Stella #2
There are a lot of things I could say to this.
I could point out that he had the same access to the same resources that I did, that he could have learned about taking care of a baby.
I had the exact number of hours of parenting experience as he did on the day that Rose was born, but I made being a parent my sole focus and he just watched from the sidelines.
Even if he was scared of the baby, he could have learned to cook, he could have learned to paint, any of it.
Or I could point out that when we met, I was twenty-three and he was twenty-eight, and that it was perfectly normal for me to ‘grow up’ and want a less studenty way of life, that probably he should have done the same thing.
But there wouldn’t be any point. It’s clearly cost him a lot to say it, and he’s not my person any more.
I’d gain nothing by telling him any of that and I’d probably hurt his feelings.
And while I don’t think it’s my fault he felt small, he’s someone I used to love.
I don’t like that he felt that way. So instead of telling him that nothing he says changes the fact that he abandoned me when I needed him the most, I nod.
‘I get that,’ I say. ‘And I never meant to make you feel that way.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I just wasn’t right for you.’
‘Not by the end,’ I agree. ‘At the beginning, I think we were great. And at some point, I don’t know when, we stopped being a good fit. But if we’d realised that then we wouldn’t have had Rose. So I’m glad we screwed it up.’
He nods. ‘Me too.’
‘What did you want to ask?’
Another deep breath. He must have been absolutely terrified on the way here, with the amount of stuff he apparently needed to unload on me. ‘I’m seeing someone.’
That hurts. It has no reason to hurt, but it does. ‘I met her on the circuit – the comedy circuit.’
‘I didn’t think it was likely to be the Formula One circuit,’ I interrupt.
He doesn’t respond to my sarcasm. ‘She’s a comic, and she’s great, and we’ve been seeing each other for about six months. And I wondered how you’d feel about her meeting Rose?’
Terrible. Horrible. Awful. I hate the idea. But none of that is rational, or fair.
‘What’s she like?’ I ask.
He shows me pictures of her. She’s a smiling, busty, blonde woman in her late thirties or early forties.
Gavin offers to show me a video of her current set, but the idea of playing sound out loud in a restaurant makes me feel like a criminal.
I watch a couple of TikToks of her, with subtitles, and she seems funny.
And nice. And normal. And even if she didn’t, I have no leg to stand on.
Legally, I can’t stop him from introducing her to Rose if he does it during his visitation, and if I wanted to I’d be a huge hypocrite because I would have done it with Richard.
I shudder very slightly at the memory of Richard who, to my relief, blocked me on every platform, including LinkedIn, and hasn’t been in touch once.
‘She seems great,’ I say, handing Gav’s phone back. ‘I’m glad you’ve found someone you like.’
‘Thanks,’ he says shyly. ‘She’s the same age as me, so we can talk about kids’ TV shows we both watched.’
This is meant to be self-deprecating, and I know he’s trying to be nice, so I try not to mind that he’s telling me the ways that this woman is a better partner for him than I was.
‘You’re very welcome to introduce her to Rose,’ I say.
‘I’ve got some articles you can read about how to introduce romantic partners without screwing your kids up. ’
‘Thank you,’ he says earnestly.
We order hot drinks, because we might as well, and he asks me an inevitable question. ‘What about you? Are you dating anyone?’
I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘What about that bloke I met?’
‘Dominic,’ I say, forcing my face into a fixed position of neutrality. ‘He was actually just a friend.’
Gavin raises one eyebrow. ‘Right.’
There’s a lull in the conversation while Gavin stirs a sugar cube into his coffee and I think we should probably get the bill, because it’s been a very nice hour and I’m glad we did this, but there’s a reason that we’re exes and the chances of this turning into an argument are never zero.
‘Can I say something?’ he asks, when he’s finished clinking his spoon against the china of his cup.
‘Sure.’
‘I know it might sound strange coming from me, but I. . .’ He takes a moment to consider what he’s going to say. ‘I don’t want you to be alone.’
It takes a lot of self-control to not point out that he could have prevented that from happening by not leaving me.
‘I think you should think about dating,’ he says. ‘You deserve to find someone who makes you happy.’
I half laugh. ‘I did quite a lot of dating last year and it was a disaster. I picked terrible people, I got into some shitty situations, and it’s not going to work, so there’s really no point in trying.
This isn’t my time to be happy, this is my time to focus on Rose, and work, and getting my life together.
Then I can think about meeting someone.’
‘Why do you have to have your life together before you can meet someone?’ asks Gavin, bemused. ‘When I met Hannah I was living at my mum’s—’
‘You still live at your mum’s—’
‘And I wasn’t legally divorced and I was trying a whole new career—’
‘I know, but that’s different—’
‘Why is it different?’ he asks. ‘The right person can help you get your life together.’
I’m exasperated. ‘That’s not how it works.’
‘Says who?’
Everyone. Literally everyone says this. ‘I don’t know.’ I sigh. ‘The experts, the relationship influencers, every magazine I read when I was a teenager, everyone knows that you’re supposed to get your life together and then meet someone. That’s just. . . it’s just a fact.’
Gavin considers me for a moment, looking at me like he’s doing a really hard maths problem. ‘But if you get your life perfectly sorted before you let yourself meet anyone, how is there going to be any space in your life when you do eventually meet them?’
I think about it for a minute. Then for another minute. And I really, truly, genuinely don’t have an answer to his question.