Page 21 of Sad Girl Hours
I’m not great with surprises. “Any hints?”
“Hmm, OK, let me think. You’ll be amazed.”
“That’s not a great hint, Nell.”
“Or is it? You’ll have to wait and see.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much. You’re like some kind of pumpkin-spice-scented dictator.”
She looks oddly touched. “I really am.”
I just hope that I enjoy it too. Not for my sake necessarily. But I know it’ll bring Nell more joy if she thinks I’m having a good time. And so, whatever the chaos she’s planned for uson Saturday turns out to be, I’m determined to rally and enjoy myself. For her.
Chapter Nine
Nell
The moon is out early on Friday evening, a sliver of light in an inky sky. I watch it from the kitchen window as I stand at the sink, elbow-deep in bubbles. (I always put too much soap in – what’s even the point of doing the washing-up if you can’t play with bubbles?)
Jenna passes me a frying pan from off the hob. “You’re unusually quiet. What’s going on in that odd little head of yours?”
“I’m just watching the moon and wondering if it knows how many people have written poems about it.”
“Probably not, given it’s a non-sentient hunk of useless space rock.”
“Actually, if you’d watched any of Saffron’s moon series on TikTok, you’d know that the moon has a whole bunch of effects on the world. It’s a very useful satellite, not just a lump of rock,” I say, placing the frying pan on the drying rack.
“Thank you, professor,” Jenna says. “Speaking of Saffron, you guys have your first date tomorrow?”
“It’s not adate,” I bounce back. “We’re just two platonic people going on an autumn adventure together with added mutual benefits. Business benefits,” I add quickly uponfeelingJenna’s raised eyebrow. “This is basically a business transaction. The wolves of Wall Street are taking notes. Or they would if they had opposable thumbs.”
Jenna chooses to move past that one. “A business transaction,” she repeats. “Uh-huh. That’s not how I see it.”
I sigh, accidentally causing some of my bubble abundance to scatter up and on to the window sill. “Howdoyou see it?”
“I see it as one person very kindly offering to spend a very large chunk of time with another person, either for their own secret reasons, or because they really care about said person and want them to have the best autumn and winter possible.”
“I do care about Saffron, AS A FRIEND,” I add. “Really. I was intrigued by the sound of her before we met, and yes, I think she’s a really cool person, but that’s all. Honestly.”
I think Jenna can sense that I’m being earnest – we’ve been best friends for nearly five years now, living together for over a year of that time. She knows me pretty well by this point.
“All right. If you say so.”
“And I do,” I say firmly.
There’s an uneasy feeling swilling about in my chest. I think it’s there because, even though she does know me well and I know it’s not intentional, I still feel like Jenna is just one more person who thinks they understand my feelings better than I do. I can’t really explain how or why it makes me so uncomfortable when people assume I like someone in a non-platonic sense, but the discomfort is real nonetheless.
They say you know when you know.
But I don’t feel like I knowanything.
Saffron would be the perfect person to date: she’s not a man (tick); she’s beautiful; she’s so smart; she’s sweet and caring; she’sinteresting. But there’s nothing else there, no mysterious magnetic pull towards her, no secret hankering to rip off her crochet tops and jumpers (or very carefully remove them – she and Vivvie worked hard on those). In fact, at that thought, the uneasy feeling spills out a little further.
“What are you going to do tomorrow then?” Jenna asks, drying the pan.
“Well…”
“Hi! You ready?”
