‘I care about you,’ he blabbers on, ‘and?—’
‘I’m going to powder my nose.’ I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin.
His eyes blow wide. ‘Jules, wait, I?—’
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘I didn’t mean?—’
‘Eat your starter, Tom.’
There’s no point explaining myself to him. I don’t need him to get it. He thinks caring about someone is criticising everything they’ve built? He’s got a lot to learn. Tiago would?—
Urgh, why is my brain stuck in a loop?!
I don’t even know why I’m stung. This isn’t the first time a partner’s thought me inferior. In fact, I ensure it. I guess I thought… Tom’s a nice guy. And maybe he still is. If he truly believes he’s being supportive, he’s nowhere near Brennan’s level of dickishness.
Or maybe I’m stung because a tiny part of me still, after all this time, doesn’t feel enough.
One of the tall French doors is open to let the breeze in and I escape through it, brushing a lone tear away. There’s no music or voices out here, only the rapid clink of my heels against the stone. Plane trees tower over manicured gardens, and there’s a horsey water feature in the middle, faintly lit from below. It smells old and earthy, and there’s a sobering chill to the air.
My phone’s shrill ring breaks the calm, and my heart jumps when I see who’s calling. I consider not picking up, but the longing to hear his voice is a physical need. It’s only been four days – how can I miss him this much?
I want to sound angry, really I do, but my mouth doesn’t listen and it comes out embarrassingly sincere. ‘Hello?’
‘Who’s that dick inOne Tree Hillwho works in the record store and refers to himself in the third person?’
I’m so confused I don’t answer immediately, but the sound of his voice reaches into me and soothes me.
‘Jules, are you there? He sings with Haley and?—’
‘Tyler Hilton?’
‘Yes! He’s playing Elvis in this movie I’m watching. It’s been bugging me for ages. I knew you’d know.’
I perch on the wall next to an iron lantern. ‘Glad to be of service.’
‘You’re good with things like that.’
I swallow the urge to point out that it’d have been quicker to have IMDB’d it, but I’m so glad he didn’t. I’d rather rib him instead. ‘You just love phoning people, don’t you? Call yourself a millennial.’
‘Who says millennials don’t call people?’
‘Millennials are scared of calls. It’s in our blood.’
‘That’s dumb. It’s the quickest way to communicate with someone.’
‘It’s intrusive. What if I was in the middle of something?’
He knows tonight is The Champions and Constructor’s Circle Dinner, and he knows plus ones are allowed.
‘Are you in the middle of something?’ he asks, the timbre of his voice shifting.
‘I’m always in the middle of something.’
‘That’s what happens when you’re a world-class media mogul.’
I could cry. I don’t, because of makeup, but my eyes prickle all the same. I look up to the blackened sky to be safe, feeling like everything’s wrong. How I wish he was a champion and overheard Tom’s callous words. He’d understand, he always does.
