Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

America was voting on their president. Trump was probably a rapist, but Hillary had sent an email from the wrong account. It had been four days since my party, and Ruth and I still hadn’t spoken. I was sat with two gin and tonics when she arrived in an oversize sports jacket and red dungarees. Her expression was uninterpretable, but then she smiled. Thank god. Roo, I’m so sorry.

She shook her head. Don’t be. I was drunk. I’ve just had stuff going on.

What stuff?

It doesn’t matter.

It does matter. Please tell me. What stuff?

Ruth played with the button on her jacket. I just think sometimes everyone thinks that I’m flaky and shit. And I get it because I am flaky and shit. But maybe I want to change and I can’t do that if everyone keeps telling me how flaky and shit I am.

You’re not flaky or sh—

Virinder joked about it.

What?

We were planning the party and he joked about me not keeping a job. And, Enola, he said it in this way like you guys laugh about it all the time. I expect that stuff from Emily, and Mum, even, but not you.

I stretched out my hand. Ruth, no. I think that you’re the most exceptional person and I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize how much this job meant to you.

She said that she had been afraid that she was losing me to the pod people of Primrose Hill. I told her that she would never lose me to anyone, person or hill. She laughed, and her cheeks dimpled. I told her how sorry I was that Virinder made her plan my thirtieth. That must have been really weird. She replied that it had been, and she couldn’t completely explain why. There was a moment between us; then we redirected our hands to our drinks.

I asked when she started her new job. She told me January, but there was a training thing in Bath next Thursday. Do you remember at school when we had to build bridges out of tape and straws? I reminded her that our bridge had been predominantly tape because she hadn’t waited for me to come up with a plan. She retorted that in the time it was taking for me to come up with a plan, we could have constructed the Sistine Chapel. Then she leaned in like she was about to tell me a secret: I’m actually excited. It’s a new company, so I’ll be creating the role. And because of what the charity does, I get to travel. I might even be able to go to Colombia!

Ruth had never spoken about a job with enthusiasm before. I told her that I was sorry for not asking sooner. She circled the rim of her glass. I should have just told you, she said. I was being petty or jealous or something, I don’t know.

We looked at each other and smiled. The clouds lifted, and I felt lighter.

I told Ruth that I liked Sally, and a dusky blush spread across her freckles. I said that I would love to meet her properly, when I wasn’t ambushed in my own house. Ruth said that Virinder wasn’t one to take no for an answer. What is it with you and these men?

Ruth didn’t know yet, but I had gone to Virinder’s on Sunday. He had opened the door and gestured to his dining table, where candles were lit. My ex is back in the picture. I thought your ex was a dickhead? I’m sorry. You know, that’s not as helpful as you think it is. I had gathered my belongings while he stared into the sink like it held the answers I didn’t. I’m not waiting for you, Enola.

I told Ruth that we broke up. I worried that she might be upset that I hadn’t told her sooner, but she just said that she was sorry and she didn’t think that he was right for me. You never seemed happy. I mean, you didn’t seem unhappy but you didn’t seem happy either. I told her that I wanted to want him because he was so perfect. Ruth said that he wasn’t perfect. I asked her if she thought that I was a sociopath because I didn’t feel bad, and she said that sociopaths didn’t worry about being sociopaths.

Do you think this is how he felt when we broke up in January?

Oh, Laa, who can say what actual sociopaths feel?

She told me that Virinder may not have been perfect, but he was, at least, the kind of man you could call to help you drag a body across the kitchen floor.

I told her that I would call her for that.

She suggested that we get another drink. Then, baring her teeth, she asked how Virinder had taken the news. I replied that he had taken it surprisingly well.

I just told him that my ex was back in the picture.

Her head shot up. Is he ?

Shit.

No, I just thought it would be easier to—

Lie?

This way he doesn’t have to worry about what he did wrong?

Ruth looked away like she was bracing herself, then turned back. Enola, maybe he should worry about what he did wrong. Why can’t women ever tell men that they don’t want to be with them? Why do they need to make up an excuse? I played with the lime wedge in my drink and said that I didn’t represent all women, I represented me . She said that it would be cool if my breakup passed the Bechdel test.

Roo, I was in a relationship with a man. It was impossible for my breakup to pass the Bechdel test.

But why are you even thinking about him? she asked, like even his pronoun was toxic. I told her that I wasn’t and asked if she could cut me some slack. I’m sorry, she said, twirling her coaster. I’m just wound up because of the election. I said that we were lucky to live in England, and she told me not to be na?ve. This is the beginning. Roe versus Wade won’t last long. I asked if she was going to watch the coverage. She said that they were watching it in the warehouse. I waited for her to invite me, but she didn’t, and so I said that I would probably just wake up to the results.

Like Christmas morning?

Ha. Yes.

For fifteen minutes while we finished our drinks, we passed the Bechdel test by talking about tweets we had seen, podcasts we were listening to, and shows we were watching. I asked Ruth if she still wanted another drink, but she said she had changed her mind.

A T HOME , I PUT on comfy clothes and settled on the sofa, but I was still addled by our conversation. I felt shamed, which is not something that I normally felt by Ruth. I considered the women in my life. My mum, who, on the one hand, told me that women wore matching underwear for themselves, yet, on the other, was pleased that I was dating a lawyer. Perhaps her feminism was just a criticism of my dad? Then there was Louise, jumping to follow any man who could give her a new life. My grandma might have been a feminist if she had been born at a different time, but one of my earliest memories was her telling me to smile because boys didn’t like a sour face. Amy once said that she didn’t think of herself as a feminist and yet all she did was champion other women. Ruth dated women, so that automatically made her a better feminist than me; I was sleeping with the enemy. But she was right. When we were teenagers, we would tell the men who groped us that we were gay or that the male friend with us was our boyfriend. We lied so that they didn’t feel rejected. Sometimes we would even kiss each other to prove the point, but we knew deep down that we were winding them up. We liked the way that they were looking at us. We didn’t realize that their gaze wasn’t a compliment; it was the way that lions look at impalas before ripping their throats out.

I stood and made a coffee. I ground the beans in the grinder that Ruth bought me in part so she could use it when she stayed over. The smell of dark chocolate, figs, and raspberry diffused. When the kettle whistled, I filled the French press. Virinder once told me to let it stand for four minutes. I’m a barista, but I pretended that he was telling me something I didn’t know.

Four minutes.

An anger grew where my stomach met my chest. Did men sit around wondering if they were good enough or right enough men?

Three minutes.

Millions of people with arms and brains and favorite television shows were going to vote for Trump. Millions of people didn’t consider policies that repressed women bad enough to consider voting for one.

Two minutes.

I became aware suddenly of the helplessness, the hopelessness that existed in me.

One minute.

Fuck it. I poured the coffee, opened his “happy birthday” message, and replied:

Thank you…

I turned on the election coverage and watched the map turn red and blue; then I took three painkillers and went to sleep. In the morning, I woke to a text from Ruth:

Happy Fucking Christmas.

And to another from him:

Nice ellipsis. Drink…?