Chapter Seventeen
It quickly transpired that Tess had a lot of thoughts about what her type was.
First, she’d dissembled. ‘At this point the bar is so low on what my type is that anyone with a pulse will do.’ She’d punctuated this self-deprecating statement with a hollow laugh, as if Gabe needed any further clarification.
Which he did. A lot more.
‘I find that hard to believe. I already know you to be a woman of discernment.’
She laughed again at that. ‘My mother says the same thing, except she calls it being picky. She’s always reminding me that at my age and dress size, I can’t afford to be too choosy.’
Gabe had never met the woman, but instantly he felt a deep dislike, verging on visceral, of Tess’s maternal signifier.
‘Is this the same mother who set you up with her dentist’s nephew?’
‘The very same.’ Tess angled a curious glance at Gabe. ‘I can’t believe you remember that.’
‘Oh, I have a good memory.’ It was true.
Gabe could instantly recall all sorts of philosophical theories and dialectics.
He could conjugate verbs in many different languages, including a couple of dead ones, but then again, he could never remember where he’d put his keys or if he’d remembered to turn the oven off.
Yet, it seemed as if everything Tess had said to him, every expression and micro expression on her ever-changing face, was also stored deep in his memory banks.
His memory was going to be sorely tested though when, after a little more gentle prodding, Tess finally revealed what her type was.
It turned out that there a very long bullet-pointed list in the Notes app on her phone. As they walked, Tess briefed him on what she claimed were only the headlines.
She wanted, deep breath:
A nice guy
But not ‘a nice guy’
A bad boy
But not a wrong ’un
Someone who loves his mother
But not a mummy’s boy
Definitely not someone who wants a substitute mother instead of a girlfriend
Financially solvent
But not a finance bro
See also: tech bro, gym bro, any other kind of bro
A man who looks after himself but doesn’t count macros and has actual food in his kitchen, not those gigantic tubs of powder protein. Or even worse, subsists entirely on Huel or meal replacement gruel.
Has to be capable of making breakfast, a sandwich or a light meal all by themselves and be able to clear up afterwards
Must have friends
But not friends who shout, ‘lads, lads, lads!’ every time they get together
VERY IMPORTANT!!!!! There shouldn’t be anything on the lads’ group chat that’s sexist, racist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, any problematic kind of ist or ic. Or that could result in any kind of disciplinary proceedings.
Has to get on with her friends, who largely fall into three categories: fashion professionals, corporate girlies and bookish introverts.
Combined, they’re a tough crowd. So as long as he can be polite and try not to look too bored when the talk turns to hemlines, the Q3 projections or ACOTAR, it’s a win.
On good terms with his exes
But not in a still pining for them kind of way
Should never refer to any of his exes as ‘crazy’
In fact, never, ever mention the c-word. Especially not in relation to Tess, even if she’s on days twenty-one through twenty-eight of her menstrual cycle, and could cut a bitch as soon as look at them.
Happy to take on a fixer-upper when it comes to aesthetics
Very unhappy with a fixer-upper if it’s a man expecting her to do more than fifty per cent of the emotional labour involved in being a relationship
Doesn’t mind a sports fan. Verging on enthusiastic when it comes to F1, due to binge watching Drive to Survive.
Accepting of either a cat or dog, or both, person
Not liking animals is a definite character flaw
Replies to texts, messages, voice notes, calls in a reasonable time frame. Leaving your girlfriend on read is a hate crime.
When it comes to sex, they have to at least know that the clitoris exists, even if they need to ask for directions
Must wash their bedding and towels at least once a fortnight. That’s non-negotiable.
A high level of personal hygiene expected at all times
Toilet seat DOWN!
Ability to direct their stream straight into the toilet. Again, another non-negotiable.
Not be allergic to public displays of affection. Handholding, great. An arm around the shoulders, even better. Touching in wrong places or slobbering, wet kisses, absolutely not.
By now they’d walked to Borough Market, queued for grilled cheese sandwiches and had a brief respite while perched on a wall to eat the grilled cheese sandwiches. Now they were looking for the stall that did the viral chocolate-covered strawberries and the list and Tess were still going strong.
‘I think I have a good sense of what your type is,’ Gabe said, as he couldn’t bear to hear anymore.
The thought of some handsy bro trying to shove his tongue down Tess’s throat in public, or even in private, was not a happy one.
Never mind asking for directions to her clitoris.
