5. Amara

This is a terrible idea,I think as I dry my hands after washing them. If Wren has something in front of them, something to keep them busy, they"re not going to want to talk. I know how their beautiful hyper-focused brain works. They"ll have the perfect excuse not to talk. And yet, when we stand together at the counter and I find Katja has prepared two workstations for us, something like relief washes over me. Relief and a new but very familiar eagerness to please. I don"t want to let Katja down, not now she"s gone to all this trouble to try and help us. It"s far too easy for me to lean into an opportunity to please someone. It"s been so long since Wren let me do that with them…

Besides, as much as I want to talk to Wren and get whatever is bothering them out in the open, I too am dreading it. Because what if what Wren wants to say is that they want to end our marriage, our relationship and frankly, my whole world as I know it.

Just the thought of this has new tears warming my eyes and I keep my gaze downcast as I stand at the counter with Katja on my right and Wren on my left.

"Have you made sushi before?" Katja is asking.

"A long time ago," Wren mumbles.

"Never," I say quietly. I want to explain again how I really am not a cook at all but talking too much would risk my voice cracking and those tears spilling over again. I pull in a deep breath and press my lips together.

Please don"t cry, please don"t fucking cry. I start praying to a God I long stopped believing in. I don't have to be such an over-emotional Pisces all the time, do I?

Much to my surprise a hand lands on my right side, just above the curve of my waist. The fingers rub my side reassuringly and I turn my head slightly to Katja who doesn"t meet my eye but she does smile and rub her hand a little harder. And then it"s gone and Katja is moving.

"Well, it"s pretty simple once you know what you"re doing." Katja slides between us and we both move to give her space. "I don"t know about you but I"m a visual learner so how about I demonstrate in the middle? Amara, can I steal your board?"

"Of course," I say so hoarsely that I clear my throat afterwards. In doing so, I realise the urgent need to cry has gone and I can"t be sure if it was Katja"s hand on my body or her attempt to distract us. Either way, I am grateful.

I watch Katja"s hands as she sets about lining the sushi roller with a sheet of seaweed. She"s talking as she spreads rice over it and then points out the other fillings she"s already prepared. I should be listening and remembering the important details, but I find her soft, adorably accented voice fades into a gentle hum as I observe her hands.

They"re not especially long or slim or elegant, but there is something so inviting about her hands with their clean white skin, slightly plump knuckles and blood-red nails. Shaped into sharp points, her nails are almost exactly the same as the lipstick in her Elite photo and this has me checking her lips again, noticing that she's wearing it again tonight. I smile to myself. I wonder what a print of that red lipstick would look like on the inside of my thigh as Wren orders her to go down on me…

Oh, God.My stomach falls as heavy as an anchor. I can"t have thoughts like that about Katja. I can"t have thoughts about her and me and Wren. It's hard enough to think about just me and Wren when we haven't been intimate in so, so long. And yet, I'm still surprised that touching myself in the bathroom earlier hasn't seemed to take the edge off my new and surprising attraction to Katja, and my constant burning heat for Wren.

"And then you simply cut the roll up into about eight pieces," Katja is saying as her knife works. A second later, she shows us a perfectly rolled piece of salmon avocado sushi wrapped in seaweed. "Ready to give it a go?"

"Sure," Wren grunts and I mumble out a quick yes, as Katja hands me back the board and sushi roller.

"Why don"t you make one with tuna and cucumber? The crisp crunch will go perfectly with the wine, don"t you think, Wren?" Katja asks, moving the bowl of tuna chunks between us. I like how she asks Wren a direct question as if to keep them engaged.

"Yeah, I think so. What about if we add some chilli flakes in there too? For a little kick?" Wren suggests and my heart hitches, truly hitches, at the way they're offering their opinion on something as silly and insignificant as a sushi roll. And yet it"s not insignificant. Our first date was in a backstreet sushi restaurant in So-Ho. Despite arriving at seven, we were still there at eleven when they were trying to close. We had no problem talking that night.

