‘I will if you will,’ Rosie told her, deftly plucking the breadstick from the front of her stripy t-shirt so she could point it at Niamh. ‘I don’t want to talk about work all night.’
‘Because you don’t want the standard lecture on how you’re too good for that place?’
‘Precisely.’
‘But youaretoo good for that place,’ Niamh argued, her dark brown eyes wide. She swept her long braids, some of which were decorated with shining silver beads, over one elegant shoulder. ‘You’re six years into a temporary job, Rose. Whatever happened to going back to uni? Pursuing your dreams?’
‘Niamh,’ Rosie moaned, not wanting to dwell on her aborted attempt at getting a degree. ‘Life happened. Rent. Grocery shopping. The gas bill. And I’m not sure I ever really had a dream beyond not living with my parents.’
‘So that’s it. Life goal achieved?’
‘Maybe. God knows, James’s new job is swish enough for the both of us. “Chief Information Officer” sounds impressive, right? And I daresay I’m as happy as the next person – though I’ll be happier still when I’ve got a massive bowl of pasta in front of me.’
Rosie prayed this clumsy attempt to change the subject would work. She and Niamh had known each other since they attended the same sixth form and, although their lives had taken quite different directions, remained incredibly close. They could talk to one another about anything, but Rosie’s career – or lack thereof – had long been a sore point between them.
Their waitress reappeared to take their order, and both women requested the day’s special: penne pasta with shredded courgette, chilli, pecorino cheese and toasted pumpkin seeds. Rosie asked for a side of garlic bread for good measure, ignoring the dire voice in her head that warned against eating so much refined starch.
‘Double carbs? Nice work,’ Niamh said. ‘Do I take it there’s still a moratorium on them at your place?’
‘Sadly, yes,’ Rosie confirmed. ‘I can barely remember the last time I ate a meal that wasn’t designed to perfectly reflect James’s macros.’
‘Sounds like a giant pain in the arse,’ Niamh said, ‘mainly for you, since I assume you’re the one cooking dinners devoid of rice, bread and potatoes?’
‘Well, yeah – you know James isn’t the best in the kitchen. And as far as giant arses are concerned, I’m pretty peeved mine hasn’t shrunk in the past couple of months, despite almost daily consumption of kale.’
‘Your arse is lovely just the way it is,’ Niamh told her, laughing.
‘It’s really not,’ Rosie replied. ‘I feel worse than ever about it just lately – and the rest of me, too, of course.’ She gestured at herself, her fingertips sweeping up and down to indicate her head, chest, stomach and everything else currently concealed beneath the Formica-topped table.
Niamh frowned. ‘You aregorgeous,’ she said. ‘I hate hearing you shit-talk yourself – I thought you’d vowed to stop doing it.’
‘I know,’ Rosie mumbled. ‘And Ihave. But I suspect body positivity is easier for those of us who’ve never been above a size eight.’
‘You can’t live your life worrying about whether you meet other people’s bullshit expectations,’ Niamh said sagely. ‘I might be slim, but have you any idea how many times I’ve rocked up to meet a client I’ve spoken to on the phone, only to witness their shock that I don’t look like one of The Corrs? Somehow, nobody imagines an Irishwoman who’s less Enya, more Zendaya … Anyway. What I’m saying is, anyone worth bothering with will appreciate you as youare. They won’t fixate on what you’re not.’
‘All right,’ Rosie said. ‘Point taken. It’s just hard with James constantly quaffing protein shakes and droning on about CrossFit. At least he’s stopped trying to convince me to do it with him.’
Niamh guffawed heartily at this. ‘Sorry, sorry … It’s just the idea of you trying to lug a tyre around or do that thing with the ropes …’
‘I know,’ Rosie agreed, giggling too. ‘Though to be fair the idea ofJamesdoing it would have been ridiculous a few months ago. For the first nine years of our relationship,Iwas the healthy one: walking everywhere, the occasional park run … actually eating foods that grew in nature and didn’t come in foil trays from Deliveroo. Until recently, James’s only form of regular exercise was strolling to the corner shop when we’d run out of Coke and crisps.’
‘D’you think it’ll stick?’ Niamh asked. ‘I mean, not to be negative, but I remember his “I’m going to learn to ride a motorbike” phase. And that time he got obsessed with brewing his own beer.Andthe several weeks he spent insisting he could play the ukulele.’
Rosie shook her head and grinned. ‘Who knows? He seems pretty committed at the moment, and the healthy eating thing is broadly agooddevelopment – but I won’t be sorry if he rolls it back a bit and allows bread in the house again at some stage.’
Niamh laughed again. ‘So is he looking all ripped, now? Has he developed muscles in places you’d never previously suspected they might lurk?’
‘Er. Not really, no. I mean, he’s lost some weight, obviously – but it’s not like he’s turned into Magic Mike over the summer.’
‘Pity …’ Niamh said, spearing a piece of penne with her fork the second their food arrived. ‘I wonder what brought on this fitness mania, though? Health scare? Midlife crisis?’
‘We arenotmiddle-aged,’ Rosie insisted.
‘Did you hear from Gather yet?’ Niamh asked suddenly, remembering that her friend had been awaiting feedback on a volunteer position she’d interviewed for. Gather was a charity helpline for under-25s, and Rosie had applied to answer calls for a few hours each week – an easy investment of time now James spent so many mornings and evenings at the gym.
The organisation helped young people navigate issues with relationships, education, family and housing by lending a kind, non-judgemental listening ear. It was the sort of work Rosie had once imagined she’d do professionally – and it was exciting to think she could find some fulfilment of an old ambition without completely upending her life. She might not have the psychology degree or counselling training she’d hoped for, but she could still make a difference to people in need.
‘I did!’ she said, unable to stop herself from gushing. ‘I’m in! I’ll start my training in January.’
