and hormones. But there were other ways for me to get my point across, sorry.’
‘That’s no problem,’ I said, dabbing coffee spray from my face. ‘It was just such a silly thought.’ That was now permanently burnt onto my brain forever .
‘Kate, I am not the boy you knew back then. I am an adult male and I am perfectly content alone. In fact my ex-wife said exactly that—she said it felt like I didn’t need her,that I never really opened up to her, or to our relationship. She described it as being like my Insignificant Significant Other —’ that didn’t sound very nice ‘—but the thing is, Kate, I really didn’t need her, at all. My life is much less complicated when I am alone. It’s more constant. It makes sense.’
‘Like a reliable mathematical equation.’ I chuckled as I thought about the symbol for pi. I mean, why does p represent a long maths equation? It’s so silly. Or is it brilliant?
‘Kate, do you remember my dog, Jake?’ Peter’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his beloved dog. ‘Well, having a dog is probably the only thing that would make me happier than being alone. My ex-wife never wanted one. She said they were needy and unstable but they’re not. Dogs are loyal and consistent. Providing you walk it once a day, twice dependent on size and breed, and give it the occasional treat biscuit, two simple things and it will love you with all its heart.’
‘This is my treat biscuit,’ I said, trying to make light of the fact that Peter had just spotted my breakfast, a giant KitKat bar that probably wasn’t meant for one. ‘I find KitKats comforting,’ I qualified, hastily wrapping it back up. Peter stopped me, opened up the foil and handed me an extra-large piece.
‘Tell me why you like KitKats ,’ he said, pulling me on my stool so I was once again sitting closer to him. He reached across me for a piece of chocolate; his forearm brushed against mine. He felt warm.
‘Well,’ I began, trying not to think about his half-naked body or the teenage sex we never had, ‘when I was little I used to watch Grandma doing her work. Do you rememberhow she would spend hours toiling over a new article or piece of research?’ Peter nodded before reaching for yet another bit of my KitKat . ‘Well, I always knew when she’d finally finished her work because she would make herself a cup of tea, take out a KitKat—’
‘From that big tin where you kept all the sweets?’
‘Exactly, and she would sit at the kitchen table, slowly peel back the wrapper of a KitKat and savour every single chocolatey mouthful while she gave her work a final, satisfying, read through.’
‘So KitKat s take you to your safe place?’
‘Yes, I think KitKats take me to my safe place , although my consumption of them is not dependent on any challenging intellectual endeavour having been completed, just a general sense of neediness. Just yesterday, for example, I was feeling a bit needy because I’d seen a particularly distressed tramp near Trafalgar Square, and I’d thought to myself, “Lucky me, all I have to worry about is unpicking the mystery of love, its absence and effects, across generations and cultures; that tramp doesn’t even know where he’s going to sleep tonight, poor bastard.” So, as an emotional crutch, if you will, I went straight to WHSmith’s to buy myself a KitKat , and not a regular KitKat , the big-bar version. I’d gone heavy duty.’
‘Like the one you have in front of you now.’
‘It was an emotional time, Peter! Which is why I also bought a notebook because that tramp made me realise I need to be more grateful. So I bought a notebook and every single day I am going to write a list of all the things I am thankful for. It’s going to be like a daily emotional Thanks-giving until my neural pathways have re-established themselves as grateful ones.’
It had happened again. The Peter-Parker-induced verbal diarrhoea where I go on and on and on discovering nothing new
‘That’s no problem,’ I said, dabbing coffee spray from my face. ‘It was just such a silly thought.’ That was now permanently burnt onto my brain forever .
‘Kate, I am not the boy you knew back then. I am an adult male and I am perfectly content alone. In fact my ex-wife said exactly that—she said it felt like I didn’t need her,that I never really opened up to her, or to our relationship. She described it as being like my Insignificant Significant Other —’ that didn’t sound very nice ‘—but the thing is, Kate, I really didn’t need her, at all. My life is much less complicated when I am alone. It’s more constant. It makes sense.’
‘Like a reliable mathematical equation.’ I chuckled as I thought about the symbol for pi. I mean, why does p represent a long maths equation? It’s so silly. Or is it brilliant?
‘Kate, do you remember my dog, Jake?’ Peter’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his beloved dog. ‘Well, having a dog is probably the only thing that would make me happier than being alone. My ex-wife never wanted one. She said they were needy and unstable but they’re not. Dogs are loyal and consistent. Providing you walk it once a day, twice dependent on size and breed, and give it the occasional treat biscuit, two simple things and it will love you with all its heart.’
‘This is my treat biscuit,’ I said, trying to make light of the fact that Peter had just spotted my breakfast, a giant KitKat bar that probably wasn’t meant for one. ‘I find KitKats comforting,’ I qualified, hastily wrapping it back up. Peter stopped me, opened up the foil and handed me an extra-large piece.
‘Tell me why you like KitKats ,’ he said, pulling me on my stool so I was once again sitting closer to him. He reached across me for a piece of chocolate; his forearm brushed against mine. He felt warm.
‘Well,’ I began, trying not to think about his half-naked body or the teenage sex we never had, ‘when I was little I used to watch Grandma doing her work. Do you rememberhow she would spend hours toiling over a new article or piece of research?’ Peter nodded before reaching for yet another bit of my KitKat . ‘Well, I always knew when she’d finally finished her work because she would make herself a cup of tea, take out a KitKat—’
‘From that big tin where you kept all the sweets?’
‘Exactly, and she would sit at the kitchen table, slowly peel back the wrapper of a KitKat and savour every single chocolatey mouthful while she gave her work a final, satisfying, read through.’
‘So KitKat s take you to your safe place?’
‘Yes, I think KitKats take me to my safe place , although my consumption of them is not dependent on any challenging intellectual endeavour having been completed, just a general sense of neediness. Just yesterday, for example, I was feeling a bit needy because I’d seen a particularly distressed tramp near Trafalgar Square, and I’d thought to myself, “Lucky me, all I have to worry about is unpicking the mystery of love, its absence and effects, across generations and cultures; that tramp doesn’t even know where he’s going to sleep tonight, poor bastard.” So, as an emotional crutch, if you will, I went straight to WHSmith’s to buy myself a KitKat , and not a regular KitKat , the big-bar version. I’d gone heavy duty.’
‘Like the one you have in front of you now.’
‘It was an emotional time, Peter! Which is why I also bought a notebook because that tramp made me realise I need to be more grateful. So I bought a notebook and every single day I am going to write a list of all the things I am thankful for. It’s going to be like a daily emotional Thanks-giving until my neural pathways have re-established themselves as grateful ones.’
It had happened again. The Peter-Parker-induced verbal diarrhoea where I go on and on and on discovering nothing new
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