Meredith
“So, what have you been doing with your life?” Dylan asks me as he slices the onion thinly.
I’m buttering the bread, which isn’t easy considering how bloody cold it is.
“I moved, got a job, met a guy, got married, it didn’t work out, got divorced,” I say lightly, lifting my shoulders as I tilt my head.
I hate this line of questioning. This is harder than the actual separation, the questions.
Dylan doesn’t say anything at first, and he focuses on rinsing the knife beneath the tap.
I move onto the cheese, scraping it along the grater with gusto, watching with satisfaction as the cheddar falls in curls onto the wooden chopping board.
“Shit. Where did you work?”
“Just an office. Nothing special,” I mutter, moving my hair out of my eyes with my forearm. “Is that enough?”
Dylan glances at the cheese before nodding. “Yeah, for me. If you want some, you better get grating.”
I snort with laughter.
“I’ve got some pickled beetroot if you want some?” Dylan says, ducking his head back into the fridge.
“No, I love cheese and onion. This bread is gorgeous.”
“Yeah, my mum dropped it off for me a few days ago. It lasts ages.”
I distribute the cheese onto the bread, dropping a few slices of onion on before slapping the top slice of bread on.
“Fingerprint sandwiches.” Dylan beams, nodding his approval. “That’s how you know you’ve got good bread.”
“Why haven’t you asked me anything?” I blurt out, slicing the knife through the middle of the sandwich.
I take a big bite, finally turning to meet his gaze as he blinks.
“About your divorce?” He asks gently, sliding my sandwich onto a plate. “Because it’s got nothing to do with me.”
I move back, chewing thoughtfully. Dylan makes his sandwich quickly, cleaning up after us before glancing at me through his thick, dark eyelashes.
“Why? Do you want me to know?”
I grab my plate and follow him into the lounge, groaning when I see the flurry of snow outside again. Tears prick my eyes at the thought of not making it to my sister's house, and I drop my head so he can’t see them.
“Not really,” I whisper, not trusting my voice with any volume. The last thing I want is a snotty sob to erupt whilst I’m speaking.
That wouldn’t do.
“Okay then. Well, we know enough, right? You know what happened with Goldie and me…” his voice catches, and I peer at him from behind my sandwich, pretending I’m picking an imaginary hair out of the bread.
His jaw is clenched, and his eyes give nothing away.
Goldie.
“And you know I’m divorced. Sometimes life doesn’t work out the way you planned.”
“No shit,” Dylan mutters.
“At least I didn’t get picked up by some deliriously happy couple.” I laugh, but he seems too far away to join me.
