We discussed his terrible texting in great detail over the phone a couple of weeks ago, when he asked me why I was ‘being so pissy with him’.
‘I feel like you don’t want to talk to me,’ I said, trying not to sound too whiny.
‘Of course I do, otherwise we wouldn’t talk,’ he said.
‘Then why the gaps between replies?’
‘I’m just busy.’ He brushed my frustration aside. ‘But you’re my girl whether we talk or not.’
Not his girlfriend, of course. That would be far too much commitment and he’s made it clear that ‘that’s just not wherehe’s at right now’. Instead, I’m his ‘girl’– a vague moniker that feels far more like an anchor than a term of endearment. When I went through it with Kimi and Devi over drinks, I could tell by their faces that they were not fans. I get it, I totally wouldn’t be either, but I just can’t shake him, no matter how hard I try. And I’vetried. It’s been ‘over’ more times than I care to admit. But I’m not getting any younger, or less single, and he is better than nothing. Plus, he does make me laugh and smile every so often.
What about Saturday? X
It’s been three weeks since we last saw each other in person, him claiming it’s because I’m never free when he is. He ‘trades’ from home for a living. He could literally be free whenever, but I’m trying to play it cooler, so I’ve chosen to let that go.
‘Are you texting Benji again?’ Aiden asks, returning to his seat.
I used his quick toilet trip as an excuse to be on my phone, since he’s already called me out countless times over the last month for texting Benji too much. It’s not my fault– the boy loves to pick arguments in the middle of my workdays. That is, when he’s actually replying. It’s embarrassing, so I’ve learnt to hide my phone usage better in the office, texting behind my handbag or pulling up Messenger on my laptop. But we’re not in the office today and being sat across from each other at a table doesn’t leave much room for hiding.
‘Sorry.’ I place my phone, screen down, on the tablecloth. ‘Was just trying to sort some things, but they can wait. You and these fishcakes have my full attention.’
And they do. We went to a fair few food tastings all over the month of May after we got over take-me-out-for-dinner-gate, but now June has rolled around we’ve had to start getting serious and locking down our final choices. Castries Kitchen wasone of the first St Lucian options we tried and I have not been able to stop thinking about their oxtail since. We’ve been back and forth about final menu choices with them for the last three weeks, and I have been counting down the days until we could be back here sampling the final options.
We both lift a miniature fishcake from the sharing platter in the middle, raising them in an air-toast before taking a bite. The crunch of the batter is immaculate, immediately echoing around the small, empty restaurant floor. I close my eyes as I chew, taking in the flaky fish, the chilli, the seasoning, all at once.
‘We’ve got to serve these,’ I sigh in pleasure.
‘Agreed. They might be better than my mum’s,’ Aiden nods.
I gasp. ‘Blasphemy!’
He shrugs. ‘Hey, the bar’s high, but these might just be higher.’
I reach for another, then another, and pray the next course comes soon. If it doesn’t, I might have to ask them to take this tray away. . . or at least put the food in some Tupperware for later. It didn’t occur to me until that first bite that, despite it being nearly 3 p.m., I haven’t eaten or even drunk anything today. I am hungrier than I thought. And incredibly thirsty. I’ve forgotten what hydration feels like.
My phone buzzes against the table and I can’t help but instinctually whip it around and check for Benji. It’s not him. Of course it’s not. It’s Kimi, actually, once again stressing why chasing him is not a good idea.
‘Wow, you two don’t stop, do you?’ Aiden says.
‘That’s us!’ I lie, shrugging as I put my phone back down.
I may have exaggerated how well things were going with Benji to Aiden. I couldn’t help it, I needed some world in which Benji and I were a perfect couple. It started with innocent bouts of omission but the more I said, the more I started to believe my own lies. The lie to Aiden was my comfort. A safe spaceamong the barrage of blue ticks and gaslit phone calls. Omission became embellishment, and that embellishment straight fiction. A fiction where Benji actually acts like he likes me and I actually enjoy his company.
Kendrick, the owner, comes over, a gleeful smile on his face as we once again praise the fishcakes in all their entirety. Then he whisks them away, replacing them with a cone of what look like small corndogs.
‘I got creative with this one,’ he says with pride. ‘They’re battered and deep-fried plantain.’
I gasp.
‘Calm down, Maddy– you look like you’re about to start drooling,’ Aiden says as Kendrick chuckles.
I can barely hear them. I’m too focused on the cone of deep-fried golden goodness placed in front of me.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Kendrick says before walking away.
‘Do you need a moment?’ Aiden asks.
‘I need several,’ I whisper.
