EZRA
‘ Y OU LOOK TERRIBLE ,’ E DIE SAYS , HOPPING ON TO THE BAR STOOL beside me and shrugging off her coat.
‘Thanks. I got you rosé,’ I say, pushing the glass towards her. She looks very nice, conversely, in a grey knitted dress and red lipstick, which I mentioned liking once. I doubt she remembers.
I was meant to be working today, but I woke up on the floor of Mac’s bedroom with a hangover of biblical proportions and no discernible will to live. I messaged Romy a half-hearted excuse before heading off to get my go-to dumplings and tea, which I managed to keep down for about twenty minutes before vomiting up in a nearby alley. I practically crawled back to my apartment after that, and snatched a few hours of sleep before that awful, itchy-under-the-skin feeling returned. And now I’m here, in the bar where Edie and I first reunited. I was two drinks deep when I called her. I wasn’t sure that she’d even pick up, but she did – now she’s here too, and I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised by that.
‘So – how are you?’ I ask. ‘How’s work?’
‘Do you care?’
‘I’m interested.’
‘In hearing me talk about collating diaries and ordering flowers?’
‘What kind of flowers?’
‘You’re so full of shit.’ She snorts, taking a sip of her drink. ‘How about we talk about why I’m actually here?’
‘Does there need to be a specific reason for us to hang out?’
‘No. I’m just surprised, is all.’
‘That I wanted to go for a drink?’
‘That you wanted to go with me.’
I falter, trying to remember if I messaged Edie after we had dinner at her place. I don’t even know when that was. A few days ago? Longer?
‘Well, I did,’ I say finally. ‘I like spending time with you. Is that allowed?’
‘It’s fine,’ she says, pausing to take another sip of her drink. ‘You just like it less than you used to, clearly.’
I don’t know what to say to that, which means that we’re both silent for a moment. Then:
‘Do you think I have an anger problem?’ I ask. Edie stares at me for a moment, then glances down at my hand – the ol’ fridge-punching one. I’ve long since lost Mac’s bandage, and it’s pretty gnarly looking.
‘That’s a hell of a tangent.’
‘Do you?’ I press. Edie’s known me longer than most, so I figure that if she says no then I won’t have to think about it any more.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I mean – I don’t think you’re an angry person. You losing your temper – I think that’s more to do with you keeping everything bottled up all the time.’
‘It’s not like it’s an actual issue, though,’ I say, slightly alarmed by her clarification. ‘Like – you know I’d never hurt anyone.’
‘You hurt Hugo.’
‘Oh, come on . Don’t pretend he didn’t deserve it.’
‘He was your friend.’
‘ You were my friend. He was just some guy I shared a room with.’
‘You knew what he was like. That he had a stupid sense of humour.’
‘Would you have rather I’d laughed along with everyone else?’ I retort, only to regret it when Edie winces and looks down at her drink. I remember more of that night than I’d like to. Maybe because it was a good time up until the moment it wasn’t
The leavers’ ball was our school’s answer to a prom, and notorious for spiralling into carnage. The whole boarding school set-up meant that most of us had spent too much time in this weird, liminal space between lessons ending and ultimate freedom, so there was a lot of pent-up energy. Plus, basically all of the students were eye-wateringly rich and unacquainted with the word ‘no’, so despite months of stern warnings, alcohol was a major presence. Just about everyone there was drunk, shrieking and swaying and laughing a little too loudly while the teachers pretended not to notice.
Suits and gowns had been arriving in the post for weeks prior, but Edie and I decided to raid the drama department’s costume cupboard instead. I wore a threadbare velvet suit and a paisley tie. Edie wore a beaded chiffon slip and ribboned ballet slippers, her hair in soft waves – the overall effect was somewhere between Zelda Fitzgerald and a fairy, and I spent most of the night watching her. So did Hugo.
‘This is fun,’ he’d said eventually, plucking at one of its straps. Hugo was like that – so casually tactile he’d make you feel like the weird one if you called him out on it. He was tall and broad with reddish hair, stupidly rich but weirdly stingy – he’d lose his shit if I did anything as mundane as borrowing his shampoo. We’d been rooming together for a year. Edie sometimes referred to him as ‘Bunny’ behind his back, an allusion to a book I hadn’t got around to reading.
‘Thanks,’ she said, offering a thin-lipped smile. A group of us had congregated outside of the main hall, our makeshift ballroom. It was a warm night, almost balmy, and I was leaning against the brick exterior. Jangling guitar music drifted through the open doors.
‘Is it your sister’s?’ Hugo pressed, and Edie’s brow puckered in confusion.
‘No. Why would you say that?’ she asked.
‘It’s got quite a sexy, homewrecker kind of energy, is all. I like it.’
‘Wow, thanks,’ Edie muttered, glancing away. Hugo grinned, apparently undeterred by both the obvious dismissal and the fact that I was staring absolute daggers at him.
‘What’s she up to these days?’ he continued. ‘Besides shagging other people’s husbands, I mean.’
