Page 9 of Bad at Love
Which lie do people want from me?
I’m so worked up by the time I finally get home to Studio City and find parking on the street, that I don’t even go into my apartment.
I go right across the street to the coffee shop.
And let out a huge sigh of relief when I see Marina at her usual spot by the front windows, typing away on her laptop, sipping on what I’m going to guess is a matcha latte with coconut milk and a splash of agave syrup.
“Hey,” she says to me with bright eyes, flashing me that big smile of hers. She’s so self-conscious about it, which I think is a bloody shame. No one should ever hold back on their smile—it’s like holding back on joy—and Marina’s is beautiful and kind. It’s the one thing that puts my heart at ease.
“Hey,” I tell her, slumping down into the seat across from her.
“Uh oh,” she says, snapping her laptop shut, the cover adorned with stickers from her company—Palm Trees & Honey Bees—and gives me her full attention. “What’s wrong?”
She’s used to this from me. Sometimes, like today, there is actually something wrong, but other times I’m just trapped in my head and being a moody little arse. She’s usually the person to get me out of it. Not to say she doesn’t give me shit, because she does, but she’s a lot more forgiving and intuitive than my other mates.
“I broke up with Simone.”
“Noooo,” she says with a harsh gasp. “Why? Why did you do that?”
I shrug. “I don’t love her.”
“Argh.” She leans back in her chair and stares dramatically at the ceiling, shaking her head so her long blonde hair goes flying around her face. “You idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot,” I say sharply, feeling defensive. “It had to be done.”
“But why?” She presses her fingers into the table and gives me a hard stare. “Why? It was, what, five months? You guys seemed so happy. It seemed like this could be it. How dare you? I was rooting for you. We were all rooting for you!”
I frown. “Who is we?”
“No one, it’s T-Banks from ANTM.”
“T-Pain and what?”
“America’s Next Top Model, Laz. Old school.”
I have no idea what she’s going on about. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t think this would annoy you.”
“Well, it does,” she says. “Obviously I’m your friend and I just want you to be happy. And you seemed happy.”
“Seemed is the operative word. And I’m quite happiernow, believe me. I think Simone was…well, I don’t know, but it turns out she wasn’t quite the person I thought she was.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be supportive.”
“I am supportive,” she says, picking up her mug and having a sip. Today, her nails are holographic pink. Marina doesn’t wear a lot of makeup but she always has her nails done. “But you’re thirty years old. And you have to ask yourself, at what point am I going to settle down? Actually put in the legwork and follow through with a relationship? Even Taylor Swift settled down eventually.”
“Why on earth are you comparing me to Taylor Swift?” I mean, not that I mind, with her talent and money there are worse people to be compared to.
A small smile creeps across her lips. “Because you’re both a fan of using relationships and break-ups for creative material.”
Ouch.
“That’s not fair,” I tell her. “I don’t break up with people just so I have something to write about.”
She just stares at me.
“I don’t,” I protest. “If anything, it’s the other way around. They go after me because they think I’m going to write aboutthem. That same thing just happened with Simone.”