"That sounds really good." Katja nods and then she moves away from between us to open up our spice drawer and find the chill flakes. She hands the glass jar to Wren.

"Can you add it to mine too?" I ask as I arrange the tuna on the rice I"ve already clumsily spread out over a sheet of seaweed. Wren steps closer to sprinkle the red flakes over my tuna and I inhale their edgy, earthy scent - a heady mix of sandalwood and eucalyptus - and treasure being this close to them although it doesn"t last anywhere near long enough as they shift their weight a little further away from me.

"You work well together," Katja says, and I look up briefly to see she"s busy lining a couple of small tins. She works quickly and efficiently, and my eyes are drawn to her hands again. "My ex and I were incapable of sharing a kitchen. In fact, we didn't share much at all. I suppose that's why she and I broke up."

So she's queer. I grab hold of this information far too eagerly.

"I don't know," I muse. "Sometimes it's nice to have different interests, different points of view. They do say opposites attract."

My words are intentional. Wren and I would often comment on how different we were, and how well we worked together. I wait and hope that Wren will respond, but they remain silent.

"I think you need some things in common, even if it's the space you live in or the friends you have. We didn't even have that. Five years we were together and we didn't even live together. How strange is that?" Katja asks.

"We know couples who have been together decades and choose not to live together," I say, thinking out loud. I don't add that it's because they're polyamorous and it helps facilitate their open relationships. Wren and I have learnt the hard way that people have strong opinions about a lifestyle that we have dabbled in.

"This was more because Bev refused to leave East London and I refused to give up my flat in West London."

"You couldn't find a way to compromise?" Wren asks and their voice astonishes me a little. I'd almost convinced myself they weren't going to speak at all. "Compromise is important."

"It's everything," Katja agrees. "And no, we couldn't figure it out."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," I say.

Katja waves her hand around her face and gives this funny little pout before speaking. "Don't be. I keep telling myself that it was the right thing to happen. And that something better will come along."

"You shouldn't have to tell yourself that," Wren says, their voice still quiet but noticeably firm.

"Wren's right. You should have confidence in that conviction. We've known you less than an hour and I can absolutely say that any woman would be lucky to have you. Or man, without wanting to assume your sexuality."

"Oh, I'm very gay." Katja laughs lightly. "Apart from a few mistakes I sorely regret in my teens. But nobody's perfect, right?"

I wince and open my mouth, but Wren is quicker.

"Amara is bi, just so you know," they say in a steady, matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh." Katja looks up at me. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

I feel a warm rush of love and gratitude for Wren and I will them to meet my eyes but they refuse to. Instead, they're watching Katja as she takes a few steps closer to us both.

"Seriously, Amara, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's fine. Most of the men I was associated with as a teenager were also mistakes," I joke and that eases the tension between us all. In fact, it even goes so far as to raise a little sigh-filled chuckle from Wren who has successfully made their first sushi roll.

It takes me less than a minute to realise I"m about to make the biggest mess of my own sushi roll. I"ve clearly packed too much filling in the middle and the rice isn"t evenly spread out.

"Oh, fuck," I say as it all falls apart and my attempt to keep it together, by squeezing the roll a little tighter, causes a crack in the seaweed and rice spills out. "Shit."

Wren"s back at my side before I even look up. "Let me try," they say, and their hands are suddenly next to mine, trying to reassemble the roll. I should move out of the way, give them space to come to my rescue and save this no doubt very expensive tuna, but I don"t move. I"m frozen in place, delighted to be feeling Wren so close to me, to have their hands touching mine and their forearm brushing up against my wrist. It"s the most physical contact we"ve had in months and I couldn"t separate myself from it if I wanted to.

"If we unroll it and just spread the filling out a bit more evenly…" Wren explains as they do what they describe.

"Need some help?" Katja asks from the other end of the island. I feel her eyes on us.

