Page 61 of The Friend Zone Experiment

Ket Siong must have things to do, places to go, people to see. On the other hand, he’d booked it from the outer wilderness of Greater London to make it down here, on the strength of two texts from her. Presumably his Monday night wasn’t looking that busy.

“Are you in a rush?” she said. “I haven’t eaten yet. I was going to pick up something from Tesco or something. But there’s a Malaysian restaurant not too far from here. I’ve always wanted to try it. My dad refused to go, wouldn’t pay Chelsea prices for nasi lemak.”

“What is a Chelsea price for nasi lemak?” said Ket Siong.

Renee shrugged. “We can find out. Dinner on me? I can explainwhat happened.” She waved vaguely in the direction of her family’s house.

“Sounds good,” said Ket Siong, after a moment. “We can split the bill.”

“We’re not doing the bill fight before we’ve even gotten to the restaurant,” said Renee firmly. “Anyway, I’m paying. I owe you one.”

“You don’t—”

“I texted you out of nowhere, making it sound like I was going to die,” said Renee. “Let me have this one. This evening has been so painful for me, you can’t imagine. The least you can do is let me save face.”

Ket Siong cocked his head. “You said it went fine.”

“I mean, for a definition of ‘fine.’ I had to see my brother sucking face. It was traumatising.” Renee shuddered. “Why are the men in my family such horndogs?”

At Ket Siong’s expression, she said, “I’ll tell you all about it, but I’m going to need alcohol. Come on, let’s go.”

16

It wasn’t KetSiong’s original intention to walk Renee home after dinner, given how that had turned out last time. Showing up unannounced outside her brother’s house was bad enough. He didn’t need to add any further reasons for Renee to suspect him of having ulterior motives.

But by the time they got kicked out of the restaurant when it closed at eleven, Renee had had four cocktails, plus half of Ket Siong’s when he abandoned it for being too sweet.

“That’s nothing,” said Renee airily, fumbling with her coat outside the restaurant. The buttons seemed to be giving her trouble. Ket Siong put his hands inside his pockets so he wouldn’t forget himself and try to help. “I’m fine. The walk home will do me good. Google Maps says it’s only twenty-four minutes.”

Ket Siong couldn’t bring himself to leave her.

Renee accepted his offer to accompany her without a flicker of doubt. She talked in unimpaired good spirits all the way back—not about her family, but on much more cheerful subjects: her idea for a childrenswear collection; an essay she’d read recently about the pressures of going viral; an extremely boring person they’d both known as students who was now a performance artist in a three-way marriage.

Ket Siong mostly listened. He wasn’t much of a drinker. Half a cocktail had been enough to loosen his limbs, dull the edge of his thoughts. He kept getting lost in the low music of Renee’s voice, forgetting to follow the words.

As they turned onto the street where she lived, he wondered if he should peel off. But there never came a good point to break off the conversation. He ended up walking her all the way to her door.

“Oh shit, I didn’t realise it was so late,” said Renee, checking her phone. “Your family’s going to be wondering where you are. Are you going to be all right getting home?”

“It’s fine. The Tube’s still running.”

“OK. If you’re sure.” Renee’s eyes were wide and dark, enough to drown in. A floral scent drifted from her hair, reminiscent of summer despite the night’s chill.

“Thanks,” she said. “This evening was nicer than it had any right being.”

“I enjoyed it, too,” said Ket Siong.

He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying. Renee’s mouth looked soft, the bottom lip full and red. It would be very easy to bend down and kiss her.

“You should go,” said Renee, after a moment. She was blinking a little, as if emerging from a trance. “I don’t want you to miss the last train.”

Ket Siong stepped back. He felt like he’d had his head dunked in cold water himself.

“Yes,” he said. “Good night.”

It was good, that Renee knew she could rely on him. She was treating him like a friend. He’d take that and be grateful for it.

Tuesday was a work from home day for Ket Hau. When Ket Siong stumbled out of his bedroom in the morning, rubbing his eyes, his brother was eating cereal at the dining table they’d shoved in a corner of the living room, between the beat-up sofa left there by the landlady and the old Yamaha upright Ket Siong had grown up playing—the single biggest relic they’d kept of their previous life in Malaysia.

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