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“She didn’t! She just mentioned it, but she’s not actively worried. I’m the one who’s worried because, well, I know it can be sad moving out. The first few months are fun because you can do whatever you want and can pretend that you’re an actual, proper adult. And then bam — the horrible realisation that you’re no longer a kid kicks in.”
I stare at my mocha. When I raise my eyes, Jemima smiles at me. A soft, encouraging smile.
“I’m not sad about not being a kid anymore. Being a kid sucked. Well, being a teenager sucked, being a kid was okay” —and here I am, thinking about climbing trees in the playground with Lucas — “the point is, it’s not that.”
“It’s Lucas.”
“He’s just a butthead. I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to live with him.”
“What did he do?”
Oh, you know, he just had sex with my girlfriend, then had sex with me, then he kneeled on the floor and told me he loved me.
I still can’t accept what he said to me. It would be like saying “okay” to someone telling you that the earth is flat. Then imagine that person’s a scientist.
“He…he’s just so mean,” I answer eventually.
Jemima’s brows come together sympathetically. She’s about to say something consoling, but I don’t want to talk about Lucas. I already think about him enough as it is and I hate that he takes up so much space in my brain.
“Cleo and I aren’t together anymore,” I say to change the subject.
“Shit.” Jemima takes a long sip of her matcha, looking as if she’s thinking deeply. “Was it mutual?”
“No. She ghosted me.”
Jemima’s face crumples with pity, and now more than ever I wish Cleo had broken up with me in person. I wish she’d yelled and slapped me in the face, anything but just disappearing without a word, anything but making me feel small and meaningless.
“Oh, Charlie,” she says.
“I know. It’s been three weeks, and I still feel like shit.”
“That’s completely reasonable.”
“Yeah, but it’s like things haven’t gotten better in the slightest. I still feel just as terrible as I did when it happened. When is time going to do its thing and make it suck less? I’m sick of waiting.”
Jemima swishes around her drink. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can feel your feelings or distract yourself.”
“The second option. But I’ve been trying to distract myself and it’s not helping.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Studying. Working.”
“Charlie, you need to distract yourself with fun stuff.”
“Well, I’ve been doing that too,” I say defensively. “I read and watch movies, which is somewhat fun.”
“What about going to the gym?”
I recoil, because the word ‘gym’ conjures up images of Lucas in the kitchen every morning, making a protein shake and wearing a singlet and shorts and running shoes.
I’m only pointing it out because you look so skinny. Better gain some muscle or Clarice is gonna dump your ass.
I grit my teeth at the memory of Lucas’s text. How could he make such comments about my body, then claim he’s been in love with me this entire time? What a joke.
“The gym? Are you saying I look too scrawny or something?” I snap. Jemima frowns, and I immediately regret my tone.
“Of course not, Charlie. I’m just saying that exercise might cheer you up. It doesn’t have to be the gym, that’s just what I do… Didn’t you say you started volleyball? Have you still been going to that?”
