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“Yes?”
He knows what I’m going to say before I say it — I can see the melancholy in the line of his mouth, the resignation in his eyes. Maybe it’s been there all dinner and I didn’t notice.
“I just want to be friends. I want to go back to normal.”
"Alright," he says, his tone casual. "Friends it is."
“What happened this afternoon…it can’t happen again.”
“I know.”
“It’s not that I regret it, or that I didn’t enjoy it —”
He cuts me off with a sad smile. “I know, Charlie. I get it.”
*
I hate to prove Jemima right, but going to volleyball was a good idea. I’ve continued going weekly, and I’m even making an effort to eat well and sleep early.
Since the dinner at the Singaporean restaurant, Lucas and I have settled into friendship. Or, at least, as close as we can get. I’ll admit, sometimes when he comes back from the gym, wearing a black singlet and his skin shiny with sweat, my thoughts go somewhere decidedly not platonic.
I also admit that sometimes, when I catch sight of his black sheets in the washing machine, I’ll think about him and Cleo. But that’s only sometimes. The memory of Cleo is no longer the wound it used to be. It’s healing.
Aside from Lucas, I spend a lot of time with Hugo. It only occurred to me recently how much I neglected him after getting a girlfriend, but now I see how important my friendships are, and I try my best to show how much I appreciate him.
I’d do the same with Gilly, but I think his social life has gotten even more hectic in the past month. That, coupled with assignments piling up, means that I still haven’t seen him since his birthday. I’ve texted him a couple of times in an attempt to catch up, but he’s always been busy. Hugo has barely seen him either — only in the kitchen of their student accommodation building, when he’s been chugging a red bull at 11 P.M in an attempt to finish an essay.
I message Gilly again today, determined to hang out with him, even if it’s only for fifteen minutes. He replies that he’s going to be at the library, busy studying, but I ask if he can spare a moment to grab some bubble tea.
I watch the dots on my screen as he composes a message. For the first time, I wonder if he just doesn’t want to hang out with me. Maybe he thinks I’m a loser like Cleo did. Like the boys in high school did. Maybe I’m annoying him; maybe I’m dense, refusing to see the hints he’s been dropping —
I force myself to stop that train of thought. If Jemima were here, she’d shake my shoulders and tell me to stop jumping to conclusions.
Don’t be so pessimistic, I tell myself. Don’t be so self-deprecating. We’re not doing that anymore.
My phone vibrates as Gilly’s response comes through.
Gilly: ok yeah I can do 3 if that suits?
Charlie: perfect see you then :D
See? Nothing to worry about.
*
I wait for Gilly at the bubble tea place in the university’s cafeteria, the same place I sat with him, Hugo and Lucas at the beginning of the semester, when I told them about my first dates with Cleo. That day feels so long ago.
When he arrives, I give him a wide smile. “Hey! Long time, no see.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says in his usual booming voice.
After grabbing our drinks, we sit down at one of the tables. Gilly stabs his straw into the plastic covering of the drink but messes up, and matcha green liquid seeps out and onto the table. He swears as he mops up the mess with napkins.
“I hate it when that happens,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. He takes a long sip of his drink, then chews on the tapioca, eyes trained on something in the distance. I notice his fingers are fidgeting on the table.
I frown. “Is something wrong?” I ask, nodding at his fingers.
