AUDREY
‘ W HEN YOU SAID GALLERY OPENING , I WAS PICTURING STARK white walls and wine in plastic cups.’
‘Right. Artists milling around, looking you with big, sad eyes.’
‘Exactly.’ I laugh. ‘But this …’ I trail off, lost for words.
Ezra and I are currently amidst a maze of gleaming glass and polished concrete, a cavernous space teeming with chic-looking people all ignoring the art in favour of each other. We managed to find ourselves a relatively subdued corner to sip the champagne that was foisted on us upon arrival, but it’s loud and echoey in here, meaning that we’re standing closer than we normally would. Ezra’s arm is casually braced against the wall behind me, and the idea that a passing stranger might look at us and see a couple refuses to leave my head.
‘Maggie definitely undersold it.’ He grimaces, oblivious to my yearning. ‘And I’m definitely underdressed.’
‘You look great.’ I say without thinking. He’s wearing a button-up shirt and a corduroy blazer tonight, and looks like an off-duty academic. I like it a little too much.
‘ You look great,’ he says firmly. ‘I look like I snuck in for the free food.’
‘That’s professional make-up artistry for you,’ I reply, flustered. I came here from a photoshoot and my hair has been teased and fluffed into a bouncy mass of soft curls, my eyelids drooping under false lashes. I’m hoping that the overall effect makes my plain black dress look chic and understated instead of shabby and incongruous.
Today’s been surreal from beginning to end. Imogene called early this morning to tell me to drop whatever I was doing and get myself to the Downtown offices of one of the world’s biggest fashion magazines, seeing as they’d just happened to have booked me for an editorial that same day. I flipped out, of course, thanking her profusely before throwing myself out of the door and into a taxi. It wasn’t until I was almost there that I realised that the editorial in question was probably the one that Julian’s friend Sasha had thought I’d ‘be perfect for’ … I didn’t know how to feel, then. But miraculously, the photoshoot itself was so incredible that I almost managed to put Julian to the back of my mind altogether.
I’ve never experienced anything like it. The editorial itself was for jewellery, and 1960s-themed – hence the huge hair and dramatic make-up. I hadn’t ever modelled jewellery before, but they were all so effusive with praise that before long I was totally at ease. I was the only model featured, which absolutely blew my mind, and everyone on set was so kind – they even made sure I got lunch and actually had time to eat it.
There’s a little bit of that shine still on me, and I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
‘I was going to ask if you’d been working today.’ Ezra nods. ‘How was it?’
‘Good.’ I beam. ‘Really good.’
‘Does it bode well for you staying, then? Booking all these new jobs?’
‘Well, it’s just one.’
‘I’m manifesting more for you.’
‘Oh, you finally got into manifesting.’ I laugh. ‘How’s it working out for you?’
‘I’ll let you know.’ He smiles, voice dropping lower – I take a quick sip of champagne, heat rising in my cheeks.
‘There’s another Fashion Week here in February,’ I say quickly, flustered. ‘So – I’ll be back for that, at least.’
‘Right,’ Ezra says after a pause. ‘Twice a year, right?’
I nod, trying to imagine four months stretching out between us. Will he keep in touch? I know how easy it is to let long-distance friendships wither and die, and I’m guessing that Ezra does too – he never references any friends from school. Maybe we both know that even with the best of intentions, life gets in the way. That doubt creeps in, and after you start to wonder how long is too long to go without talking, it’s pretty much impossible not to convince yourself that they don’t actually care about hearing from you at all.
The idea of reaching out starts to feel desperate, needy.
Desperately needy.
‘Ezra!’
I start, turning to see a willowy, dark-haired girl wearing a forest-green dress. I realise it must be Ezra’s older sister, and she’s heading this way – agh . I so badly want to make a good first impression but I’ve somehow forgotten everything Ezra’s ever told me about her besides her name and the fact that she has a fiancé – the tall, bespectacled man by her side, I’m guessing. She’s smiling, at least, which is encouraging until her gaze falls on me and her expression flickers. But before I can process that her fiancé steps forward, proffering his hand.
‘You must be Edie!’ he enthuses. ‘I’m Tomas. It’s very nice to meet you.’
He has a kind smile and an accent that I can’t place. I shake his hand, endeared by the formality.
‘It’s nice to meet you too. It’s actually Audrey, though.’ I smile, embarrassed at having to correct him.
‘Audrey,’ he echoes, confusion clouding his features. ‘My mistake.’
‘No, it’s fine! I’m awful with names.’ I laugh. ‘Edie is close, so …’
‘I’m Maggie,’ Ezra’s sister says quickly. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. Lovely to meet any friend of Ezra’s.’
Her eyes dart to Ezra. I look to him too – for reassurance, I guess – but I don’t find any. His face is blanched, gaze fixed on the ground. Something is weird. Is it my fault? Did I say something stupid in spite of barely saying anything?
‘So, you’re a schoolfriend of Ezra’s?’ Tomas ventures, mercifully breaking the silence. I open my mouth to reply but Ezra beats me to it.
‘Audrey’s here for work,’ he says brusquely. ‘Listen – we were just heading outside for some air. Can we catch you guys later?’
‘Sure,’ Maggie says, looking about as startled as I feel. ‘We’ll be … around.’
‘All right,’ Ezra says, and then we’re moving – his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the exit. I glance back at Maggie and Tomas over my shoulder and see her frowning as she cranes her neck to whisper something in his ear.
