, and her mouth is dry. Hearing these words, knowing for certain what she had suspected, and it being exactly what she wants right now, makes her say, “I want you to kiss me, Kian.”
They lean in slowly, inch by inch, at the same time, their faces so close to each other that their breaths mingle together.
“When you’re not drunk,” he breathes.
She shakes her head. “But if I’m not drunk I won’t let myself have this.”
He moves his head back then, eyebrows cast together in a frown. “What do you mean?”
Millie comes out to the garden, half whispering, half shouting that they need to leave before her housemate, the live-in landlady, comes home in ten minutes.
The boldness and closeness that Shirin felt in that moment slips away, a heaviness instantly settling in her heart.