I felt little vibrations of ecstasy running through my body. He was inadvertently telling me he loved me. I had changed him. I, Ellie Kolstakis, was capable of making someone change his life. How could I ever have doubted him? He was just terrified that I would reject him. I felt like laughing at the irony of it all. He really liked me. I wanted to punch the air triumphantly. It took all my self-control to not jump up and kiss his worried-looking face.
He carried on. “So, that’s why I’m . . . explaining all of this. She changed me the second I met her and I just fell for her.”
This third-person tense thing was starting to freak me out. Couldn’t he just use the pronoun “you” instead? The Ginger Zinger didn’t feel so good in my delicate tummy either.
“I met her last year,” he said, “so it wasn’t overlapping with you—don’t worry. She ended things with me just before I met you.” He paused. “She’s Brazilian.”
I felt my stomach sink. He was talking about someone else. This entire speech. It was about someone else. Not me. He didn’t love me. We didn’t have a profound connection. He had it with her. Someone else. I felt sick. Tears pricked my eyelids.
He kept going. “It’s just . . . I really liked her and she told me she was only here for a few months and was going to go back to Brazil. So she didn’t want anything serious. Which broke my heart. Then I met you, and we hung out a bit, but you and I were obviously never going to be serious. We’re more friends than lovers, right?” He nudged me.
My heart fell into my lace-edged socks. Friends, not lovers. The phrase spun round in my head and went into neon green letters bigger than VIRGIN on Dr. E. Bowers’ computer. I was ready to cry. He looked at me expectantly. I gathered together the tiny modicum of strength I had left inside me. I made a big, unnatural smile appear on my face.
“Sure,” I said.
“Ah, I knew you’d understand,” he said, grinning gratefully. “The way you are with me . . . really jokey and silly. It’s what makes me love you as a friend. You’re hilarious. The way you kid about everything, even your virginity. It’s nice you wanted to lose it to me as a friend—it’s way better than loads of girls who just give it away on a drunken one-night stand or to a guy who breaks their heart, you know? At least this way, we’ll always stay friends. I think you’re great.”
I nodded mutely. Friends, not lovers. Heart. Broken. Ow.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you about Luisa. I need a girl’s perspective. I just . . . Do you believe in love? Do you think she’s the one for me and I should fight for her, or do I just let her go?” he asked anxiously.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t sit here and advise him on another girl. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt before. I wanted to cry hot, salty tears of humiliation. I wanted to undo everything. I wished I’d never met him. I wanted Lara.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said breezily, gulping away sobs before they appeared on my face. “I reckon . . . um . . . if she is the one, it will happen. In its own way. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”
“Do you really think so?” he asked, leaning towards me. He was so passionate and cared so much . . . about someone else. Why was I still sitting there, giving him advice? I needed to get the fuck out.
“Oh my God,” I said loudly. “Is that the time? I totally forgot—I double-booked myself! I said I’d meet a friend. I have to go. Shit. Call me, though—we can chat about Luisa and, um, stuff.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, looking confused. “What’s the time?”
Bugger, what was the time? “Way later than I thought it was!” I quipped, and grabbed my bag. I gave him a quick wave and ran out, leaving him looking around the café for a clock.
I reached a hidden alleyway around the corner and collapsed to the ground. I felt so stupid. How could I have thought he was talking about me? How could I have believed that Jack wanted to be my boyfriend when really he just thought of me as a friend? He hadn’t even liked me through any of this. God, I felt so used. When we were sharing our writing, laughing together, sleeping together . . . he’d probably been thinking about this Luisa the whole time. I dropped my head into my hands and cried.
I lay on my bed, clutching a glass of rosé. The girls were sprawled over my duvet alongside an open pizza box. I’d cried all evening but now I was well on my way to the next stage in the grief cycle. I’d done denial, sorrow and now, fueled with wine and pizza, I was on ANGER.