Page 47 of The Ghost of Exes Past

‘And that was—?’

‘I was going through something, Jake.’

He pauses, eyebrow raised. ‘I wanna play that.’

I glare at him.

‘Seriously, though – again, I’m impressed.’ He nods. ‘It’s not easy to say, “You’re boring,” without saying, “You’re boring.”’ He grins at me.

‘He might have been boring, but you know what he never did?’ I say, watching Arthur pat Gavin on the sofa, cheeks red. ‘He never once laughed at my insecurities. Never made me feel like a joke.’

Jake’s grin fades, just slightly. A tiny reaction. I’ll take it.

‘I’m just saying, being boring has its perks.’

He’s quiet for a moment and I watch as he properly looks at Arthur, then at me, then back at Arthur, who is now blowing his nose into an already wet tissue while Gavin headbutts his chin. The expression on Jake’s face is one I can’t decipher. Like something’s turning behind his eyes. He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns back to me.

‘So, learning much about yourself?’ he says, quieter than before.

‘I think so? I’ve been trying to look for the meaning …’ I shrug, words trailing off. ‘Do you think that’s the point? Is that what your psychopomp wants?’

Jake pauses, runs his hands through his thick, dark hair. ‘His name is Gabriel. Well, Gabe. And honestly, I don’t really know what he wants.’

So neither of us knows why I’m having to go through this? I roll my shoulders back and look to younger me. She’s hugging Arthur now, patting his back, peeking at the watch on her wrist. He doesn’t catch it.

‘Why me, do you think? Why would I be at risk of soul destruction, out of everyone in your life?’

‘Uh, maybe because you fucked Vik?’

‘Then why not visit Vik? He fucked me back!’

‘Fair point.’ He nods. ‘I don’t really know. I just do what he says.’

I stare at him. He’s been dead ten years and that’s the best he’s got?

‘Right, so you’ve upended my entire life the night before my wedding on the instructions of someone you can’t explain and for reasons you don’t know.’ Jake remains silent and shrugs, again.

‘Great. Really reassuring. Well, what’s he like? This Gabe?’ I ask. I imagine a hooded, cloaked figure. Or maybe just a presence? Or maybe he has horns – half-man, half-bull, like a Minotaur?

Jake sticks his chin out, scratches his stubble. ‘He’s stubborn. Grumpy. Sarcastic.’

‘Hm … He sounds like you.’

‘Ha. I know, right.’

Okay, so a Minotaur with Jake’s face. Permanently growling. I try to picture this ‘in-between’. Try to imagine Jake and Gabe together, and I can’t. My imagination keeps defaulting to a white waiting room full of plastic chairs and old magazines about caravan parks. A water cooler that bubbles occasionally.

Is it too warm or too cold? How many other people are around? Is he lonely there?

‘Are you okay, where you’ve been? The in-between?’ My mind now switches to the waiting room in Beetlejuice. That was always one of Jake’s favourite films. Now I visualise a shrunken head alongside Gabe the Minotaur, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, neon lights.

‘Do you want the truth?’ Jake says.

That’s a stupid question. ‘Why would I want a lie?’

‘Okay, truthfully … No, it’s not great. Nothing’s bad but also, nothing’s good.’

‘Are there shrunken heads?’ I ask. Jake looks at me like I’ve just tried to order an oat milk matcha in a greasy spoon.