(Continued from Invitation Only)
I have a habit, when reading messages from guys I like, of skimming for question marks and the word ‘love’. (For some reason, the phrase ‘I’d love to etc etc’ really does it for me – I wonder why.) So it’s little wonder that my eye is drawn to the last line.
Look, I know this is dodgy behaviour given he has a girlfriend, but I’ve just had the rug pulled out from under my feet. Just when I think things with FFS are going well, the guy goes silent on me; and, as if that’s not bad enough, I now have the added stress of not knowing if he will or won’t show at my birthday dinner. And if he does show, I have no idea how to behave towards him. His manner of greeting will probably tell me all I need to know; and either I’ll be a wreck from thereon in and Beatrice will have to carry the show, or I won’t.
My gut tells me the former is more likely. Beatrice, talking to me on the phone the day before, raises a good point.
‘Anna, do you actually want him to be there?’
I um and ah for a bit. ‘Y-es, no, I don’t know!’
I try again. ‘Y-es. As in…’
The text he sent this morning implied everything was fine. He even gave something approaching an explanation for not having been in touch all week. So, well, there’s a chance – isn’t there? – that I’m just being paranoid. That he does like me. That he’ll come on Saturday, and be warm and affectionate and tender – all the things I want him to be.
‘… no, I do.’