"No," I say quickly. I don"t want her or anyone or anything to stop this moment. "Wren"s got it all under control. They"re very good at telling me what to do."

Wren"s hands stop moving for a second, then another one, and my eyes roll up their arms and to their face but apart from a tense jaw and a focused stare, their expression is unreadable. I meant my comment as a prompt, a reminder of how we used to be, and yes, how we could be again, but it feels like it"s fallen on deaf ears.

"Thank you," I say after a few moments when Wren has managed to gather up all the spilled ingredients and re-roll it into something that doesn't look half-bad.

"Ausgezeichnet! Super!" Katja enthuses as she comes up behind us both. "You're a natural, Wren."

"I wouldn't say that," Wren mumbles.

"Doch!" Katja says loudly and we both look at her confused. "Ach, ja… It's a German word that doesn't have an English equivalent. We use it to disagree with someone but not necessarily or always in a harsh way. In this context it means, shh, you're wrong!"

I find myself smiling at Katja and her voracious way of talking, all hands and volume, but the stretch in my lips halts when I see Wren is also smiling, their eyes glued to Katja, who is now showing Wren how to cut up the sushi.

Inwardly, I sigh. Wren hasn't smiled at me like that in months. It hurts. It stings. It aches. So much so, my hand comes to my chest and rubs at the skin above my breasts.

It helps ease some of the tension there, but what helps more is what I see happening between Wren and Katja. As they debate how to arrange the slices of sushi on a plate and Katja starts talking about the importance of a good knife in any cook's kitchen, I watch how they move and talk together.

Wren's shoulders are low and their eyes are focused on what they're doing. I can tell they're still eagerly listening to Katja who is now showing Wren how to sharpen a knife. The slicing metallic noise fills the room alongside Katja's easy chatter as Wren watches Katja diligently, a small smile relaxing their lips.

Somehow, at some point, my jealousy has melted into something else. Something not exactly comfortable or easy to describe, but it's a feeling that has some familiarity and ease. I like watching Katja and Wren together. I like seeing Wren smile, be more relaxed, more at ease. And I also like watching Katja all animated and invested in giving Wren her best knife-sharpening tips.

There's something about this unnameable feeling that makes me step back into the scene with them both. With a lot less hesitation than I've had in weeks, months, I place my fingertips on Wren's arm. Immediately, they look down. Katja's voice drifts away, although I couldn't say if she stopped talking or if I simply stopped listening, stopped hearing the words and mentally turned the volume down. When Wren's eyes lift back up, I'm there smiling at them, and when their lips twitch in response – not a full smile, but an attempt, an offering – I close the distance between us and press my mouth to theirs.

I linger there against Wren's warm lips for just a few seconds. I know I'm potentially pushing it, although I don't know exactly what ‘it' is. But it's enough. The soft give of their lips, the warmth of air leaving their nose and dancing across my top lip, the way our stomachs are pressed together. It"s more than I've had in months and it feels like a gift, and that's what I'm thinking as I begin to pull away, ready to apologise to Katja for interrupting her.

But I'm given another gift. I'm given the gift of Wren's hands gripping my upper arms and jolting me back against their body. I'm graced with more of Wren's lips on mine, this time with more pressure, more passion. And I delight in hearing the softest, quietest moan unravel itself at the back of their throat.

I'm so taken aback by this change in Wren, this display of true affection, that I don't close my eyes for a few seconds, and in that time, time that seems to stretch and bend, I see Katja watching us. There's an unreadable expression on her face, but just as Wren's tongue darts out and licks the seam of my mouth, I see Katja's tongue slowly slide along her bottom lip. Lust darts through me as I open my mouth, but I couldn't tell you if the sensation is because of Wren's deepening kiss or because my mind continues to replay the moving image of Katja's pink tongue licking her red lip.

I close my eyes, quickly, hurriedly, before more confusing thoughts ruin this precious, precious gift of a kiss.