No, he wasn’t going to think about her clitoris. Dear God, no …
‘Oh. All right, if you’re sure.’ Tess deflated like a balloon long past its prime even as her thumb kept scrolling down the list. And scrolling and scrolling and scrolling … ‘I guess it is a bit much. Like me, ha ha.’
Another hollow laugh. It was rapidly becoming Gabe’s least favourite sound.
‘It’s not a bit much. What you’re asking for, what your type is …’
‘Is a unicorn. I know that,’ Tess said defensively. ‘I’d be happy if a man ticked even a few of these boxes. It’s not like I’m the perfect girlfriend. Far from it.’
‘Enough!’ Gabe found himself stopping so he could, once more, take Tess by her shoulders, the busy Borough Market crowds buffeting around them.
Then he gave her the gentlest of shakes, like tall grass rippling at the faintest suggestion of a summer breeze.
‘It’s not a bit much. You’re not being picky.
What you’re asking for is the bare bloody minimum. ’
‘Hardly. You only got a brief taster of The List. I hadn’t even got to the section on popular culture and a hard no to men who demand that I name three of their albums if I ever mention liking a band,’ Tess pointed out.
She was wilting where she stood, as if Gabe’s hands on her shoulders were the only things keeping her upright.
‘This is just minutiae,’ he told her. ‘To simplify, you want a man who’s kind, thoughtful, who cares about you and what’s important to you.’
‘When you put it like that …’
‘None of these things should be an issue if a man is emotionally intelligent, self-aware, and sees women as autonomous, fully faceted beings rather than as something other,’ Gabe said as Tess stared up at him.
Her sunglasses were resting on top of her head and her eyes were impossibly big and impossibly blue, her expression dazed, as if Gabe had just revealed the meaning of life.
Which he hadn’t. Nearly every philosopher that Gabe had studied claimed to have discovered the meaning of life, but it wasn’t a definable entity.
‘You shouldn’t settle for anything less. ’
‘I shouldn’t?’
‘You shouldn’t.’ Gabe had a strange and sudden urge to kiss Tess on her forehead. Just to comfort her and assure her that not all men were so disappointing.
But if he did that, then he would be another one of those men who were the reason why that note must be using up at least half of her phone storage.
‘That’s why it’s probably a good idea to stick to fictional men for the time being.
’ She looked resigned. Defeated. Her lips parted and Gabe had a strange and sudden urge to kiss Tess on her mouth too.
Then she blinked and, thank the Lord, the spell was broken, the moment was past. ‘No chance that any of them will think that protein powders make an adequate meal and they certainly wouldn’t leave me on read. ’
This whole conversation had been illuminating but also incredibly depressing. ‘The Love Library, it’s just an amusing diversion, it’s not for keeps,’ Gabe felt the need to say.
He’d taken his hands off Tess’s shoulders, but they were still standing close enough that he felt her stiffen.
‘I do know that,’ she snapped. The snap became a sigh.
‘Although, who knows? If things work out with Darcy, then I might prefer to live in his beautiful grounds at Pemberley rather than renting my friend’s spare room in Swiss Cottage. ’
‘You do realise that that can’t happen.’ Gabe lowered his voice. ‘I mean, physically, not to mention metaphysically.’
‘Yes! Of course I know that.’ Tess sighed again, long and loud. ‘But a girl can still dream.’
‘I don’t want you to get the wrong id––’
‘I can’t bear to talk about men, or my type, for even a second longer,’ she exclaimed, with a little stomp of one foot. ‘It’s too depressing.’
Gabe was immediately contrite. Although it had been illuminating, he hadn’t enjoyed it very much either. ‘Of course …’
‘I think it’s only fair that you return the favour,’ Tess continued, fixing Gabe with a look that promised untold agony if he didn’t comply. ‘What’s your type?’
This wasn’t about Gabe. It was about Tess. What she was asking was deeply personal and also it wasn’t a simple question. It was a question that had taken her over an hour to answer and it was also a question that …
‘Do you even have a type? Like, do you actually date?’ Tess wondered out loud in a tone of voice that seemed to imply that she regarded Gabe as a sexless creature. That his intellectual pursuits, his ginormous frontal lobes, had rendered him a eunuch.
‘Of course I date!’ he protested in the strongest possible terms.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’ Tess took a step back.
Gabe wished that she’d put her shades back on so her expressive face would be somewhat hidden.
As it was, her narrowed eyes, wrinkled nose and soft lips tightly pursed all said very clearly that she couldn’t believe that Gabe could find anyone who wanted to date him. Which wasn’t true, except …