‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah!’
‘Are we both dumbasses?’
‘I think we are, Georgia.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Yes. That’s the takeaway from this conversation.’
‘Great.’
And then Pip started to laugh. And that made me laugh too. And then we were laughing hysterically, the sound echoing around the room, and I couldn’t remember the last time Pip and I had laughed together like this.
We’d missed dinner, so we decided to have a little picnic with all the snacks I kept in my room – of which there were plenty. We sat on the floor and ate supermarket-brand cookies, a half-empty family-size packet of caramelised onion crisps, and bagels that were definitely almost stale, while watching Moulin Rouge, of course.
It was similar to last night, watching YouTube videos with Rooney. If I could spend every night of my life eating snacks and watching something silly in a giant bed with one of my best friends, I’d be happy.
My future still terrified me. But everything seemed a little brighter when my best friends were around.
We didn’t talk any more about identities and romance and feelings until the film had nearly finished, when we’d moved on to the bed and had been curled up in my bedsheets in silence for the better part of an hour. I was dangerously close to falling asleep.
But then Pip spoke – her voice soft and quiet in the low light of the room.
‘Why did you college propose to me?’ Pip asked.
There’d been a lot of reasons. I’d wanted to make a big gesture, I’d wanted to cheer her up, I’d wanted her to be my friend again, I’d wanted to make things right. I was sure Pip knew all those things too.
But maybe she needed to hear it out loud.
‘Because I love you,’ I said, ‘and you deserve magical moments like that.’
Pip stared at me.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
She leant on to one hand, covering her eyes. ‘You fucking dick. I’m not drunk enough to cry while having emotional conversations with friends.’
‘I’m not sorry.’
‘You should be! Where the fuck are your tears!’
‘I don’t cry in front of anyone, my dude. You know this.’
‘I’m making it my new mission in life to make you cry with emotion.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘It’s going to happen.’
‘Sure.’
‘I hate you.’
I grinned at her. ‘I hate you too.’
I woke up groggily the next morning to the sound of the bedroom door opening, and when I raised my head, I was unsurprised to find Rooney creeping in wearing last night’s clothes – the full suit she’d worn as part of the proposal.
This was a relatively normal occurrence by this point, but what was not normal was the way Rooney froze in the middle of her aqua rug and stared at the space next to me on the double bed – Rooney’s side – which was occupied by Pip Quintana.
Pip and I had been chatting so much last night that by the time Pip realised she should probably go back to her own college, it was bordering on midnight, so I’d lent her some pyjamas and she’d stayed over. Both of us had utterly forgotten about the fact that things could be quite awkward between Pip and Rooney if they were in the same room.
There were a very obvious few seconds of silence.
And then I said, ‘Morning.’
Rooney said nothing for a moment, and then started very slowly taking off her shoes and said, ‘Morning.’
I felt movement next to me and turned to look, grabbing my glasses from my bedside table. Pip was awake, her own glasses already on.
‘Oh,’ she said, and I could see the colour filling her cheeks. ‘Um, sorry, I – we probably should have asked you if –’
‘It’s fine!’ Rooney squawked, turning away from us and rummaging frantically in her toiletries bag for a packet of make-up wipes. ‘You can stay over if you want!’
‘Yeah, but – this is your room too –’
‘I don’t really care!’
Pip sat up. ‘O-OK.’ She started clambering out of the bed. ‘Um, I should probably go anyway, I’ve got a lecture this morning.’
I frowned. ‘Hang on, it’s like seven a.m.’
‘Yeah, well, I-I need to wash my hair and stuff, so –’
‘You don’t have to leave because of me!’ said Rooney from the other side of the room. She was facing away from us, scrubbing her face with a make-up wipe.