Chapter 19 Conscience with Better Hair
Conscience with Better Hair
Geoff
Ilower myself onto Pee-Pee’s sofa and it sinks slightly in the middle, like it knows my weight and my emotional baggage and has prepared accordingly. The sofa has always been an enabler.
Pee-Pee watches me over the rim of her glasses, cardigan today a soft blue that says supportive but not indulgent. I’ve learned to fear that particular shade.
“You look like someone who’s been rehearsing this conversation in the shower,” she says.
“I’ve been dating,” I reply, because if I don’t start there, I’ll end up talking about the weather or my cholesterol.
Her eyebrows lift, interested. “Alright. Tell me.”
“Her name’s Sophia,” I say. “We’ve been on two dates.”
She nods, waiting, and I immediately feel the urge to fill the silence.
“The first one went well,” I add. “Pub. Easy conversation. No disasters. I behaved like a functioning adult.”
“You sound relieved,” she observes.
“I was,” I admit. “That felt like a personal milestone. Historically, first dates and I have been… experimental.”
“And the second date?” she asks.
I shift on the sofa. It sighs again. Honestly, everyone in this room is against me.
“Also nice,” I say. “Which is where things get complicated.”
She waits, patient, and that means I have to keep going.
“It was dinner. Midweek. Her idea. Casual, but not so casual that you don’t spend a good ten minutes wondering if your shirt makes you look like someone who’s trying too hard or someone who’s given up entirely.”
“And once you were there?”
“Fine,” I say. “Really fine. She’s smart. Funny. Easy to talk to. Nothing awkward. Nothing uncomfortable.”
I pause, then add, “Nothing… memorable.”
Pee-Pee tilts her head slightly. “That sounds important.”
“It is,” I say. “Because I found myself thinking about what we’d talk about next time. On the third date. And that’s a bad sign, right?”
“In what way?”
“Not because we’d run out of topics,” I say. “More because I didn’t feel curious. We talked about work, travel, a podcast she loves.”
I take a deep breath and wonder if I sound pathetic to Pee-Pee’s ears.
“There was nodding. Encouraging noises. I was very polite. If politeness were chemistry, we’d have set the table on fire.”
She smiles at that but doesn’t interrupt.
“It felt,” I continue, “like a meeting that was going well. Agenda covered. Everyone pleasant. You leave thinking, yes, that was efficient, and then never think about it again.”
“And that bothered you.”
“Yes,” I say. “Because I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t buzzing. I wasn’t even distracted. I was just… present. Calm. Steady.”
“That doesn’t sound terrible,” she says.
“It does on a date,” I reply. “Calm is supposed to come later. After excitement. After stupidity. This felt like skipping straight to the bit where you’re deciding who’s buying dishwasher tablets.”
Pee-Pee leans back slightly. “Did you enjoy yourself at all?”
“I did,” I say. “In a contained way. Like you enjoy a perfectly acceptable meal that you wouldn’t actively seek out again.”
“And at the end of the evening?”
“She asked if I wanted to go back to hers,” I say. “And I almost said yes because that’s what I normally would have done.”
“But you didn’t,” she notes.
“No, I didn’t,” I confirm. “I couldn’t risk the wrath of Christa. She would have never let me hear the end of it. And I didn’t think my dick was willing to come out and play in any case. So I said I had an early start the next day.”
“And afterwards?”
I hesitate, because this is where I start judging myself.
“I felt relieved,” I say. “And then immediately guilty for feeling relieved, because she didn’t do anything wrong and I’m apparently now the sort of man who feels bad for not wanting to take his shoes off at someone’s door.”
Pee-Pee nods slowly. “So you weren’t holding yourself back. You just didn’t want more.”
“That’s what worries me,” I say. “She’s lovely. On paper, she’s exactly the sort of person I should want to keep seeing. And yet I was already imagining a third date and thinking, oh. This again.”
She studies me for a moment. “Tell me what you believe you know about Sophia.”
I open my mouth, ready to list things, then stop.
“She works in communications,” I say eventually. “She likes podcasts. She’s travelled. She’s thoughtful.”
Pee-Pee raises an eyebrow. “That’s all first-date information.”
“I know,” I say. “And it’s only been two dates. That’s normal.”
“It is,” she agrees. “I’m wondering whether you’re responding to a lack of spark or simply the fact that you haven’t met the person underneath the polite conversation yet.”
I frown. “So you think this might be premature.”
“I think,” she says carefully, “that you’re used to either diving in quickly or walking away decisively. Sitting with uncertainty might feel uncomfortable.”
“That’s a generous way of saying I’m impatient,” I mutter.
She smiles. “It’s a fair observation. Chemistry doesn’t always announce itself immediately, especially when you’re more guarded than you used to be.”
I lean back, considering that. “So, what you’re saying is, I might be bored because I haven’t let myself get interested yet.”
“I’m saying,” she replies, “that boredom and unfamiliar calm can feel very similar. The question is whether you’re willing to give it a little more space to see which one it is.”
“And if it’s still boring?”
“Then you stop,” she says simply. “Kindly. Clearly. Without telling yourself a story about what that means about you.”
