PART TWO
“How’s it going? You know, with Patrick being there.”
Noah looks up from where he’s been staring a hole into Julie’s kitchen table. He didn’t come here to give her the silent treatment, but he hasn’t had much to say, and he doesn’t know what to say now either. How is he supposed to answer that question? Oh yeah, it’s great, you know, aside from watching him getting his dick sucked last night. Totally normal.
He settles on: “Fine.”
She frowns at him. “Is there a problem?”
“No, why?”
“I dunno,” she says, shrugging. “You’ve just been weird about him since he turned up. It’s not still because you fancy him, is it?”
Embarrassment floods him, making his stomach lurch. “I don’t fancy him!” he insists, sitting up straight in his chair. “Stop saying that.”
She considers him for a long moment. “It’s okay to look, you know,” she says gently, wrapping both hands around her mug. “You’ve got eyes, and you’re only human. Just don’t, you know…”
He swallows. “What?”
“Act on it.”
He almost wants to laugh, a weird kind of panicked delirium rising in his chest. “There’s nothing to act on,” he states firmly. “I don’t fancy him. He’s not interested in me. So can you just stop going on about it?”
“Fine,” she says, lifting her hands from her mug in a gesture of submission. But he knows she’s not convinced, and he hates it. “Whatever you say.”
There’s a pause while she studies him, and he picks at his fingernail, feeling smothered by her implied accusation, and at the same time desperate to talk about it, figure out what’s twisting up inside him.
“Tell me how the wedding plans are going instead then.”
He latches onto the new subject, anything to stop him running his mouth off and getting himself in trouble. “Not much to say really. Going to pick up the rings on Tuesday.”
“That’ll be nice,” she says, smiling. “What about flowers and everything? Music?”
“Not done any of that yet.” He gives an awkward shrug. With so little time left until the wedding, he should be more on top of things.
“Well you need to get a move on, Noah! There’s only a month to go.”
“I know,” he says, slumping back in his seat. The hem of his shirt rides up a little with the movement, sending a chill across his skin. He shivers. “Cold in here. You not got the heating on?”
She grimaces. “Boiler’s packed in.”
“Do you need me to—”
“Nope,” she says firmly, no room for argument. “I’ve got it covered.”
He looks around at his old home, at the peeling wallpaper and mould creeping over the skirting boards, the torn net curtains and the creaking sofa. She’s got out their box of ancient Christmas decorations, has it sat by the TV, waiting to go up. “I miss this place, you know,” he says, a heaviness to his tone. “We had some good Christmases here, didn’t we?”
“Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Freezing, starving, no money to get each other presents.”
“You’re not getting me anything for Christmas, are you? I know money’s tight.”
“Never you mind,” she says, giving him a stern look.
“’Cos it’s enough that you’re just spending Christmas day with us.”
She smiles, warm and bright. “Where else would I spend it, eh?” He returns the smile, and he’s suddenly struck with a pang of missing not just this old dump, but also her, and the relationship they shared when living together.
He wraps her up in a hug at the front door on his way out, murmurs, “I miss you,” into her ear.
She tightens her arms around him, rests her chin on his shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“I know, but…”
“You know you’re welcome here at any time.” She pulls away, places her hands on each side of his face to get him to look her in the eye. “This will always be your home, Noah,” she says, and it hurts him somehow, a sharp jab to his gut.
* * * *
“How’s it going? You know, with Patrick being there.”
Noah looks up from where he’s been staring a hole into Julie’s kitchen table. He didn’t come here to give her the silent treatment, but he hasn’t had much to say, and he doesn’t know what to say now either. How is he supposed to answer that question? Oh yeah, it’s great, you know, aside from watching him getting his dick sucked last night. Totally normal.
He settles on: “Fine.”
She frowns at him. “Is there a problem?”
“No, why?”
“I dunno,” she says, shrugging. “You’ve just been weird about him since he turned up. It’s not still because you fancy him, is it?”
Embarrassment floods him, making his stomach lurch. “I don’t fancy him!” he insists, sitting up straight in his chair. “Stop saying that.”
She considers him for a long moment. “It’s okay to look, you know,” she says gently, wrapping both hands around her mug. “You’ve got eyes, and you’re only human. Just don’t, you know…”
He swallows. “What?”
“Act on it.”
He almost wants to laugh, a weird kind of panicked delirium rising in his chest. “There’s nothing to act on,” he states firmly. “I don’t fancy him. He’s not interested in me. So can you just stop going on about it?”
“Fine,” she says, lifting her hands from her mug in a gesture of submission. But he knows she’s not convinced, and he hates it. “Whatever you say.”
There’s a pause while she studies him, and he picks at his fingernail, feeling smothered by her implied accusation, and at the same time desperate to talk about it, figure out what’s twisting up inside him.
“Tell me how the wedding plans are going instead then.”
He latches onto the new subject, anything to stop him running his mouth off and getting himself in trouble. “Not much to say really. Going to pick up the rings on Tuesday.”
“That’ll be nice,” she says, smiling. “What about flowers and everything? Music?”
“Not done any of that yet.” He gives an awkward shrug. With so little time left until the wedding, he should be more on top of things.
“Well you need to get a move on, Noah! There’s only a month to go.”
“I know,” he says, slumping back in his seat. The hem of his shirt rides up a little with the movement, sending a chill across his skin. He shivers. “Cold in here. You not got the heating on?”
She grimaces. “Boiler’s packed in.”
“Do you need me to—”
“Nope,” she says firmly, no room for argument. “I’ve got it covered.”
He looks around at his old home, at the peeling wallpaper and mould creeping over the skirting boards, the torn net curtains and the creaking sofa. She’s got out their box of ancient Christmas decorations, has it sat by the TV, waiting to go up. “I miss this place, you know,” he says, a heaviness to his tone. “We had some good Christmases here, didn’t we?”
“Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Freezing, starving, no money to get each other presents.”
“You’re not getting me anything for Christmas, are you? I know money’s tight.”
“Never you mind,” she says, giving him a stern look.
“’Cos it’s enough that you’re just spending Christmas day with us.”
She smiles, warm and bright. “Where else would I spend it, eh?” He returns the smile, and he’s suddenly struck with a pang of missing not just this old dump, but also her, and the relationship they shared when living together.
He wraps her up in a hug at the front door on his way out, murmurs, “I miss you,” into her ear.
She tightens her arms around him, rests her chin on his shoulder. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“I know, but…”
“You know you’re welcome here at any time.” She pulls away, places her hands on each side of his face to get him to look her in the eye. “This will always be your home, Noah,” she says, and it hurts him somehow, a sharp jab to his gut.
* * * *
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