Page 13 of Enemies to Lovers

He looks away. I’ve scored my point. In what overall game, I am unsure, but it’s definitely 1–0 to me as Jamie exhales deeply and moves up in front, his head down.

‘Whatever,’ he mutters. ‘I don’t know why I bother.’

‘You don’t,’ I shoot back, but I don’t think he hears me.

At the restaurant, our hosts are delighted by Jamie’s ability to make small talk in rudimentary Greek and so we immediately become the most favoured table in the house.

‘Welcome, new friends,’ a portly chap with sweeping grey hair says as he dishes out menus and bread baskets. We order drinks and they’re delivered with a few picky bits to whet our appetites, and I have to say, the smells coming from the kitchen areoutrageous. I can’t tell if I want calamari or catch of the day or moussaka … I feel ravenous. Not only for the food, but for feeling this contented. If I’d known Jamie was coming and had somehow turned this down, I’d have been an idiot. There’s no substitute for travel, and travel with family is next-level. There are no airs and graces. That’s the thing I always struggled with when I had communal living at university: to truly let somebody see you – and I mean the most unpalatable, Gruffalo-like version of you – really takes some intimacy. I’ve never had that level of intimacy with people outside my bloodline. It’s just not the same.

We quieten as we study the menus, and I take a moment to marvel at the exact shade of pink in the sky, and how the condensation feels on the glass of my chilled wine. I must be smiling, because I accidentally lock eyes with Jamie and the right side of his mouth curves upwards, before dropping suddenly when I frown, challenging him to another staring contest. He doesn’t take me up on it, but instead looks back down athis menu, although his eyes don’t move, so I’m not sure he’s actually reading it. If I’ve unnerved him in any way, I’m pleased, because heshouldfeel a fraction of what I do whenever he’s around.

I know I’m supposed to be paying no mind, but it’s frustratingly hard.

‘Well,’ Mum says brightly, once we’ve placed our order, ‘what a great find, guys.’

‘Told you,’ Alex boasts. ‘It’s mine and Dad’s superpower, figuring out the best places to eat. Isn’t it, Dad?’

Dad chuckles. ‘To be honest, son, I’m just your wingman. You find these places all by yourself.’

‘Batman is nothing without Robin,’ Laurie points out, which sounds dangerously like backing up Alex’s point. He must be feeling as happy to be here as I am.

‘True,’ says Dad. ‘And I have always suited red.’

‘Is that why you’ve gone for the sunburnt look?’ Laurie teases, and Alex hoots out a ‘Whoa-ah!’ We all laugh.

‘Laurie,’ Dad says, pretending to be disinterested in the insult he’s about to issue. ‘At least when I commit to the sunburnt look, I go all-in. Those white bits around your eyes? NotVogue.’

‘NotVogue’ is Dad’s way of saying ‘unfashionable’. Why? Who can say.

‘I wore sunglasses on our walk!’ Laurie says, defending himself.

‘Might I also suggest a hat?’ Dad asks, and we all laugh again. Nobody means it. Not much, anyway.

We order, and talk about Laurie and Kate’s new flat (expensive), Alex’s work (exhausting) and Mum’s retirement plans (undefined). It’s like everybody gets equal airtime, and so I know I have to have a turn, too. I can’t stand it, though. I get it: I’m the family screw-up, the one not quite able to be a proper adult. Nobody needs to point it out. In fact it would be great if we could rewrite that narrative, somehow. It’s just that every time I try, I get tongue-tied and my cheeks flush. When that happens, it’s like I prove Laurie’s theory that, emotionally, I’m a teenager.

‘How are you feeling about your PhD being finished, Flo?’ Alex asks. ‘I’d be overwhelmed, in need of a massive break, if I got athirddegree …’

‘So says the doctor,’ I counter, trying to keep things light, and he waves a hand to bat me away.

‘I don’t think she likes talking about it,’ says Laurie, glancing at me as if daring me to disagree. Is he being protective or combative? With Laurie, it can be so hard to tell.

‘Don’t you?’ Alex asks.

I pause in my response, because the answer isNo! I do not want to talk about myself.But the words stick in my throat because stupidly, annoyingly, irritatingly, I’ve got tears pricking at my eyes. Why am I like this? I don’t know what it is – why I’m on the cusp of crying. I’mhaving a nice time. I’m fine! Now everyone is going to think I’mnotfine, and that’s so galling. I suppose it’s like pushing a bruise, talking about myself, about my life. It’s tender. That’s why I avoid it at all costs. These tears are coming from nowhere, but they’re definitely coming – and now everyone is looking at me.

There’s an awkward pause and I cast a glance up to find an ally, and see that even Kate looks a bit sympathetic, a bitpoor Flo. And that’s it; an errant tear escapes and runs down my face, and I push it away but another comes, so I look down at the napkin on my lap and focus on making sure there are no more.

‘Oh, darling,’ Mum says, as Alex whispers, ‘Sorry.’

I shake my head, but thankgodthe waiter arrives with our main courses then, right in time. It’s so much food that we have to move glasses and shift the vase of flowers in the middle of the table. We busy ourselves rearranging the tablescape and, by the time we’re sorted, there’s a lull in the conversation, nobody sure what to talk about next.

‘I have to say,’ announces Jamie, as we all quietly chew our food, ‘I’m envious of the lot of you: accomplished, handsome tarts, you all are. Two lawyers, a medical doctor, a PhD … Although I must add,’ he says, leaning over for the salt, ‘obviously all control is merely an illusion.’ He meets my eye as he says that, and I find I can’t look away. ‘Who has any idea of what our futures might hold?’

And he’s done it. He’s picked up the chat, steered itinto neutral territory and, before I know it, we’re back to being the version of my family I love most, talking shit about what we’d do if wecouldcontrol the future, all the funny things we would do. He’s … rescued me? I’d be furious at the suggestion I need rescuing, if only I wasn’t, on this one occasion, so very grateful.

Hours later and the air is cool and my cheeks are warm. After Jamie expertly navigated the conversation away from me as the headline, everyone seemed to realise that I really have had enough of being picked over – even if they mean well – and made the effort to have a really good night. Mum and Dad even got up for a dance at one point, in the square where the band was playing. It must be so comforting, knowing you’re with your person, that you’ve created this whole branch of the family tree together, that you’ve got a legacy, and each other. Anyway. That’s my family in a nutshell: they push me to the brink and then pull me back in for warm and fuzzies. It would send a lesser woman mad. I watch my parents sway cheek-to-cheek; Laurie and Kate whisper sweet nothings, while Alex and Jamie are listing things they admire about each other …

Oh my god, they’re drunk. In factI’mdrunk. If I’m on the verge of throwing my arms around one of them to tell them how much I love them, too, then I have definitely had one too many.Ooooops.

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