Stella #2
‘That sounds sensible,’ he says. He moves around the island and looks down at me, brushing my hair away from my face. ‘I think you’ve done an amazing job in how you’ve navigated all of this with such grace.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, breaking his gaze and looking down, flushed. ‘I’m not sure I am really, but I’m trying.’
We go back to small talk, about the process of buying the flat and the process of buying my house, and trying to sort my house out. He cooks the steaks and produces some matchstick fries he prepared earlier, then chops a green salad.
‘I don’t know how you managed this and did a whole day of work,’ I say, as he plates it up.
The cutlery is like new, in fact, everything looks new.
I almost want to ask for the details of his cleaner and then beg them to come to Dulwich.
‘When I was working, I just came home and made noodles most nights. God knows what I’ll be like when I go back to work. ’
‘You’re going back?’ He looks surprised.
I nod. ‘Yeah, they let me take an extra month of mat leave because of everything with Gavin; my old boss is terrifying but has been weirdly incredibly kind about all of this stuff. But once Rose is one she’ll start nursery and then I’ll be in the office a couple of days a week, and writing from home the rest.’
‘Do you want to go back?’
This strikes me as a very weird question, so I stop eating. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait.’
He nods. ‘That’s good, then.’
‘You seem surprised,’ I say.
‘No, not at all,’ he counters. ‘I had just assumed you’d be at home with your daughter for longer.’
‘I mean, I have to earn a living.’
‘Of course. I misspoke.’ He refills both of our wine glasses.
‘Most women do go back to work, you know,’ I add. I don’t think he meant to say something hurtful but anyone who’s ever had a baby and a job knows how dangerous this territory is, how there are landmines under every inch of this conversation.
‘I know, I know,’ he says. ‘And if you love what you do then, of course, that’s right. I think I had always had it in my head that I’d want to provide enough for any family I had that my partner could work or not work, but have it be a choice. If that makes sense.’
I nod. I’m being overreactive here. That’s a nice thing to say. He is a nice man. ‘That sounds like a great plan,’ I say. ‘Do you want children?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I feel it’s a bit of a failure that I haven’t managed it yet, but I very much would like a family. Ideally a large one.’
‘Large?’ I laugh. ‘How large are we talking? Football team? Rugby team?’
He laughs too. ‘No, I think three would be wonderful. Though I’m aware you can’t really plan for these things entirely.’
‘I always wanted three,’ I agree. ‘My sister and I were always desperate for a brother, but my mum had us within a year of each other and, understandably, she was very much done with the baby thing.’
‘And you?’
‘Me?’
‘Are you done? With the baby thing?’
I look at him, and at his beautiful flat, and I think about creepy Beau trying to put his finger up my crack and my mum crying because of the Calpol, and shunting Rose between two houses.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not.’ I take a breath.
‘I think one day I’d like to do it again, and have it work the conventional way. Where you don’t get divorced.’
Richard nods. ‘I think that sounds lovely.’ He takes a breath.
‘To that end, I wondered if we might discuss something. This is rather American of me but I do prefer clarity. And I wanted to say that I very much enjoy your company and I’m not currently seeing anyone else.
I’d like to focus my attentions on getting to know you better.
To the exclusion of anyone else. And I wondered if you might be interested in doing the same. ’
Gosh. My first reaction, which probably isn’t the absolute ideal reaction to a nice, handsome man asking me to be exclusive, is to wonder why he sometimes talks like he’s been written by AI.
Oh god, what if he prepped for this conversation by asking ChatGPT what he should say?
I try to smack the idea away. He is not using generative AI to ask me to be exclusive.
He’s a good person. A good man. A good prospect, if we’re going to be a bit Jane Austen about it, and yes, okay, it’s quicker than I’d planned and it’s not the period of wild exploration I’d claimed to want, but am I really going to turn down something perfect because of the timing?
When I left uni, before I moved to London and met Gavin, I got offered a job at a printmakers down the road from my parents’ house, literally the ideal job.
But I wanted to go to Ibiza with my mates for a month, so I turned it down, and then a year later I was still temping and applying for jobs even tentatively related to interior design, which taught me a pretty salutary lesson about assuming chances will come back around.
I’ve never had the exclusivity chat before.
Gavin and I just spent all our time together so there wasn’t anyone else to shag, and then by the time we lived together it sort of seemed implied.
I’ve had friends agonise over how to raise it, when to raise it.
I thought in the brave new world of app dating this was supposed to take months and months.
And the whole idea was that I wasn’t going to date anyone properly, that I was going to do the mantourage and fill my roster.
Only I tried that and it wasn’t exactly a raging success. So maybe. . .
‘I’d like that,’ I hear myself say. ‘Very much.’
Richard smiles. He toasts me, then leans over and kisses me. I’m paranoid that I taste of steak, but I kiss him back, and feel warmth spreading through my body. I look up at him, through my eyelashes, the wine warm in my blood.
‘Do you want to show me the bedroom?’ I smile.
He kisses me again. ‘Eventually,’ he says. ‘But I don’t want to rush you. I know you’re not like that.’
I kiss him back. Like what? I’m not like what?
Two hours later, after a lot of snogging but literally nothing more than snogging (and, eventually, a slice of Basque cheesecake that he’d bought from some very bougie bakery), I call Lou.
‘You will literally never guess what just happened,’ I say, as she picks up the phone.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘I went to see Richard—’
‘Which one’s Richard? The rich one?’
‘Yes. I went over for dinner and he lives in like, a penthouse, and he cooked me a steak and then asked me to be exclusive—’
Lou sighs. ‘If you’re going to ring me late at night to tell me things, they need to be gossip or drama, not things that are going to make me jealous of your life.’
‘My life is still a disaster,’ I counter. ‘After he told me he wanted to be exclusive, he then refused to have sex with me because he didn’t want to rush me.’
‘Did you find this man from some kind of magical wishing tree?’
‘Lou! No, look, I know this sounds insane and, when I say it out loud, I get how it sounds, but I actually. . . I feel a bit weird about it? Like why does he want to be exclusive? Why doesn’t he want to shag me?’
‘Because he likes you and he wants to snap you up.’
‘But why?’ I whine.
I can hear Lou rolling her eyes at me. ‘Look, you’re being insane – this is good news. Not all men are scabby losers like Gavin. And you can just take it slow and enjoy him.’
‘He said he wouldn’t want his wife to have to work after she had kids.’
‘Oh my god, he’s a monster, we should call some kind of hotline.’
I sense I’m losing my audience. ‘I’m just saying, isn’t that a red flag? It’s old-fashioned?’
‘You have a handsome, rich boyfriend who can cook and wants to provide for his future family. That is the dream. Stop being ungrateful. Goodnight.’
Lou hangs up. I stare at the phone for a while. Then I do something that feels surprisingly disloyal. I voice note Dom.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I realise that you’re not employed officially as my dating spirit guide but I need your wisdom. I had dinner with Richard, and it was great, but he asked me to be exclusive. And then he didn’t want to shag me because he doesn’t want to rush. What the fuck is going on?’
I send it.
He’s not online. Probably out having a nice time with someone prettier and less needy than me. I hope so. He deserves that.