I was probably just convenient. That was the nature of roommates.
But all in all, it was OK. I was OK. Maybe I wasn’t the socialite I’d come to university hoping I could be, but living with Rooney was OK, and I’d even managed to secure a date with someone. An actual romantic date.
Things were looking up.
As it turned out, there was nothing interesting to do in Durham apart from eat out, drink, and go to the cinema. Unless you particularly like looking at old buildings. But even that got tiring after you’d walked past them every day on your way to Tesco.
I wanted to think of something actually fun to do with Jason, like ice skating or bowling or one of those cool bars that doubles up as a mini-golf place. But Jason immediately suggested going to the little ice-cream café on Saddler Street, and I didn’t have anything better to suggest, so I agreed. Plus, ice cream is nice.
‘You’re going on your date?’ Rooney asked, just as I was about to leave our room on Saturday afternoon, about ten minutes before we’d agreed to meet. She looked my outfit up and down.
‘Yes?’ I said, looking at myself.
I was just wearing my normal clothes – mom jeans, a cropped woolly jumper, and my coat. I thought I looked quite good, actually, in my usual sort of cosy bookseller way. We were only going for ice cream, for God’s sake.
‘You look cute,’ said Rooney, and I felt like she really did mean it.
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you looking forward to it?’
I actually hadn’t really been looking forward to it. I guessed this was due to nerves. Everyone gets nervous about a first date. And I was very nervous. I knew that I needed to chill out and be myself, and if I didn’t feel that spark after a while then we just weren’t meant to be.
But I also knew that this was a chance for me to actually experience romance and be someone who has fun, quirky experiences and doesn’t die alone.
No pressure, I guess.
‘Pistachio,’ said Jason, looking at my choice of ice cream as we sat down at a table. He was wearing his teddy-bear jacket again, which I loved for its sense of familiarity and cosiness. ‘I forgot that you’re literally a disgusting gremlin when it comes to ice cream.’
The café was cute, tiny and decorated with pastel colours and flowers. I admired Jason for suggesting it. It was straight out of a romance novel.
I glanced at his selection of ice cream. ‘Vanilla, though? When they had cookies-and-cream?’
‘Don’t bash vanilla. Vanilla is a classic.’ He popped a spoonful into his mouth and grinned.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘I forgot how basic you are.’
‘I’m not basic!’
‘It’s a basic choice. That’s all I’m saying.’
We sat at our little round table in the ice-cream café and talked for an hour.
We talked about university for most of that. Jason explained that his history lectures were already a bit dull, and I lamented about the length of my reading lists. Jason admitted that he didn’t think the drinking-clubbing lifestyle was really for him, and I said I felt the same. We spent a long time talking about how we both felt Freshers’ Week was a monumental let-down – marketed to be the best week of your whole university life, only to turn out to be a week of endless drinking, visiting gross clubs and failing to make real friends.
Eventually conversation dwindled a little, because we’d known each other for years, and we’d already had dozens, if not hundreds, of deep chats. We were already at the point where silence didn’t feel awkward. We knew each other.
But we didn’t know how to do this.
Be romantic.
Date.
‘So this is weird, isn’t it?’ said Jason. We’d long since finished our ice cream.
I was leaning on my hand, elbow on the table. ‘What’s weird?’
Jason looked down. A little embarrassed. ‘Well … the fact that we’re … you know … doing this.’
Oh. Yeah.
‘It’s …’ I didn’t really know what to say. ‘I guess it is. A bit.’
Jason kept his eyes firmly down, not looking at me. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all week and I just … I mean, I didn’t even know you might like me like that.’
Neither had I. But then I had no idea what ‘liking someone like that’ was even supposed to feel like. If it was going to be with anyone, it was probably going to be with him.
His voice grew a little quieter and he smiled awkwardly, like he didn’t want me to see how nervous he was. ‘Are you just doing this because of what Rooney said when we all went out that night?’