Middle Eastern, December
‘It’s me and Mark,’ I say, finally. ‘We’re not so good.’
We’re eating in the car, because the thought of being in public for this conversation is unbearable. I cradle the small box of falafel in my lap, and my best friend pauses in her halloumi wrap. She drove to pick me up after work after I had texted her from under the counter.
‘He’s having doubts. Like, bottomless doubts. About our whole relationship.’
‘Oh no. Really? Do you think it’s something that can be fixed? Is he just overthinking after everything that’s happened recently?’
‘I don’t know. I said we could fix things if we gave it a shot. I asked if he wanted to try. But he hesitated. It was like he already had one foot out the door. If we tried and it didn’t work out, that would be one thing, but to not even want to try?’ My voice cracks slightly. ‘I don’t know if I can deal with that.’
I pick at my falafel, looking at the ring on my left hand. Less than six months old. Even though it’s dark in the December rain, it refracts the scattered light from street lamps and traffic lights.
‘I just don’t know why I’m not enough.’
‘You are enough. You are more than enough.’
‘It doesn’t feel like it.’
Her arms are around me in an instant, a life ring thrown out into the roiling sea. There is safety in her warmth.
When she releases me, she offers me a dolma, tart and lemony and slightly warm from the bag.
‘Whatever you decide, I support you in that,’ she says.
‘Thank you.’
‘Also, in spite of it all, you smell really good.’
I choke out a laugh and take her hand.
Mexican, January
Our shared tub of nachos are sitting on the dashboard. I have a burrito this time, with my appetite slowly returning. The lettuce is softening in the sour cream. She takes a chip from the box in my lap as we watch the traffic moving across the bridge. It’s a clear night, clear and cold, and the car windows are slowly steaming up. My left hand feels light, naked, and I still keep fussing over it without thinking.
We’re both looking at flats. She’s thinking of buying, and I need a new place to live. I still haven’t decided whether to rent or use the deposit I’d saved for my future house with Mark on a property of my own.
‘Everything is just so far out of my price range. It’s really gone up since I was last looking with Mark a few years ago, and I don’t know if I can live on my current hours at work anymore.’
‘I know just what you mean. I’ve been saving up for years, and this is what’s in my price range.’ She angles her phone towards me, and we laugh at inexplicably Z-shaped bathrooms, curtainless ground floor bedroom windows looking out onto car parks, and fridges in living rooms until tears are rolling down our cheeks.
Scottish, February
100 miles away, on the west coast, we’re graced with unseasonably mild sunshine. We sit on a picnic bench, overlooking the silvery sea loch in our thick coats, clutching hot breakfast rolls. Everything feels so distant, even just for the day, and the quiet is exhilarating. Freeing.
Taiwanese, March
‘When I went to pick up the last of my stuff, and I saw him again, I was just like “god, I’m still in love with you.” And I know it takes time, but I just want to skip to the stage where I don’t feel like that whenever I see him, you know?’
We’re sipping on bubble tea as we walk down the street in our hometown. It’s been years; the last time I’d had bubble tea was when I travelled to visit her in her dorms during her undergrad degree, and the sweetness reminds me of a summer’s day in George Square.
‘How long did it take you to stop feeling that about your ex?’ I ask.
She thinks, slurping a coconut jelly up the straw.
‘To be honest, sometimes I still get moments like that even now, a couple of years on. But it’s fleeting, because I know I don’t want to be together. Not anymore. Even though there were good times, there was much in the relationship that was not good, and nostalgia doesn’t really incorporate that. But it’s okay to feel like that, and even though it sucks it shows how much effort and love you put into the relationship. You deserve – we both deserve – someone who will do the same.’
I chew on that, and a tapioca pearl.
Italian, April
I gently knead the dough on my new rental property’s countertop to distribute the air bubbles. Although I’ve invited her over for pizza night, I’ve decided to make one instead of getting a takeaway, which I can’t afford anyway.
The flat, absorbing along with its associated bills my entire monthly paycheque, is by the sea, which I’ve always dreamed of. The shore is less than a minute from my front door, and there is sand on my doormat and the sea air rusts the hinges. But it’s a place of my own. I’ve chosen to rent because I don’t know where I’ll end up. I have the freedom to choose, without compromise, when I’m ready.
We put toppings on the pizza based on what’s in my rather empty fridge. It’s like being a student again, but it will fill over time. I don’t have a drawer for my cutlery in the kitchen, or a blender, but I’ve bought a dining table and there are fresh flowers in a vase.
We eat at the table, and then move to the sofa with our drinks, imagining all the different futures we might make. We barely even notice as the daylight fades. Only some things are constant, after all.