EZRA
T URNS OUT THAT IT ’ S DIFFICULT , DRESSING FOR AN EX - GIRLFRIEND .
I seriously considered wearing a jacket and tie tonight, just to give the impression that I’m doing great, thanks for asking, just stopping here on my way to something more important . I also thought about wearing jeans and a sweatshirt to let her know that yeah, I figured it’d be nice to catch up, but I don’t actually care about being here. Or you. But all of that is total bullshit, of course, so I finally settled on some grey trousers and a gnarled-looking jumper that she’s seen a hundred times before. There’s not much point in pretence where Edie is concerned.
I drain the remnants of my drink, swivelling on my stool to scan the room. This is a nice bar, I suppose, but definitely not my kind of scene. I wouldn’t have thought that it was Edie’s, either – it’s too showy for that, brightly lit with velvet furnishings and tropical-print wallpaper, all the fixtures in burnished gold. Maybe she’s been here before and knew they wouldn’t ask for ID . Or maybe I just don’t know what she does and doesn’t like any more.
By the time I swivel back my empty glass has been whisked away, a fresh drink placed in front of me. On second thoughts, maybe I love this place.
‘Ezra.’
I recognise the voice before I recognise my own name. My traitorous heart leaps at the sound of it.
‘Edie,’ I say, turning. And there she is, looking exactly the same and totally different. I can’t quite process the full picture.
‘Could I get a glass of rosé, please?’ she asks the barman, gracefully mounting the stool beside me and tucking a curtain of hair behind her ear. It’s lighter than I remember, longer. Her neat blue dress looks like the type of thing that Maggie would wear.
‘Sorry I’m late. How are you?’ she asks, inclining her head towards me.
‘Good,’ I say, overwhelmed by the banality of the question. Edie and I spent years locking eyes across classrooms and stealing kisses in storage cupboards. We shared the same tiny world – one of dust motes and damp grass, scuffed wood and rumpled uniforms. Now we’re three thousand miles across the ocean, making stilted small talk over post-work drinks. It’s surreal. Jarring.
‘How did you know I was in New York?’ she asks bluntly – that’s the small talk exhausted, then.
‘My sister knows your boss,’ I say, straightening slightly. ‘Why? Did you think I’d been keeping tabs on you?’
Her mouth becomes a hard line, and she glances away. An unequivocal yes.
‘You would have told me anyway, apparently.’ I point out, a little less offended than I probably ought to be.
‘I wanted to get settled first.’
‘How long did that take?’
‘I moved into my apartment in August.’
August. She’s been here a month already.
‘Well, that’s great,’ I say. ‘If this is what you wanted then I’m glad you got it.’
‘Don’t be a dick,’ she says flatly, which is fair enough. Out of all the Edie-centric feelings that I’ve been repressing, resentment has risen to the surface first.
The bartender sets her wine glass in front of her and she immediately picks it up, only to put it down again and turn to look at me, lips pursed.
‘And if you’re annoyed about me being here, you can take it up with Eleanor,’ she adds curtly. ‘Okay?’
I stare at her, uncomprehending. Eleanor is Edie’s older sister, who I’ve never actually met. She’s also a minor celebrity, ever since she started dating a wildly famous actor at the age of twenty-one – a famous, married actor. The news broke when they were photographed leaving a hotel together while he was in London for the premiere of his wife’s latest film, and the fallout was predictably explosive. Edie was thirteen then, and life as she knew it was over. We had that in common – that, and being sent to boarding school as a result. Unlike me, Edie was relieved to go. She told me that photographers used to camp outside their house, shouting awful things at anyone who came or went to try and provoke a response. A portion of their interest lay in the fact that Edie’s parents just so happened to be extremely wealthy and vaguely aristocratic – ideal tabloid fodder. They’re also very nice people, but that’s beside the point. The story dragged on long after the relationship itself ended, by which point Eleanor had converted the attention into a sizable social media following. She’s been steadily producing content ever since.
I’m genuinely surprised Edie’s even uttered Eleanor’s name – I remember trying to bring her up once and Edie shutting it down with shocking efficiency. This wasn’t long after we’d first gotten together, actually – we were on a ‘date’ at the time, which back then meant sneaking out to the tennis courts after lights-out with a bottle of peach schnapps. It was autumn, and I’d given her my sweatshirt to wear when she’d started shivering. It swamped her, of course, but seeing her wear my clothes had lit up my heart like a floodlight.
‘You can keep that.’ I’d said, watching her. ‘It suits you.’
‘Nah.’ She replied, scrunching her nose. ‘That’s so … couple-y.’
