Again, we nod.
“We need to prove that we have . . .” Wait, what was the word Eksteen used? “Cohesion,” I say.
“How are you going to do that?” Abs asks.
I shrug.
“Kind of thought it wouldn’t have been an issue, that it’s something we’d be able to show him on the pitch, but I guess there are a few things to iron out,” Pi says.
“How long have you got?”
“End of season, I think?” Pi looks at me, but I can only heave my shoulders again. This whole planning, puzzle-solving shit isn’t my forte.
“Mmm, idea.” Orlando pushes himself out of his slouched position. He’s like a spider unfurling its legs. “You know what would really show cohesion?”
“What?” Pi asks, pandering to Abs’s boyfriend’s obvious flair for dramatics.
Orlando leans against the back of the booth seat and places his fingers together in a steeple shape. “A dance routine.”
Everyone laughs but Pi.
“I love it,” I say.
“No.” Pi pivots his torso to me. His eyebrows have moulded themselves into one thick blonde bar, and he’s shaking his head like I’ve lost my mind. “What the fuck? No.”
I slide my hand up his leg and cup his inner thigh. “It’s a great way to show that we can work together. Also that you’re willing to step out of your comfort zone, and that I can organise and manage something.” My fingertips dip under the hem of his shorts. It’s a dangerous game, I’m already bricked, and Pi looks like he wants to slap me.
He closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose. “I’ll think about it.”
I punch the air. I grew up with siblings, so I know “I’ll think about it” is as good as a “yes.”
Orlando pops his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and pretends to tuck hair behind his ear.
“I can’t wait,” Abs says. “I’ve never been in a dance group thingy before.”
“No, no, no.” Pi holds up his hand. “If this happens, and that’s a big if, it’ll just be Eggs and me.”
“But—” Abs begins, but I give him a look and cut him off. It’s a “let me work on him” look, and he’s quiet in an instant. He turns to Orlando, his eyes wide with excitement.
All of this escapes Pi’s notice, thankfully. The waiter is nearby with our drinks, and Pi’s having his “new restaurant menu panic,” or NRMP for short. I ate here during the Easter hols when Mum and Stu brought Logan up, and I doubt the menu has changed much since then. It’s not a long menu. There’s a starters bit, a burgers section, a seafood column, and a handful of desserts. I pick out the double cheeseburger for myself and skim the rest of the items.
Pi is a very particular eater. For example, he will eat chicken, but only if he’s prepared the meat—or watched me prepare it—and has cut off all the “grotty” bits. He also won’t eat it if he thinks it’s too spongy, looks wet, he imagines there’s pink on the inside, or if it’s too “chickeny.” He’s less fussy about beef, but I have seen him gag in public on gristle, so burgers are definitely out. He loves fish, though, but not tinned fish, and not seafood. And he likes brassicas but will recoil at the sight of broccoli. He has an aversion to all beans except edamame and jelly, which . . . fair.
He hates eggs. Loves cheese. Likes tofu. Loathes sausages.
He won’t eat strawberries or blueberries, and is touch and go about bananas, but he’ll inhale grapefruit, oranges, kumquats, anything citrus. One time he bought five of these softball-sized fruits called pomelos from Lidl. I’d never even heard of them before, and they tasted okay, I guess, but Pi smashed the lot in three days.
He likes mushrooms, and coriander, and olives, Marmite and Vegemite, things that a lot of people are in universal agreementsuck, and yet I have witnessed him physically retching at the thought of bacon.
Bacon!
It’s possible that his taste buds were fried when he was in utero.
He’s worse than Logan.
“Halloumi fries to start, fish tacos for main, probably with this pomegranate side salad jollop, and Jolly Roger bread and butter pudding with coconut ice cream for dessert,” I say to him, pointing to each menu item so he has time to read all the ingredients and descriptions.
“Ooh,” he says, eyes lighting up. “That sounds good. That’s what you’re having?”
