Chapter 9 #2
‘He described himself. He reads. He keeps up with your sarcasm. He never talks over you. The man brings you back a different kind of chocolate from every one of his work trips – presumably you’ve already put in an order for Australia?’
‘Tim Tams,’ I admit with a chuckle. ‘He just knows me well.’
‘Yeah, he knows you,’ she replies. ‘He sees you – the real you. He’s been paying attention for years.’
‘That’s what friends do,’ I reply. ‘It’s not a romance thing. It’s… obvious. Of course I’d want in a partner what I already have in a best friend.’
The sentence hangs between us.
JJ’s expression changes suddenly. Like a light bulb just turned on in her head.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathes. ‘Of course!’
I frown.
‘What?’
She picks up her wine and sips it smugly, like a scholar who quietly but decidedly figured out the meaning of life.
‘Andy is still into you.’
I practically cackle.
‘What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous,’ she insists. ‘He’s always been into you.’
‘That’s not true,’ I say automatically.
‘Really?’ she says. ‘You’ve just casually forgotten that he asked you out? That he was romantically interested in you before you were friends?’
I hesitate before I reply. Of course I remember.
It was years ago, but you don’t exactly forget meeting someone, do you?
I’d just come out of a bad break-up, I wasn’t ready to date anyone, but I felt this connection with Andy that I couldn’t ignore so we decided to just be friends.
I remember knowing I couldn’t get into anything, but not wanting to let him walk away.
I also remember the look on his face as his smile faltered for a second before he said the words ‘just friends is good’.
I’d always counted it as a blessing, that he asked, that I quickly pivoted it to something more friendly, otherwise we wouldn’t have the strong relationship we have now.
We probably would have dated, fizzled out, gone our separate ways.
There’s no way we’d be roommates, and I love living with him.
JJ smirks.
‘I mean, I know you remember,’ she replies. ‘But you said it wasn’t the right time to get into a relationship, so you swiftly ushered him into the friend zone. Presumably you fancied him though? He’s a good-looking bloke.’
I swallow – well, I try to. My throat feels so dry all of a sudden.
‘That was years ago. I’d had my heart broken. It was a moment. It doesn’t mean—’
‘He’s still single too,’ she points out.
‘So am I,’ I say.
‘Exactly,’ she replies with a dramatic clap of her hands. ‘Neither of you has found anyone – certainly not anyone more perfect for you than the other. He’s too hung up on you to seriously pursue anyone else.’
‘Give over,’ I reply.
‘He is,’ she insists. ‘And you’re comparing every man you meet to him, not only because he’s a great benchmark, but because he’s perfect for you. You love him, right?’
‘I love him, yeah, I love you,’ I point out. ‘Most of the time…’
‘Whit, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense,’ she continues. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He spends all his time with you. He must fancy you if he asked you out initially.’
‘You’re imagining it,’ I tell her with a nervous laugh. She is, right?
‘Am I?’ she says. ‘Who helped you when you were sick after that disastrous bottomless brunch?’
‘Lots of people,’ I say.
‘But who carried you home and put you to bed?’ she adds. ‘Not me, you were too pukey. And who turned up with chocolate and booze when you got your first rejection letter? Who reads every single version of your book without complaining?’
‘You should be doing that,’ I can’t help but interject.
‘I mean, who does it for love, not money?’ she replies. ‘Who always sits next to you at dinner parties? Who drives you to visit your parents when you don’t want to get the train?’
‘Andy,’ I say simply.
‘In fact, who made a pity pact with you?’ she adds. ‘If you’re not married by forty, you’ll marry each other or whatever. Who does that, Whit?’
‘We were drunk. It was a joke,’ I pointed out.
‘Jokes are just facts that don’t want to get their feelings hurt,’ she says.
I laugh but then a silence settles between us.
‘Okay,’ she says gently after a few seconds. ‘Let’s flip the script. How do you feel about him?’
‘He’s my best friend,’ I say immediately. ‘He’s the person I call when anything happens. Good, bad, funny. He’s my emergency contact. He’s my…’
‘He’s your person,’ JJ says.
‘Well, yeah, but…’
‘No buts,’ she says, her voice softening. ‘That sounds a lot like love.’
‘Friend love,’ I practically plead. ‘Platonic love. Not—’
‘Would you be jealous if he started seeing someone?’ she cuts in. ‘Like really, properly, committed kind of dating. She’s always at the flat, she’s taking all his time, you don’t get to see him or speak to him as much.’
I open my mouth to say no but nothing comes out.
I mean, I have missed him while he’s been away, and that’s him being busy with work. When I think about him having a girl at the flat, the two of us having less time to hang out, to play games – yikes. I can feel an uncomfortable knot in my stomach.
‘Oh,’ I say quietly.
JJ smiles.
‘Yeah – oh,’ she replies. ‘As in “oh my God, you’re in love with your best friend”.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I ask.
‘Why didn’t you know?’ she claps back.