‘… We’re a couple.’
‘Yeah, but we don’t need to shout it from the rooftops. It’s not anyone else’s business.’
‘Come on.’ I laughed. ‘This place is a fish bowl. Everything is anyone’s business.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I. I mean – I get why you might want your privacy, but—’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just, because of everything that happened with your sister, I suppose.’
‘It has nothing to do with her.’
‘… Okay. I’m sorry, I—’
‘I’m tired,’ she said brusquely, abruptly standing up and peeling off my sweatshirt, throwing it in my lap before striding away. I just sat there for a moment, too stunned to be hurt. Then I remembered that it was the middle of the night and scrambled to my feet, trailing her back to the dormitories like a scolded dog. The next morning, she greeted me at breakfast with a smile and pretended like nothing had happened.
Basically, ‘blame Eleanor’ could mean absolutely anything.
‘Is she … all right?’ I venture.
‘Great,’ Edie says. ‘She’s decided to give reality television a go. Her and a few other “influencers” are getting paid a stupid amount of money to live with cameras pointed in their faces.’
‘Oh,’ I say, the implications dawning. Edie and Eleanor look spookily similar. They share a surname. And if the show is popular …
‘She told me about it before she signed up,’ Edie continues. ‘I begged her not to, obviously. I told her that it would ruin any chance I had of being taken seriously at my new job, and …’
She falls silent, shaking her head before taking a sip of her wine. She’s clearly furious – her nostrils are flaring, which is always a dead giveaway. I think she might stab me with a cocktail skewer if I pointed that out, though.
‘And … ?’ I prompt hesitantly.
Edie lets out a small, humourless huff of laughter. ‘And she told me that she could get me on the show as well. In a supporting role, of course.’
I wince, imagining the nuclear argument that inevitably ensued.
‘ Yep ,’ she says tersely. ‘But it’s a big firm. Seeing as no one knows or cares about who Eleanor is outside of the UK , I applied for a transfer. They run pretty much the same internship scheme in New York as they do in London.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘That was lucky.’
‘Not really. Mum went to uni with the head of my division, so …’
‘Ah.’ I smile. ‘Nepotism strikes again.’
‘It’s not like you can talk,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘You’re working with your dad, right?’
‘No. What made you think that?’
‘I just assumed. Did Maggie find you something?’
‘Caroline, actually. I wait tables in her girlfriend’s restaurant.’
‘Very funny.’
‘Not a joke,’ I say mildly, taking a sip of my drink.
Edie blinks at me. ‘Seriously?’
‘It’s only part time, but – yeah. It’s all right.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she says flatly. ‘Your family is unbelievably connected. You could literally work anywhere you want.’
‘I don’t particularly want to work, though.’
‘Then go to uni! You can’t disown your privilege, if that’s what you’re attempting.’
‘Oh, so you’re saying I should lean into it.’ I laugh. ‘Waltz into a job I don’t deserve just because I can?’
‘Wearing shabby old clothes and working for minimum wage won’t change the fact that you’ve never wanted for anything in your life,’ she says coldly. ‘Nothing material, anyway.’
‘This argument feels more like you trying to justify your own choices.’
‘ Obviously my parents helped me get my job! They’re helping with my apartment, too – I’m not in denial about it.’
‘How does me not wanting to dick around with spreadsheets all day equate to me being in denial?’
‘Then what do you want to do, Ezra?’ Edie retorts hotly, cheeks colouring. ‘What’s the grand plan?’
‘Sit here and let you berate me, I guess. It feels great.’
‘I’m not berating you. I just – I want to know that you’re doing well.’
‘Oh, do you care?’
‘Obviously I fucking care,’ she snaps, and we both stare at each other for a moment in heated silence. Then – ‘I’ve missed you.’
She sounds reluctant when she says that, like the words have forced themselves past her lips. And then the fight is over as quickly as it began but I’m still angry that she has the nerve to stroll back into my life and immediately pull it apart for her inspection. I’m angry that she seems to think that wearing a fancy outfit and having a laptop sticking out of her bag somehow negates the fact that her stupid internship probably pays less per hour than I make slinging plates around, if at all. But most of all, I’m fucking furious that:
‘I’ve missed you too.’
The relief that traces Edie’s features is obvious when I say that, and I have to look away.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she says quietly. ‘And for not throwing a drink in my face, I guess.’
‘Me, waste alcohol? Never.’
She laughs, and the sound of it makes me feel weird. There’s so much I want to ask her, still, but I honestly don’t think that my pride will allow it. Then again, maybe that’s for the best. It’s probably easier on the both of us if some things remain unsaid.