AUDREY
E ZRA WAS OUTSIDE ON THE PHONE FOR WHAT FELT A VERY LONG time last night. I paced circles around the gallery while I waited, trying and failing to plan my next move. If I just came right out and asked him who Edie was, would he realise that I’d sneaked a peek at his phone? And even if he did, wasn’t that better than not knowing? Or more specifically, not knowing who she was to him ? But I never got to find out – when he did eventually return he looked almost shockingly pale, and before I had a chance to say anything he announced he had a headache and asked if I’d mind us leaving early.
We didn’t talk about the kiss – we didn’t really talk at all in the taxi back to my apartment. He genuinely did look so unwell that I started to worry, tentatively touching his forehead with the back of my hand. He smiled and reached up to clasp it in his, but that was it – once we were out of the cab, he walked me to my door, told me to ‘sleep well’ and walked away. And I slept horribly, of course, but I’ve managed to disguise that with copious amounts of concealer. I wanted to look nice, today, whether this is a date or not.
‘One salted popcorn,’ Ezra says, sliding it towards me across the refreshments counter. ‘Do you want butter?’
‘… On the popcorn?’ I blink.
‘Yeah. It’s an American thing, I guess.’
‘Like … melted butter? Doesn’t that make it all greasy?’
‘Yeah. It’s gross, but I used to smother it in the stuff when I was a kid.’
‘Um …’
‘That’s a no if I ever heard one.’
‘That’s a no,’ I confirm, and he laughs. I feel myself relax at the sound of it – as relieved as I am that Ezra wanted to see me again so soon, the weirdness of how we left things yesterday is gnawing at me.
The girl behind the counter hands Ezra our bucket-sized Coke, and he grabs two straws before we head off in search of our screen. I crane my head as we walk, marvelling at what a time-warp this place is. The walls are red and lit with neon, the carpet luridly patterned and the ceiling inexplicably mirrored. It looks like it hasn’t been touched since the 1990s, and though I’m pretty sure it’s not the place that Ezra used to go to with his mum, I like it a lot.
We take seats towards the back of the auditorium. The theatre’s almost empty – unsurprising, seeing as it’s mid-afternoon on a weekday and The Apartment has been out for about sixty years already. Ezra wedges the giant cup in the holder between us, forcing two straws through the lid. I take a piece of popcorn, chewing slowly as I watch him. He’s pale, still, eyes slightly bloodshot.
‘So – how are you feeling today?’ I venture.
Ezra frowns, shifting in his seat. ‘Um – remorseful, mostly. I’m very aware I owe you an apology.’
‘For what?’ I ask, hoping beyond hope that he’s not about to try and walk back the kiss. I think I’d cry, honestly. Or throw up. Or both.
‘The Maggie thing, for starters.’ He sighs, angling his body towards mine. ‘Genuinely, I was excited for you to meet her. But then I went and made things weird.’
‘Oh,’ I manage. ‘When her fiancé called me Edie, you mean.’
‘Yeah,’ he says after a beat. ‘Uh – I guess that when she said I could have a plus one, I didn’t tell her I was bringing you specifically. I mean – she’d never met you and I didn’t know if you were going to be free, so – that. But she assumed I was bringing someone else, so …’
‘Someone else being Edie,’ I clarify.
He nods. ‘She’s my ex-girlfriend. We went to school together and she moved to New York recently. Maggie knew that, so …’
‘So … you guys hang out?’
Ezra’s expression flickers, and I immediately regret asking.
‘It’s fine if you do, obviously,’ I add hastily. ‘Like – it has nothing to do with me. I’m not jealous.’
Oh God. That last part slipped out before I had the chance to think better of it. I look away, face flaming. Ezra’s going to think that I’m totally clingy and obsessive, now. I mean – I probably am, but …
‘We’ve hung out once since she got here,’ he says. ‘That was her, calling last night to ask if I was free. I said no, obviously.’
‘Well … it’s nice that you guys are still friends.’ I manage weakly, picking at a cuticle.
‘Yeah. I mean – we’re trying to figure that out right now. It didn’t end very well.’
‘Figure out … being friends?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘ Just friends.’
I nod, internally cringing at the fact that I’ve basically forced him to spell that out for me. Still, the relief I feel is undeniable.
‘I wasn’t deliberately trying to hide it from you,’ he adds. ‘I didn’t want to have this conversation with Tomas and Maggie watching, either, but I’m glad we’re having it now. I want you to feel like we can be honest with each other, because this city is intense. And your job – that’s probably intense too, so if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. Whatever, whenever. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ I say, slightly unnerved by how specific this conversation is getting.
‘So – are you good?’ he presses. ‘Is there anything bothering you, or … ?’
‘If this is about the other night, I’m honestly just a sad, messy drunk,’ I say slowly. ‘Really.’
He nods, leaning back in his chair.
‘Good,’ he says. Then, after a pause – ‘So, just to confirm – you’re not jealous?’
Damn it. I should have known that he wasn’t going to let that one slide.
‘That’s what I said.’ I nod, picking up the soda and taking a sip. Ezra takes it from me when I move to put it back in the cupholder, his eyes meeting mine as our fingers brush.
‘Besides,’ I say impulsively, holding his gaze. ‘If I were jealous, I wouldn’t admit it.’
‘No?’ Ezra says mildly.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘It’s not a flattering emotion.’
‘I don’t know that I’ve ever heard someone describe an emotion as “flattering” before.’
‘It wouldn’t reflect well on me, is what I’m saying.’
‘It’s an involuntary response, surely?’
‘Do you want me to be jealous?’ I counter.
‘Maybe,’ Ezra says after a pause, a crooked smile forming on his lips. ‘Which I suppose doesn’t reflect very well on me, either.’
The screen flickers to life, then, and music starts to pour from the speakers above us as the lights dim. I look towards the screen, struggling to keep my face impassive as my heart pounds insistently, begging me to turn back. Instead, I sit stiffly and angle my chin and pretend I haven’t realised that Ezra is still watching me, eyes burning in the darkness.
‘What made you run away, then?’ he asks, voice low. ‘Last night, I mean.’
‘I don’t remember running,’ I say primly. ‘Maybe you’re misremembering.’
‘Not so sure I am, actually. You peeled off pretty quickly.’
‘Doesn’t ring a bell. When was this, exactly?’
‘Oof. Wasn’t memorable, huh?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Right. Can I offer a refresher?’
‘Smooth,’ I say, and though I’m trying to sound disapproving, the effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that I’m fighting back a smile of my own, giddy with anticipation. Ezra’s moving nearer – I can feel it, hear the creak of the armrest …
‘That wasn’t a no,’ he notes mildly, and no, it wasn’t. That’s probably why I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as he carefully brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. Why I’m shifting in my seat to place my hand on his chest, brushing faded cotton with my fingertips as I breathe him in, the scent of his shampoo, his toothpaste, his skin …
Him kissing me felt like a question last night. This time, it’s an answer.