Ezra doesn’t say a word until we’ve made our way down a spiralling staircase and out into a small, leafy courtyard. My stomach is in knots, and I stare up at the flat black sky and press my lips together as he fumbles for his cigarettes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, gaze lowered. ‘That had nothing to do with you.’
‘I don’t even know what that was,’ I confess, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes up. It’s something he does when he’s agitated, I’ve noticed.
‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘But – can we not talk about it? Not right now, at least?’
‘Okay,’ I say, feeling distinctly wounded. He jams a cigarette between his lips and fumbles with his lighter. He can’t get it to work, and is muttering darkly under his breath when I reach out and gently take it from him. It comes to life in my hand. He leans in to the flame, then seems to hesitate, taking the lit cigarette from his mouth without bothering to inhale and tossing it into a planter.
‘I really like you,’ he says suddenly. ‘You know that, right?’
I blink at him, slowly lowering the lighter. My heart has taken this opportunity to remind me of its existence, hammering in protest, but I refuse to echo his words. I want him to elaborate. To tell me exactly how much he likes me. In what way.
‘I worry that you’re going to disappear,’ he continues instead. ‘That one day I’ll message you to hang out and you’ll be like, “Sorry, I’m in England.” ’
‘I wouldn’t disappear like that,’ I say, trying to sound measured. ‘I still have your clothes, for one.’
‘Right.’ He smiles faintly. ‘My towels, too – what happened there?’
‘They’re washed and dried and at my apartment. I’ve been meaning to give them back – whenever I stay at yours it’s always … impromptu.’
Meaning that I only ever stay there when I’m a sobbing, hysterical wreck. Ezra’s nice enough not to point that out, though.
‘Stay whenever,’ he says. ‘Stay for ever.’
He sounds serious – is he serious? I open my mouth only to close it again a second later, suddenly struck by an awful conviction that I’m letting this moment slip through my fingers. I mean – Ezra just told me what I’ve been wanting to hear from almost the first moment that I met him, and I somehow pivoted the conversation to towels – why? Why, when I haven’t even told him the only thing I actually want him to …
‘I really like you too. You – you knew that, right?’
Fuck . I wanted so badly to sound casual, when I said that – matter-of-fact, like I was riffing on what he’d said and not proffering my heart for his inspection. But it all came out in a borderline unintelligible rush, and I’m half-expecting Ezra’s face to split into a grin – for him to say something sarcastic or teasing. Instead, he just kind of … stares at me.
His pupils are blown, lips slightly parted – I’ve never seen him look so utterly unguarded. Then he swallows, throat bobbing as he steps towards me, and suddenly we’re so much closer than we were – I look up at him, feeling like I might teeter backwards, but I don’t. Ezra’s hand is at my waist, holding me steady.
‘Uh – I didn’t, actually,’ he says quietly. ‘But I was kind of hoping.’
We stare at each other for a moment more, his eyes dark and searching. Please , I think, and it’s the last coherent thought I have before his mouth is on mine and the rest of the world slides away into nothing.
I briefly become incapable of processing anything that isn’t concerned with the proximity of my body to his, only faintly aware of his lighter falling from my grasp and clattering to the ground. I’d forgotten I was ever holding it, too concerned with looping my arms around him as his grip on my waist tightens, pulling my body into his. My weight is going out from under me – either that or the earth beneath our feet is crumbling, but it doesn’t matter because he’s got me, here in his arms, cradling my cheek as he parts my lips with his …
My knees actually wobble then, and I pull away with a gasp. I gasp , and it’s so mortifying that I immediately bury my head in his chest to hide my face. Ezra laughs and I can feel the vibrations of it, except – except that’s not laughter, actually. No, those are actual vibrations.
‘Um – is your phone ringing?’ I manage, glancing down – sure enough, his phone is lighting up his trouser pocket, buzzing insistently.
‘Ignore it,’ he says throatily, absently threading my hair between his fingers. ‘It’s not important.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s not more important than this , then,’ he clarifies and just like that, it stops ringing.
‘See?’ He grins, eyes glittering. There’s a colour in his cheeks that wasn’t there before, his hair askew – I don’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful, actually, and I’m currently struggling to believe that this is all actually—
The phone starts ringing again.
‘Take it,’ I say breathlessly. ‘I, um – I’m going to go get water.’
‘No,’ Ezra says quickly. Then, after a pause – ‘I mean – I’ll go with you.’
‘Really, take it,’ I say, feeling slightly dazed as I start to back away. ‘I just – I’ll meet you in there.’
‘I – are you sure?’ Ezra says, sounding deeply, deeply reluctant. I nod, flashing him a smile before I turn away – this is good, I decide. I should probably take a second to compose myself before I blurt out something stupid. Except—
I impulsively spin back around, then, though to do what, I’m not sure – maybe I just want to look at him again. But he’s already turned away, phone in hand. And when he raises it to his ear, I see that it’s Edie calling .
Edie. For a second the name means nothing. But then my brain slots it into place and I immediately avert my gaze, nausea rushing over me.
I thought that Tomas had misremembered my name. When he asked if we were schoolfriends, I figured that it was because we’re both English. But Edie is a real person, and Ezra is talking to her right this second.
No wonder Maggie looked at me like that – they were expecting someone else.