Ivy
Iwake up tothe sound of my phone buzzing from a notification, a low, juddery hum that rattles against a book and makes it sound far more urgent than it is.
But it’s not the buzzing that jolts me upright—it’s the sharp, strange little pop in my chest. Like a balloon that’s been slowly deflating all night and finally gave up.
I sit in bed, blinking into the murky light, wrapped in the kind of stale emotional hangover that settles in your limbs like cement. And all I can think is:
Last night. The date. Oh, God.
It comes back in waves—the awkward start, the endless weather chat, the way we’d both slowly shrunk into ourselves like the world’s least sexy time-lapse video.
I rub my eyes and reach for my phone.
Christa. There’s no one else I’d rather confess this trainwreck to.
She picks up after two rings. Her voice is sleepy but warm. “Ivy? You’re up early. What’s happened?”
I groan, flopping back into the pillows. “Disaster.”
She’s instantly more alert. “Oh no. The date with Theo?”
“Well...” I sigh. “Yeah. Sort of. It just... it was awful, Christa. Like, impressively awful. Guinness World Record awkward.”
There’s a pause, then the sound of sheets shifting. “Okay, go on. What happened?”
“He picked me up. I looked great—I’ll stand by that. Hair pinned, makeup decent, boobs making a strong effort. The leather trousers were... a mistake, obviously, but I was feeling brave.”
Christa lets out a soft groan. “Oh God. Did they do the thing?”
“All the things. Rode up, cut off circulation, might need exorcising.”
“Brave,” she says again, with clear judgement.
“We got to the restaurant—and it was gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but so not us. You know when something feels too polished? Too... not pizza?”
“Michelin star vibes?”
“Exactly. Like we were auditioning to be people we’re not. And the minute we sat down, he changed. Like, full-on PowerPoint Theo. We talked about autumn. For twenty minutes.”
“Oh, Ivy.”
“And composting. Composting.” I groan, dragging the pillow over my face. “It was like the version of us that’s fun and messy andrealjust… didn’t turn up.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Did anything happen at the end?”
“We stood outside my flatlike two teens at the world’s driest school disco and basically agreed—without actually agreeing—that maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Wait—what? You both just... let it go?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t fight. We didn’t even get emotional. It was just… tired. Like we were both hoping the spark would appear if we behaved well enough for long enough.” I sigh again. “I kept thinking:maybe it’s me.Maybe I made it weird. Maybe I’ve read this whole thing wrong and he’s just... not that into me.”
Christa scoffs. “You didn’t make it weird. You wore trousers that attacked you and tried to be open to something new. That’s not weird—that’s optimistic.”
I pause. “What if I only like him when Lucy’s around?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, we had plenty of fun with Lucy not there. And we kissed in Dorset and that was nice. But last night I couldn’t stop wondering if he thought that. Like maybe he thinks I’m just using him to get... them. A ready-made family. I’m so confused.”