I sigh. “I was really hoping you’d tell me to trust my instincts and run.”
She chuckles. “Your instincts don’t seem panicked. They seem cautious.”
“That feels worse,” I say. “At least panic has energy.”
She smiles. “Caution can be useful. It can also slow things down enough for you to notice what’s really there.”
I picture a third date. Another dinner. Another conversation. This time maybe asking better questions. Maybe listening for something underneath the surface rather than ticking boxes.
“I don’t feel excited,” I admit.
“You don’t have to,” Pee-Pee says. “You just have to be curious enough to show up once more.”
I sigh, long and theatrical. “Fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Fine?”
“I’ll go on a third date,” I say. “I’ll stop expecting fireworks and start paying attention. If I’m still mentally reorganising my spice rack halfway through, I’ll know.”
She smiles, satisfied but not smug. “That sounds reasonable.”
“I hate that,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says.
I stand up, the sofa releasing me reluctantly.
“Dating is exhausting,” I mutter.
She smiles. “Only when you’re doing it honestly.”
Pee-Pee doesn’t look back down at her notes. She just tilts her head slightly, the way she does when she’s about to wander into territory I was hoping we’d all politely ignore.
“You mentioned Christa,” she says.
I freeze for half a second, which is unhelpful because I am standing and therefore very visible.
“I did,” I say cautiously.
“You’ve mentioned her a few times,” Pee-Pee continues, tone light, conversational, like she’s commenting on the weather and not casually dismantling my defences. “Not just today.”
“That’s because she’s… present,” I say. “Physically. In my house.”
“Mmhmm,” she says. “And in your decision-making.”
I huff a laugh. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“How would you put it?” she asks.
I drop back into the chair opposite her instead of the sofa, because at this point I need all the structural support I can get. “She’s my lodger. My friend. Temporarily incubating a human.”
“And?”
“And she has opinions,” I say. “Strong ones. Loud ones. Occasionally shouted from the kitchen while holding fruit she doesn’t want to eat.”
Pee-Pee smiles. “That sounds… lively.”
“It is,” I say. “She’s also very good at calling me on my nonsense.”
“So when you were on the date with Sophia,” Pee-Pee says, “Christa crossed your mind.”
“Yes,” I admit. “But not in a romantic way. More in an if-I-do-this-I-will-never-know-peace-again way.”
She nods. “And how did that feel?”
I sigh. “Annoying. Comforting. Like having a conscience with better hair.”
Pee-Pee leans back slightly. “You didn’t say you almost went back with Sophia because you weren’t interested. You said you didn’t because you didn’t want Christa’s reaction.”
“That was partly a joke,” I say.
“Partly,” she agrees. “What was the other part?”
I hesitate, because this is where things get inconvenient.
“I didn’t want to complicate things,” I say. “At home. With Christa. With myself.”
“And what would complicating things look like?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Feelings. Boundaries. Me doing what I always do and pretending I’m fine until I’m not.”
Pee-Pee watches me for a moment, then says, “You’re very aware of her impact on you.”
I scoff. “She’s hard to ignore. She steals my food.”
She smiles, then lets the humour pass. “I’m not asking you to label anything,” she says. “I’m just noticing that when you talk about dating, Christa is part of the picture.”
I swallow. “She lives in my house.”
“Yes,” Pee-Pee says. “And she lives in your head.”
That lands. I don’t love it.
“I’m not secretly pining after her,” I say quickly. “Before you go there.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she replies calmly. “I’m asking what role she plays for you right now.”
“She grounds me,” I say slowly. “She calls me out. She makes me laugh. She makes things… real.”
Pee-Pee nods. “And how does that affect dating?”
I exhale. “It raises the bar.”
“In what way?”
“I’m less inclined to drift,” I say. “Less willing to go along with something just because it’s there. If I’m going to let someone into that space, they have to add something.”
I hesitate, then say it plainly because dressing it up would be ridiculous. “We’re sharing a baby. Biologically. Practically. Completely.”
Pee-Pee’s expression softens, just a fraction.
“That changes things,” she says.
“It does,” I reply. “Anyone I date isn’t just entering my life. They’re entering hers too. And eventually the baby’s. That’s not something I can treat casually, even if I wanted to.”
She nods. “Christa’s opinion matters?”
“Yes,” I say. “Not because she gets veto power or because I need permission, but because this isn’t happening in isolation. I don’t get to pretend it’s just about chemistry and convenience anymore.”
“And how does that sit with you?”
I snort quietly. “Uncomfortably. Like I’ve been promoted without training.”
She smiles. “That sounds about right.”
“But it also means,” I continue, “I’m not willing to half-arse it. I don’t want to date someone just because it’s easy or expected. If I’m doing this, it has to be intentional.”
“And Sophia?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “She might add something. She might not. That’s what the third date is for.”
Pee-Pee nods, satisfied in that infuriatingly calm way. “That sounds thoughtful.”
“Don’t say that like it’s a compliment,” I mutter.
She grins. “It absolutely is.”
Fantastic. Growth. Again.