‘I suppose I did, deep down, but we’ve forged such a wonderful friendship, and I never wanted to ruin it,’ I confess. ‘I never looked at it the other way – what if such a good friendship is ruining my relationships, because no one is as perfect for me as Andy is?’
I grip the stem of my wine glass a little too tightly.
‘It’s just that we’ve been friends for so long,’ I continue. ‘It felt too late all of a sudden. Like I could lose my friend if I took a chance.’
‘So you protected the friendship,’ she says.
‘Exactly,’ I reply. ‘I put it in a little box marked “do not open”.’
‘And now?’ she presses me.
Now… Now it’s all I can think about. This is why no date has ever felt quite right; no one has measured up to him.
Andy, my kind, sweet, funny, brilliant friend.
But I can’t tell him, can I? What if I ruin everything?
What if he doesn’t feel the same anymore?
What if he’s moved on and I’m… late to my own love story?
‘Do you love him?’ JJ asks quietly. ‘Like, are you in love with him?’
I open my mouth. I close it again. My heart is thudding so loud I can hear it in my ears.
Do I love him like that? Is he a romcom leading man?
Would he run through an airport for me? Would fireworks go off if we kissed?
No, I shouldn’t think about it that way.
I should think in real terms. Is he always there for me?
Do I think about him every day? Do I always feel comfortable around him?
The answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes. And yes, I do love him.
Shit, I’m in love with him.
‘It’s okay, we can figure this out,’ JJ says, reading my mind.
‘The good news is that we know he asked you out, so he fancies you, and he definitely cares about you, and you have a lot in common – he might actually think about this more than we do. He might be fretting, wondering what to do – you might be about to answer his prayers.’
‘So, what, I just tell him that I’m in love with him? Just like that?’ I check.
As soon as the words are out, I feel both terrified and weirdly lighter, like I’ve opened a window in a stuffy room, but there’s a storm raging outside.
JJ claps a hand over her mouth.
‘Sorry, it’s just so weird hearing you say it,’ she tells me.
‘I know,’ I say faintly. ‘It feels weird to say it.’
‘I can’t believe I’ve cracked it,’ she says, victorious now. ‘That’s it. That’s why no man is good enough. It’s not that you’re too picky, it’s that they’re not Andy.’
‘Ugh, it’s such a cliché,’ I moan. ‘I don’t want to be a cliché.’
‘Why not?’ she replies. ‘It’s a classic for a reason. You literally write this stuff, Whit.’
‘Okay, but this is real life, so what do I do now?’ I ask.
She doesn’t even hesitate.
‘You tell him. As soon as he’s back. It’s something you need to do in person, but it’s something you need to do soon. Before you chicken out.’
‘I can’t simply blurt it out. “Hi, welcome home, by the way I’m in love with you, please enjoy this emotional bomb while you’re jet-lagged. Oh, and did you remember my Tim Tams?”’
JJ laughs.
‘Okay, maybe give him a drink first,’ she says. ‘But yes. You have to tell him. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your life going on dates and either wondering why nothing feels right, or knowing it’s because they’re not Andy.’
‘This is insane,’ I say, placing my head in my hands for a second.
‘It’s fate,’ she replies.
I whip my head up and stare at her in disbelief.
‘You can’t even commit to a foundation, and now you’re talking about fate?’ I reply.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t imagine Andy having me in a chokehold like this, but the two of you are clearly perfect for each other,’ she says.
‘Okay. Fine. I’ll tell him. When he’s back.’
She beams.
‘Good girl.’
‘But if it ruins everything, then I’m moving in here,’ I insist. ‘I’ll be sleeping on your sofa for the foreseeable, until I live it down – if I ever live it down.’
‘You can have the second bedroom,’ she says. ‘The sofa is for men who disappoint me.’
‘Deal,’ I say with a laugh.
‘Wait. Does this mean I technically won the bet?’ JJ asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The three-dates-and-I’ll-flash-the-security-guard-and-get-you-a-book-deal bet,’ she says. ‘Technically, I’ve found you someone.’
‘That’s one hell of a technicality,’ I say with a laugh.
‘Well, I didn’t think guy number one, whatever his name was, even counted,’ she insists. ‘So Andy is number three by my count.’
‘Tell you what, let’s not count our chickens,’ I suggest. ‘Let’s see if I actually have the balls to tell him how I feel.’
‘More wine,’ she suggests. ‘Wine always helps.’
As JJ tops up my glass, my mind is racing ahead.
It’s not that long until Andy is back. I can just see him walking through the front door, suitcase in hand, tie loosened, smile tired but warm.
Then there will be me, standing there, trying not to hyperventilate as I say something that will change everything.
I love him. I’m in love with him.
It’s like someone just turned the lights on in a room I’ve been wandering around in in the dark.
Yes, it’s scary, but for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like a blank page or a plot hole I can’t figure out.
It feels like a story waiting to be written.
One where the boy next door might be the leading man after all.
And now I know that? I have to tell him.
But first, more wine…