Page 14 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“I’d like to know a bit more about the woman living with my children,” I say, feeling hot, panicky anger pressing against my chest.
“What do you want to know?” Dan asks. I use his pausing technique, waiting for him to speak. It works. “We met at Tri Club.”Of course they did.“She was born in Sweden, she works in public relations. Do you want me to send you her CV?” He sighs. “Anna, it’s been two years, you can’t begrudge me for moving on. You should too.”
This rankles. It’s only been eighteen months since he moved out and only a year since the official divorce came through. I still have cans of food in my cupboard purchased by Dan. I have dry shampoo in the bathroom that I had when we were together. Okay, so I don’t use the dry shampoo often, and the onion marmalade is probably out of date, but the point stands.
“I’m not begrudging you anything, and I have ‘moved on,’ thank you. Please just do me the courtesy of keeping me in the loop with any other major life changes. If you’re having another baby or something, I’d rather not hear about it from Ethan.”
“Sure. You want me to ask my girlfriend if she can sync you into her ovulation app?”
“Oh fuck off, Dan.”
I hang up, aggressively stabbing the screen with my finger. How many calls have ended with those four words? I hate the angry, sweary person he brings out in me. I don’t want to be that person.Is she really using an ovulation app, or was that just a joke?
Walking through the front door of the office, I come face-to-face with Will Havers standing in the hall. He is singing “Build Me Up Buttercup” to himself, which feels incongruous.
“Morning, Appleby,” he says, smiling at me with that infuriating, well-rested face. I take a moment to imagine Will’s morning. He probably got up early to go for a run, had a nice leisurely shower, had time to shave and then brushandfloss his teeth, caught up on the news over a quiet cup of coffee while listening to birdsong and Radio 4. I shouldn’t resent someone for having a morning that doesn’t involve throwing together packed lunches, prompting forgotten homework, and searching for lost sports kit—I know I chose to have children—but for some reason, I do, I really do. I’m sure we’d all have time to correct every single typo if we got to start our day in such a delightful way.
“Morning,” I say curtly.
“You look stressed,” he tells me.
“What makes you think I’m stressed?” I snap.
“You’re tugging your hair.”Am I?“You do that when you’re anxious.”
I clasp my hands together, embarrassed. When things were at their worst with Dan, I developed an unconscious habit of hair pulling. I only realized I was doing it when I noticed a small bald spot appearing behind one ear. It’s grown back now, but there’s a telltale tuft of regrowth that I need to comb down with hairspray every morning to stop it from sticking out. I am mortified that anyone, least of all Will, might have noticed this about me.
“Do you count how many times I use the bathroom too?” I ask.
“Usually three. Five when you’ve been drinking the night before,” he says, following me into the office. I turn to shake my head at him, and he laughs. “I’m joking, I am not keeping track of your bathroom usage.”
When I get to my desk, Will is still next to me, and I look up, my eyes questioning.
“How’s the dating column going?” he asks.
“Great. I’m excited.”Two lies in just three words, impressive.“I love this, by the way,” I say, pointing at his monogrammed document wallet. “Is it from WHSmith?”
“Funny,” he says, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Listen, I’ve got a table at Henry’s on Thursday night. Amazing seafood, impossible to get a reservation. Do you want to come?”
This question throws me even more than the ovulation-app quip of Dan’s.
“What? Me? Why?” I ask, feeling my forehead crease into a deep frown.
“Why?” he laughs. “Because the food is supposed to be incredible, and I thought it might be nice.”
“Is this some ploy to steal my column?” I ask, swiveling my chair to face him, then crossing my arms. Whatever game he’s playing, I don’t have the bandwidth today.
“No. I need to review the place for my food column, and I prefer not to eat alone.” He pauses, looking at me with an intensity that suddenly makes the air between us feel charged.
“What, so like a date?” I say, more in shock than horror, but it comes out as horror.
Will crosses his arms.Is he blushing?“No, never mind, just trying to be friendly.”
Now I’m thoroughly confused. Will doesn’t do friendly. This must be part of some diabolical plan. “Well, thanks for the invitation, but I’m afraid I can’t this week,” I say, then shoot him an unsteady smile.What if he really is just trying to be friendly?Maybe I’m still in fight-or-flight mode from my conversation with Dan. My hackles sometimes feel permanently raised.
“Sure, maybe another time,” says Will. He looks as though he wants to say something else, but now Malik, one of the junior copywriters, is hovering by my desk, waiting for me to review something, so Will walks away.
What was that all about?I don’t have time to dwell. I quickly scan Malik’s copy and mark up some changes, then I need to prepare for my ten a.m. with Jonathan. I sent him my column last night, “Love in the Time of AI.” I have to say I’m pleased with it. Not only is it the story of a terrible date, but it’s also a deeper examination of AI communication, how it might affect the world of online dating.
