‘I hardly think writing a blockbuster film script of a bestselling novel, written by one of the most successful authors of all time, is a stepping stone.’
‘But the whole point of this was to help you to make films and TV shows of your own – not his – to do what you really wanted.’
‘This is what I want. I’m sorry if my career choices aren’t good enough for you.’
We both knew that wasn’t what I meant, and I could see you weren’t really sorry at all.
‘What about what I want? It was your idea to spend a few days in New York together and so far I’ve barely seen you—’
‘Because I couldn’t leave you behind. I never would have heard the end of it.’
For once, it feels like I’m the one who can’t recognise my spouse. ‘What?’
‘You don’t seem to have any friends or even a life of your own these days.’
‘I have friends,’ I say, struggling to think of the names of any to help back up my claim.
It’s hard when everyone my age that I used to know seems to have children now. They all disappeared inside their shiny new happy families, and the invites dried up. It reminded me of school a little… being shunned by the cool kids because I didn’t own the latest must-have accessory. I changed schools more than once growing up. I was always the new girl and everyone else had already known each other for years. I didn’t fit – I never do – but teenage girls can be cruel. I tried to make friends, and I succeeded for a while, but I was always on the outer solar system of those childhood relationships. Like a smaller, quieter planet, distantly orbiting the brighter, more beautiful and popular ones.
I still tried to stay in touch – attending the occasional birthday party, or obligatory hen do, or wedding for someone I hadn’t spoken to for years – but as we all grew up, and grew apart, I guess I grew more distant. My childhood relationships set the tone for the ones I formed as an adult. It was self-preservation more than anything else on my part. I’ll never forget the woman who pretended to breastfeed her children until they were four years old. Always making excuses to avoid seeing me – as if my infertility might be catching. I care more about liking myself than being liked by others these days, and I don’t waste my time on fake friends anymore.
You reached for my hand but I pulled it away, so you reached for your wine instead.
‘I’m sorry,’ you said, but I knew that you weren’t, not really. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ you added, but it was just another lie. You did. ‘Henry is a sensitive writer. He really cares about his work and who he will trust with it. He’s had a difficult year—’
‘I’ve had several. What about me? You’re acting like he’s your best friend all of a sudden. You hardly know the man.’
‘I know him very well; we talk all the time.’
It’s been a while since I felt so discombobulated. I almost choked on my steak. ‘What?’
‘Henry and I talk quite regularly. On the phone.’
‘Since when? You’ve never mentioned it.’
‘I didn’t know I had to tell you about everyone I speak to, or get your permission.’
We stared at each other for a moment.
‘Happy anniversary,’ I said, putting a tiny paper parcel on the table.
You pulled a face which made me think you had forgotten to get me a gift, but then surprised me by taking something out of your pocket.
You insisted I open yours first, so I did. It was a small copper-and-glass hanging frame. Inside were seven one penny copper coins. They all had different dates on them, one from each of the seven years we have been married. It must have taken a lot of thought and time to find them all.
You cleared your throat, looked a little sheepish. ‘Happy anniversary.’
I said thank you, and wanted to be grateful, but something still seemed broken between us. It felt like I had spent the evening with someone who looked and sounded like my husband, but wasn’t. You opened my hastily bought gift, and I blushed with embarrassment after all the effort you had made.
‘Where did you get this?’ you asked, holding the American penny up to the candlelight. It had a smiley face carved into it, next to the word ‘liberty’。
‘Coney Island this afternoon,’ I replied. ‘I stumbled across this arcade machine that said Lucky Pennies. The paper crane I gave you is looking a little worn out, so I thought I’d give you something new for good luck to keep in your wallet.’