“Oh yeah, I’d better go do my, um, errands,” I replied. We got our coats and walked out together, my heart beating with anticipation and nerves as I prepared my right hand for a fist bump, praying he would do something normal like hug me.
We stood outside in the cold, looking at each other in awkward silence. “It’s been really nice, Ellie,” he eventually said.
Then, next thing I knew, his pale face leaned in towards me. I could see every freckle and every pore and suddenly his pink lips were on mine. I stood, frozen in shock, as his lips planted themselves onto mine. As he kissed me, I started to come back to life and slowly kissed him back, trying to not think about the fact that we both tasted of stale coffee. I made my lips move against his, and when he tried to put his tongue in, I ignored it so blatantly that it eventually withdrew.
After a few minutes, we stopped kissing and pulled away. I looked at his green eyes, smiling directly at me from their crinkly corners, and I felt something in me melt. He was really attractive up close and he actually liked me.
“I’ll text you,” he said, and I jumped as his words pulled me back to reality. “And I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I said, and smiled at him as he hugged me and walked away, putting his hand in the air as a kind of wave.
I turned around and walked back to the tube, a huge smile glued onto my face. He had kissed me! And I had my first proper date lined up. A grin broke out on my face and I couldn’t wipe it off for the entire one-and-a-half-hour train journey home. I couldn’t believe we both loved writing—and, okay, so I didn’t really understand his, but it sounded incredibly intellectual. And he loved cartoons. At this rate, he might actually become my boyfriend one day.
I did a tiny jump when I ran up my driveway. My mum almost fainted with shock when I hugged her as I walked into our house. Fuck you, Nikki Pitsillides, with your druggie unemployed boyfriend. I have a date with a graphic designer who thinks I’m clever and funny.
I’d found my devirginizer.
I ran into Emma’s arms, hugging her happily. “Oh my God, I have so much to tell you!” I squealed at her.
“Me too, babe!” she said, hugging me back just as hard. “Spanish guys are beautiful, and oh my God, are they talented.”
I laughed and we sat down on a velvet banquette in a new French café that had just opened in Soho. “Tell me everything,” she said. “You saw that guy, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” I grinned. “We went for an impromptu coffee, and at the end, he kissed me! And he asked me out—you currently have the privilege of liaising with a woman who has a real date tomorrow night.”
“AAAAAAH!” she screeched, making everyone in the quiet café turn to stare at us. “I’m so happy for you. This is so exciting. What’s he like, where are you going and how was the snog?”
“It was amazing,” I gushed. Then I paused. “Except . . . he kind of has a tendency to be a bit pretentious at times. I don’t really get all the political stuff he talks about.”
Emma nodded wisely and clasped her hands together like a sage. “Let me impart some of my wisdom. What you have here is a classic case of Unrealistic Expectations That Disney Gave Me.”
“What are you on about, Em?”
“Look,” she said, spreading her hands out. “You watched Disney films while growing up, right?”
“Obviously. I used to wish I was Jasmine from Aladdin.”
“Exactly, like most girls. We all wished we were Disney princesses and we believed our Prince Charming was going to swoop in on his magic carpet or whatever. But, unfortunately, Walt Disney has made an entire generation of independent women turn to jelly the second they meet a decent guy because they pray to God he is going to be their Aladdin. And he never is, because no men are going to live up to their cartoon representations.”
I leaned back against a satin cushion and pondered this. “Okay, I see your point,” I said cautiously. “Men aren’t going to be as amazing as we want them to be, because we’re probably nothing like the princesses either. But surely we will still meet incredible guys one day?”
“Yes, I fucking hope so,” she said. “But how incredible? We just don’t know. And I, for one, am not going to spend my twenties, aka my hottest years, waiting for a guy who may or may not exist. Instead I’m going to have as much fun as possible and date the most decent guys I can find. You’ve just got to remember that guys will have their faults, but so long as they seem nice-ish and you’re attracted to them, the rest doesn’t matter. You’re only twenty-one, babe; that’s so young. I’m basically a granny compared to you. But those two gap years were worth every second,” she added wistfully. “Anyway, at the end of the day, just enjoy it while you can and if this guy is nice, go for it. Nice is rare these days.”