Cue the asinine laughter. Enough , I decided, dropping a cigarette and rounding on him, ready to retort with something suitably cutting about his family – between the embezzlement charges and the libel lawsuits, it was a rich tapestry. But Edie silenced me by slipping her hand into mine, warm and soft.
‘I love this song,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back inside.’
I didn’t move. Hugo’s perma-smile was infuriating, and I was desperate to wipe it off his smug, entitled face.
‘Ezra,’ Edie said, a pleading note entering her voice. I looked at her then, and realised that she was genuinely upset.
‘Okay,’ I said, squeezing her hand. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Sneaking off to consummate your love?’ Hugo laughed.
‘You’re an ugly fucking drunk,’ I spat, temper flaring as I turned back towards him. ‘You can apologise when you’re sober.’
‘Can I? Very magnanimous of you.’
‘Don’t use words you can’t spell, Hughie.’
His eyes seemed to harden, then, but his smile didn’t falter. Edie tugged at my hand again, but I barely registered it.
‘Maybe I’ll apologise now,’ he said, turning towards her. ‘Edie, I’m sorry for insulting your sister.’
Edie said nothing. Hugo looked back to me.
‘And Ezra,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry that Edie hasn’t even thrown you so much as a pity fuck by now. Have you tried playing the dead mum card?’
My memory gets hazy after that. I know I must have lunged at him because when my vision cleared, I was holding his shirt by the collar and he was bundled against the wall. I think that people around us were yelling but I could barely hear it, could barely process anything beyond his rapidly reddening face, teeth bared with fury. Clarity was swift and awful – I let go and was backing away when I felt a white-hot shock of pain explode between my eyes. I staggered, raising my hand to my nose – it came away wet, red. Then Hugo’s face turned grey and he crumpled to the ground in a dead faint. We later found out that he’d broken his thumb by tucking it into his fist when he hit me. That’s about all I remember until the hospital.
‘Was that the end of it, then?’ I ask Edie. She looks up at me with a furrowed brow.
‘It?’
‘Us. Is that why you dumped me?’
‘I mean – I was angry,’ she says slowly. ‘The entire thing was gross, macho bullshit.’
‘Bit harsh.’
‘It’s not,’ Edie says curtly. ‘What he said to you was fucking awful, and I’m sorry. But it didn’t justify what you did.’
‘But it wasn’t even about me. The whole thing started because of what he said to you .’
‘It doesn’t matter how it started! It ended with two broken bones and that is all on you, Ezra. Don’t you dare try and pin that shit on me.’
She turns away and takes another sip of her wine, cheeks flushed. I rub at my face and say nothing, discomfited. She’s right, of course, but I can’t bring myself to concede the point.
‘It was the cartilage in my nose that got broken,’ I say instead. ‘Not the bone.’
‘One broken bone, then,’ she says dryly. ‘That’s much better.’
I smile, relieved that she’s not actually mad at me.
“So, that was the reason? Me and my toxic masculinity gave you the ick?”
‘It’s not funny. And honestly, I don’t understand why you even care, still.’
‘Because it matters to me,’ I admit. ‘Still.’
Edie turns back to look at me, then, eyes intent and so, so green – they were the first thing I ever noticed about her.
‘That’s just it,’ she says quietly. ‘I used to think I knew.’
And then she kisses me.
It turns out that being kissed by Edie feels a lot like it used to even though nothing else is the same, least of all me. I can’t quite wrap my head around the contradiction of it all, actually – the fact that she left but she’s back, that she didn’t want me but now she does, or maybe she always did, but—
I feel her smile against my lips then, and I wonder if maybe this was always inevitable. If it was always us. If Audrey—
I abruptly pull back, then, breaking the embrace. Edie’s eyes are wide, her lipstick smudged, and I feel so sick with guilt that I have to look away.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I just … I need a moment to think.’
‘Think?’ she echoes, looking bewildered. And I am too, because I wanted this for so long. I’ve loved Edie for so long. But—
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
Edie’s spoken so softly that it takes me a moment to process the question. It’s a simple one, of course, and the answer is no. Audrey and I – we never got that far, and whatever we did have is over. I’ll probably never see her again. It should make all of this so much simpler – a sad ending to a short story.
‘… No.’ I manage. ‘No, she’s not—’
For the briefest moment, I think I see Edie’s features contort with something like pain. But then her face is obscured by her hair and she’s on her feet, reaching for her coat. Time is suddenly moving too quickly for me to grasp as I reach for her arm – she wrenches it back and now she’s striding away with her head held high, too proud to run, and I’m on my feet too. I could go after her. There’s still time. But I know Edie, and I know that if I chased her down and caused a scene then she’d only hate me more, because she hates me now. She hates me and that makes sense – it was only a matter of time. It’s only ever just a matter of time.
I retake my seat at the bar instead, reaching for the remnants of her wine with a trembling hand. I know that it won’t numb anything but I drink it all the same, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. It comes away wet, red.