Page 21 of The Love of Our Lives
‘I forgot she’s actuallyinthe festival this year.’ Adam turns to me. ‘Charlie, Sven’s partner, is an amazing dancer. She’s got her own dance school and everything.’ He turns back to Sven. ‘She must be really chuffed.’
‘She is indeed.’ Sven beams proudly. A second later, he claps his hands.
‘Right, pizza. What can I get you guys tonight?’
I stare up at the menu on the blackboard: it all looks amazing, with every pizza topping coming from a different country: olives on the Italian, chorizo on the Spanish, and buffalo chicken on the American. My stomach rumbles aggressively again, but that feeling of guilt is still there, sitting at the bottom of it.
Though, should I feel guilty? As far as I can tell, Emily is healthy – more than healthy from what I’ve found out about her. So surely, I can just keep eating the same things that she did.
It’s not like I’m dealing with heart transplant stats here:only 50 per cent of people make it past the ten-year mark, I can still hear the doctor saying as I recovered in the hospital.
Hell, only about 50 per cent make it past the one-year mark.
As it all starts to sink in, that I’m dealing with an entirely different body to my limited one, I find myself saying, ‘I’ll go with the plain cheese, if that’s all right.’
‘Always a classic,’ Adam grins back. ‘I’ll have the same – thanks, Sven – though how many times have I told you to put a Canadian on that list?’
Sven laughs. ‘And how many times did I tell you I’m not putting poutine on a pizza?’
I guessed right on the accent then.
Adam turns to me. ‘Drink?’
‘A water would be great,’ I say and he nods.
‘One water and a pint of lager with those slices please, Sven.’
I reach for my wallet. I should just about be able to stretch to this.
‘No, no, no,’ Adam says, shaking his head. ‘This is all working out better than I thought; you’ll only ruin the vibe if you pay now.’
‘Well, OK, but the next time’s on me.’
He grins and my heart skips. Shit, I don’t know why I said that, given I might not actually be here, and also given I have absolutely no desire to get involved with anyone generally. But it seems to have made Adam smile, and he has a great smile.
After Sven has passed our pizzas and drinks through the hatch, we head over to an empty bench. Under the garland-strung coverings, with the now blushing sky above, we could almost be abroad. Or what I’d always imagined it might be like.
I take a bite of the pizza. It’s all gooey cheese and juicy tomatoes and it explodes on my tongue. ‘Oh shit,’ I say through a mouthful of food. I look at the pizza, look at Adam. ‘That’s insane.’
He swallows his mouthful, the amber flecks in his green eyes sparking. ‘I told you, right?’
I take another bite, the combination of great food and easy company relaxing me slightly; making me momentarily forget how wild this whole situation is.
‘So,’ I say, ‘how long have you and Sven known each other?’
‘Well, I met him when I was twenty and travelling in Sweden, and I’m now thirty-two,’ Adam says, like he’s thinking it over. ‘So over ten years. He suggested I move here to set up the furniture thing. He’d recently moved over and didn’t have any friends here so . . .’
‘So you became that friend.’ I smile. I get the sense he’s friendly to everyone he meets.
‘Exactly. Plus, I was working through some stuff of my own,’ he says, as a shadow passes across his face, ‘so it was good to meet someone new.’
I’m about to ask what he means when an older couple walk over to us. ‘Mind if we sit here?’ The woman asks.
‘No problem at all,’ Adam replies, and shifts up the bench to give them room. Doing the same on my side, I manage to briefly look at his tattoo a little better – a spiky tree weaved into a river, then a horse and a hand above that, and something else random above that. It still makes no sense, and I want to ask him about it, but I don’t know this guy at all, really.
He turns back to me a moment later, the darkness all gone.
‘Why did you decide to move up here?’
