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“Yeah. It’s such a shit vibe,” I tell him. “And I don’t even know if Parks is like, you know — if she’d—”
“Oh, fuck—” Jonah holds his forehead. “I forgot how annoying you two are.”
“Like, why the fuck has she come back?” I shrug my shoulders. “I thought she was happy in New York. She was hanging out with the Paltrows, for fuck’s sake—”
“Oh.” Jonah sighs, pushing his thumb into his temple, and stares at me for a long few seconds. “I’m going to have to start taking Ashwagandha.” He nods to himself, moving towards the tea cupboard.
“I mean, what’s in London for her anyway? It’s like she has this radar, and it’s like, I’m fine — for the first time in like, fuck, I don’t know, years? And she smells it on me and comes back to fuck me up.”
He keeps nodding, riffling through the boxes. “So much Ashwagandha.”
“Do you think she’s back for me?”
Jo snatches a Fortum & Mason tin from the pantry and pegs it at me. “Yes, I think she’s back for you, you fucking idiot.”
He bends back over the bench, hangs his head in his hands. He rubs his eyes, tired. “Beej, you belong together.”
I frown a bit. “Yeah?”
“Man, how can you not know that after what you told us last week?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Since Paili, we’ve never been easy. It’s only been hard.”
Jo rolls his eyes. “I’ve never seen easier chemistry between people—”
“—But—”
“—You just get off on pissing each other off.” I give him a look but he just shrugs. “You do. I mean, you know me, man. I don’t believe in that true love bullshit, okay?” He shakes his head. “That fucking Brontë, Shakespearean soulmates shit, I think it’s a thing we say to girls to get laid… But whatever you and Parks have, it’s what those fuckwits were writing about.”
I glance at him. “By ‘fuckwits’ you mean Shakespeare and Brontë?”
“Yeah.” He nods.
“Right.” I sniff.
I squint over at him. “So end it?”
He nods emphatically. “End it.”
