I have wishfully considered this option many times in the last year. In the immediate aftermath of the mistletoe incident, I was so sure this was the explanation that I hunted Poor Mandy down at home to ask her again—was she certain she gave my card to Lucas? Did he definitely read it?
And she’d said yes, he read it. And laughed.
“He got the card,” I say, swallowing. I don’t like thinking about it, not when my body is still soft and sore and satisfied from last night. “Anyway, I’ve not even told you the worst part. The breakdown cover turned up early . . .”
“Oh no.”
“Not that bad. I was back in my seat.” I’m wincing at the memory of the woman’s face, how amused she’d been by my ruffled hair and red cheeks. “But she offered to give me a lift back to my car as they’d be a while fixing Lucas’s, so I just said bye to Lucas and left with her.”
“How did you say bye to him?” Jem asks.
“Oh, weird wave.”
“Little pigeon.” Jem’s voice is infused with warmth, and it makes me miss her more than ever. “You are too cute.”
“Embarrassing, you mean. It was great, though: I just went home and had a bath and did my own thing! I think casual one-time sex is the way forward for me.”
“Really?”
“Yes! Why not?”
“Well, maybe I’m not the best person to ask . . .”
“You’re always the best person to ask,” I say.
“You are well aware this would never happen to me,” Jem says, amused. “I cannot even conceive of it, Izz.”
Jem is demisexual, as in, she’s only attracted to people when she’s formed an emotional connection with them first. Great sex with someone you hate is a total contradiction in terms for her, I guess.
“Do you think I’ve been really stupid?” I say. “Do you think I shouldn’t have had sex with him?”
“Of course not! I’m not judging, not ever, you know that. I’m just not convinced you’re getting what you want from a relationship, here. You’re . . . cosy, Izzy. You’ve always wanted a partner who wears woolly jumpers and has a nice smile and a lovely family.”
I wish she’d not said cosy. It takes me right back to that bloody Christmas card again.
“Well, it’s not a relationship anyway, so no need to worry,” I remind her. “Now . . . speaking of lovely families,” I say, dodging a pothole.
“Don’t. I’m actually on the sidewalk outside the house with Piddles, in the very spot where I used to smoke as a teenager and dream of running away. Some things never change.”
“You know, you can run. You’re a grown-up now. You don’t have to spend the holidays with them just because you’ve ended up back in Washington. They make you miserable, Jem.”
“Oh, but they’re my family,” Jem says, and I can hear that she’s rubbing her forehead, the way she always does when she’s feeling guilty or sad. “I’m lucky to have them.”
I know what she means. When you don’t have yours.
“They’re lucky to have you,” I say. “I would so love it if you could walk into that house and own the woman I’ve always known you to be. So what if you’re not a doctor or a lawyer or a superrich businesswoman? You’re chasing a different dream, and you’re doing brilliantly. They should be proud of you.”
“I’m a backing dancer who’s got her first break aged twenty-nine, Izzy,” Jem says dryly. “I get paid, like, twelve dollars a month after tax.”
“Who cares! You have a gift, and the kindest, purest heart, which I personally think matters a hell of a lot more than whether you’re a ‘success.’ Which you are. So you win on all counts. Not that we subscribe to the idea of it being a competition. God, it’s complicated rising above other people’s expectations, isn’t it?”
“It really is.” Jem sniffs. “Thanks, Izz. Damn, you’ve made me cry.”
“I have many rambling pep talks up my sleeve,” I tell her. “Would you like one every hour, on the hour, just in case you need it?”
“You want me to sob my way through the holidays?”
“Only in a nice way!” I say, turning in to the hotel car park.
Lucas
There was a plan. It involved good red wine and candles. Slow kisses and pillow-talk.
My car in a lay-by was not the plan.
“Isn’t this the sort of conversation you should be having with one of your gym buddies?” Ana says in my ear.