EZRA
I SEE E DIE BEFORE SHE SEES ME . I WATCH THROUGH THE FOGGED window of the restaurant as she lightly jogs across the street in a sage-coloured Lycra ensemble, exhaling at the sight. She came. She’s fifteen minutes late and may well be stopping off here on her way to the gym, but she came.
I couldn’t imagine her reacting well to a long, sentimental screed, so when I messaged her last night, it was a clear-cut invitation – a time, a place, a promise to pick up the bill. The place in question is an old-school restaurant in SoHo, a New York staple –think dark wood, yellow light and copious amounts of butter in almost every menu item. Romy’s suggestion, of course.
I drop my gaze as Edie approaches the hostess. I don’t dare wave her over, knowing that she’ll want to make an entrance on her own terms – said entrance turns out to be dropping into the chair opposite mine without a word of greeting.
‘Surprised you wanted to meet for breakfast,’ she begins, picking up a menu and turning it over. ‘Bit early for a drink, surely?’
‘For some.’ I nod. ‘But don’t discount the humble mimosa.’
‘Hm. Are you surprised that I’m here?’
I’m relieved. She’s being spiky, and spiky is good. Reassuringly on-brand, at least.
‘Pleasantly. Thank you for coming. Genuinely.’
‘God – if this is going to get sappy then maybe mimosas are a necessary evil.’
‘I’m actually not drinking right now,’ I admit. ‘You go ahead, though.’
Her eyes flicker upwards, her expression inscrutable.
‘Good for you,’ she says. ‘Is that her influence?’
She doesn’t put any particular inflection on ‘her’, but it’s weighted all the same.
‘I’m trying to make better choices,’ I say, shifting in my seat. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else.’
‘Yeah? Have you quit smoking?’
‘An attempt is in progress, yes.’
‘Good. I don’t know why you ever started.’
‘Because that’s what disaffected youths do. Smoke and write bad poetry.’
‘You never wrote poetry.’
‘None that I could show you, anyway.’
A smile ghosts her lips. But she’s still avoiding my gaze, tugging lightly at a strand of hair.
‘Would apologising be sappy?’ I venture. ‘I’d like to, so …’
‘No need,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘Things change. I get it.’
‘Edie …’
‘Ezra. Let’s just forget it, okay?’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Very,’ she says. Then, after a beat, ‘You look well. Better than last time, anyway.’
‘I’ve been staying with Caroline and her girlfriend. They have this weird routine of eating three meals and sleeping eight hours.’
‘That’s nice of her.’
‘Very, yeah. How’s your family?’
‘Same old, I suppose. Mum and Dad are in Cannes.’
‘Nice. And have you spoken to Eleanor?’
Edie looks up at me with something close to alarm. She wasn’t expecting me to mention Eleanor, clearly – why would I, when I learnt the hard way not to? And I can see the struggle behind her eyes – her instinct is to shut this down, to shut me out. But—
‘She’s reached out,’ she says finally. ‘The show is airing as we speak. Some columnist called it “a candy-coated microcosm of everything wrong with our society”.’
‘So it’s a hit?’
She sighs. ‘People love to hate it, which means they have to watch it first.’
‘Have you? Watched it, I mean?’
‘I just read about it online and torture myself,’ she says colourlessly. ‘Eleanor says she wouldn’t have done it if she knew I’d leave. But she’s never quite grasped the concept of her actions impacting other people.’
‘Right,’ I say, surprised by the admission.
‘Mm. She also says she wants to come and visit me out here.’
‘Oh. What do you think you’ll do?’
‘What do you think I should do?’ she asks dryly. ‘Let her come? Hug it out? Enter my healing era?’
‘Not no,’ I admit, and Edie scoffs, turning away.
‘It’s your choice,’ I say quickly. ‘Just – I’m currently trialling the whole “benefit of the doubt” thing myself, actually.’
‘With your dad?’ she asks, looking at me sideways. I shrug – she raises her eyebrows but says nothing, gaze sliding back towards the window.
‘I’m not sure how to feel about this new, enlightened version of Ezra,’ she says flatly. ‘But I suppose I’ll get used to it.’
‘Yeah?’ I smile. ‘Want to do this again sometime?’
‘Maybe, if you actually want to.’
‘Of course I want to. I know a lot’s changed, but not everything.’
‘Not the fact that I’m in love with you,’ she says, eyes still firmly averted. ‘You’d probably guessed as much, though.’
I stare at Edie for a moment, wondering if she’s fucking with me – she wields sarcasm so lightly that it isn’t always easy to tell when she’s joking. But her expression is set, her jaw tight like she’s bracing for some kind of impact. My heart clenches like a fist.
‘No,’ I manage. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Sorry if that’s weird for you,’ she says, tipping her chin back. ‘I know you’ve moved on.’
‘God, Edie –’ I begin, but she’s already shaking her head.
‘Forget it,’ she says. ‘As shitty as this is for me, you not being in my life is shittier. So – eventually I’ll get to the point where I’m just happy that you’re happy. I promise.’
And then she looks at me and smiles. It doesn’t quite meet her eyes, though, and I consider telling her that there is no one else – not any more, because it was over before it could even begin. But …
‘You can do better,’ I say instead, and she laughs.
‘Yep.’ She nods. ‘Probably.’
But don’t think I’ll ever stop caring about you, Edie,’ I add seriously. I never did. ‘I wouldn’t know how. It’s pretty much non-negotiable, at this point.’
‘Of course you do,’ she says dryly, picking up her menu again. ‘You’re buying me twenty-dollar eggs.’