it.
“When we’ve finished up here, we’ll head straight to the outlets. That should give us a clear three-hour outletting gap, then back here to Chez Nous for an early dinner with the boys. Then back to Bastard Ionic Bonder Adam’s place to pack your stuff and move you to Tish’s place.”
Perhaps now would be a good time to mention the new plan.
“Actually, I’m not moving out just yet,” I tell them, as I concentrate all my attention on my plate.
“I mean, why should I rush? After all, he asked me to move in. Which is exactly why I don’t have my own apartment anymore. Why should the bastard get rid of me so easily? He deserves to suffer,” I add, warming to my theme.
“Good for you,” Rachel tells me. “Get the fucking locks changed, that will really piss him off. You could hold a decorating party. We could all come over and help paint it some really disgusting color.”
I knew Rachel would approve!
“Emma, are you sure about this?” Tish asks, her brow furrowed with concern. “Sweetie, wouldn’t it be better just to make a clean break and move out? You’ve already been hurt—why risk more?”
“Because he’s a fucking ionic bonder who deserves to suffer,” Rachel rants. “You go, girl.”
“Well, if you think it’s the right thing to do…” Tish trails off, and I wonder if she has a point. Do I really want to stay there with all the memories of happier times?
As we leave the café, I feel more depressed than vengeful.
Glancing across the road, I see Rufus watching Tish walk down the street. And I don’t know if it’s just the sunlight blinding me, even through my sunshades, but his expression freezes me in my tracks. Every nerve end of his body is filled with longing.
And I wonder if Adam ever looked at me like that?
Sunday supper at Chez Nous reminds me of old times with good friends. After two glasses of Chardonnay to go with the delicious coq au vin, followed by crème brûlée and a large snifter of Chivas Regal, I’m feeling very mellow as I glance around the table.
Sunday evenings are always quiet, so when David and Sylvester first opened Chez Nous, we made a point of eatinghere to boost Sunday sales. That was two years ago, and we’re still eating here. And Sunday evenings are still quiet. Apart from the older couple and the two yuppie types, we have the place to ourselves.
Tish, Rachel, Katy, Tom, Sylvester, and David (although Sylvester and David have been taking it in turns to spend time in the kitchen to cook and serve the delicious food). And little Alex, of course, peacefully asleep on the couch in the corner, despite the noise of our chatter and laughter. When he was a baby, Katy and Tom made a point of placing his bassinet close to the television so he’d be able to sleep through anything.
It certainly worked, and when I have my babies, I will do this too. Except not with television, but with music. Led Zeppelin, obviously. Which will not only teach them to sleep despite the noise, but will also give them excellent taste in music. Yes, I will definitely do this with my babies. I fondly imagine Adam and me standing over the bassinet, gazing lovingly at the blonde cherub sleeping soundly to the strains of “Stairway to Heaven”…Oh. Except I won’t be having Adam’s babies…
I wonder what they’re doing now…I feel the buildup of tears behind my eyes as my imagination conjures up images of Adam and Stella feeding each other lobster on a candlelit terrace, Adam and Stella strolling hand in hand on a lovely, romantic Bahamian beach, the waves lapping at their ankles…Adam, hopping around in horrendously complete agony after being stung by a jellyfish…
You know, now I come to think of it, since moving in with Adam I’ve only been back once for Sunday supper. And that was the time I brought him with me to meet everyone, which wasn’t exactly a success. Why didn’t I realize then that our relationship was doomed? Was I blind?
If I ever get
“When we’ve finished up here, we’ll head straight to the outlets. That should give us a clear three-hour outletting gap, then back here to Chez Nous for an early dinner with the boys. Then back to Bastard Ionic Bonder Adam’s place to pack your stuff and move you to Tish’s place.”
Perhaps now would be a good time to mention the new plan.
“Actually, I’m not moving out just yet,” I tell them, as I concentrate all my attention on my plate.
“I mean, why should I rush? After all, he asked me to move in. Which is exactly why I don’t have my own apartment anymore. Why should the bastard get rid of me so easily? He deserves to suffer,” I add, warming to my theme.
“Good for you,” Rachel tells me. “Get the fucking locks changed, that will really piss him off. You could hold a decorating party. We could all come over and help paint it some really disgusting color.”
I knew Rachel would approve!
“Emma, are you sure about this?” Tish asks, her brow furrowed with concern. “Sweetie, wouldn’t it be better just to make a clean break and move out? You’ve already been hurt—why risk more?”
“Because he’s a fucking ionic bonder who deserves to suffer,” Rachel rants. “You go, girl.”
“Well, if you think it’s the right thing to do…” Tish trails off, and I wonder if she has a point. Do I really want to stay there with all the memories of happier times?
As we leave the café, I feel more depressed than vengeful.
Glancing across the road, I see Rufus watching Tish walk down the street. And I don’t know if it’s just the sunlight blinding me, even through my sunshades, but his expression freezes me in my tracks. Every nerve end of his body is filled with longing.
And I wonder if Adam ever looked at me like that?
Sunday supper at Chez Nous reminds me of old times with good friends. After two glasses of Chardonnay to go with the delicious coq au vin, followed by crème brûlée and a large snifter of Chivas Regal, I’m feeling very mellow as I glance around the table.
Sunday evenings are always quiet, so when David and Sylvester first opened Chez Nous, we made a point of eatinghere to boost Sunday sales. That was two years ago, and we’re still eating here. And Sunday evenings are still quiet. Apart from the older couple and the two yuppie types, we have the place to ourselves.
Tish, Rachel, Katy, Tom, Sylvester, and David (although Sylvester and David have been taking it in turns to spend time in the kitchen to cook and serve the delicious food). And little Alex, of course, peacefully asleep on the couch in the corner, despite the noise of our chatter and laughter. When he was a baby, Katy and Tom made a point of placing his bassinet close to the television so he’d be able to sleep through anything.
It certainly worked, and when I have my babies, I will do this too. Except not with television, but with music. Led Zeppelin, obviously. Which will not only teach them to sleep despite the noise, but will also give them excellent taste in music. Yes, I will definitely do this with my babies. I fondly imagine Adam and me standing over the bassinet, gazing lovingly at the blonde cherub sleeping soundly to the strains of “Stairway to Heaven”…Oh. Except I won’t be having Adam’s babies…
I wonder what they’re doing now…I feel the buildup of tears behind my eyes as my imagination conjures up images of Adam and Stella feeding each other lobster on a candlelit terrace, Adam and Stella strolling hand in hand on a lovely, romantic Bahamian beach, the waves lapping at their ankles…Adam, hopping around in horrendously complete agony after being stung by a jellyfish…
You know, now I come to think of it, since moving in with Adam I’ve only been back once for Sunday supper. And that was the time I brought him with me to meet everyone, which wasn’t exactly a success. Why didn’t I realize then that our relationship was doomed? Was I blind?
If I ever get
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