Page 32 of Strictly Pretend

“You think talking to me is like getting a frontal lobotomy?” I don’t know whether to be annoyed or amused.

She sighs. “Listen, I have a headache. Can we cut to the chase? Do you still want to be my plus one at the wedding?”

“No,” I reply.

“Oh.” She sounds almost upset. “Why not?”

“You’ll bemyplus one.”

“Ugh. Are we really doing semantics here?” she whispers. “We can be each other’s plus ones.”

“Okay.” I put the phone onto speaker and lay it on the kitchen counter. I’m still in my dress pants and shirt. My jacket and tie were already discarded on one of the high stools in front of the breakfast bar. I barely ate all day and I’m starving. “Let’s start with this. Why did you change your mind?”

I grab an apple from the bowl and bite into it.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“What’s what?”

“That horrible crunching sound.”

“I’m eating an apple,” I tell her. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“But it’s nine o’clock. Why haven’t you eaten? It’s not good to eat late at night. Have you heard of cheese mares?”

“What are cheese mares?” I’m confused now. How did we get off the subject so quickly? Somebody needs to study her brain and work out her thought processes. She’s so unpredictable.

“Cheese mares are the bad dreams you get at night when you eat cheese too late.”

“But I’m eating an apple,” I point out. I take another bite, mostly because my stomach is growling at me.

“Then you’ll get apple mares,” she says. “They’re probably worse than cheese mares. They’ll pretend to be healthy, but then they’ll turn around and bite you.”

I hold the half-eaten apple out at arm’s length and frown at it. “Are you going to be like this at the wedding?”

“Like what?” she asks. “I’m just trying to warn you. And as your adoring girlfriend, isn’t it right that I should be worried about your health? And your sleep patterns?”

“My adoring girlfriend,” I say, frowning. That doesn’t sound right at all.

“Okay, your slightly annoyed but also caring girlfriend.”

“It was the girlfriend bit I wasn’t sure of,” I tell her. “It sounds weird.”

“So what will you call me at the wedding?” she asks.

“You’re talking like it’s a done deal,” I point out.

“It is. You offered. I took you up on the offer.”

My stomach growls again. Fuck it, I grab a pack of chips from the cupboard and open them, then scoop a handful into my mouth.

“That doesn’t sound like an apple,” she says.

“What are you, the food police?” I shake my head. I’m wondering if this is a good idea.

“I’m serious. You need to take your nutrition more seriously, Brooks. How old are you again?”

“You already asked me that. And anyway you should know how old I am. You’re my adoring girlfriend,” I remind her.

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