I unwind his hands from my torso. Turn my body so that I’m looking in his eyes, which are glistening in the corners. ‘Avie, what I’m trying to say is, I want to be a part of your life in a way that isn’t like it is now…’
My hand strokes his cheek. ‘I know and you’ve been so good and so fucking patient and I don’t deserve it…’
‘Of course you deserve it,’ he persists.
‘I…’ I shake my head. I could tell him everything now, lay everything on the table about Florian, about how complicated this whole thing is, the reason why Archie is even here in the first place, but he looks so bloody hopeful that I can’t bring myself to do it. ‘I just need a bit more time, Archie.’
He falters. ‘But you do want it too don’t you, eventually?’
I think of last night, being a couple again, how easy it made things, how the world was built around not being on your own. Mum will be ecstatic, the conversations about dating will stop, there’ll be someone to go to dinner with, or pick me up from the train station, I could split rent, move somewhere new, start again. I won’t end up kissing my brother-in-law because he showed me a basic level of kindness. I won’t be alone.
‘Yes,’ I say earnestly. ‘Yes, I want it.’
His happiness is intoxicating, the look of relief on his face contagious. For a moment I wonder if I’ve agreed to marry him. I slip out of the bed and stetch out my limbs that have been contorted into positions they hadn’t been in for a while.
‘Where are you going?’ He lies back in the bed, arms behind his head watching me.
‘Oh, running away.’ I shrug, reach for my pants and throw his shirt on over the top for decency in case someone catches a glimpse through a window.
‘I’ll take mine black with no sugar,’ he shouts after me.
I turn the radio on. The apartment is warmer than it has been; it’s meant to be the first properly warm day of the year – a spring heatwave – which has caused some more protests about climate change but I’m quite glad I can at least be here to enjoy some sun.
I fill the percolator and place it onto a burner on the stove. The buzzer goes. It’s strange for a Saturday; no one buzzes for me apart from The American. However sometimes people read the names wrong on the interface, so I press the button to the main door regardless and start preparing some eggs. I turn the radio up, dance around as the coffee boils and the eggs start to whiten in the pan.
I feel like my senses have ignited. I feel everything, notice the cobwebs in the corner, a new little watercolour sparrow on the side of the fridge, how much the basil plant has grown in the corner. What I clearly don’t notice is the knocking at the door, the person calling my name. I only notice when it’s too late, when Florian Grenaud is standing in an open doorway grinning wildly at me dancing in my underwear.
‘Fuck!’ I scream as I notice him. I look down, realise my predicament and turn to the wall, furiously buttoning up the shirt until it covers most of my modesty. ‘What the fuck, Florian?’
‘You buzzed me in!’ He holds up his hands and when I turn back around, he keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.
‘I thought it was a mistake.’
‘I’ve been knocking for a while; I rang you too.’
‘Yeah, well I’ve been… busy.’ I look around at the kitchen, rush to turn the radio down.
‘I can see that.’
‘What are you doing here anyway?’
He shuts the door behind him, aware that whilst I haven’t exactly invited him in, we’re probably past pleasantries now.
‘I haven’t seen you around.’
‘Not a coincidence,’ I answer back quickly and push the second cup out of view.
‘I’m not here to bring it all back up again, it was… well it was what it was, but I’ve started getting quite used to seeing you around, I might even go so far as to say I enjoy your company.’
‘Well, that’s great.’
‘Come down to the river tomorrow with me.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s meant to be hot, you have no transport, thought it might do you good to get out.’
‘Oh, that’s kind but I’m busy…’
