I’ve got it bad for the guy. The usual suspects: waking up and he’s the first person I think of; asking everyone I’m on speaking terms with – and a few people I’m not – if it would be a bad idea to add him on Facebook; I even start writing poems again. Shudder. (They really are bad.)
The consensus is, add him. Which is nice to hear, but I’d have done it anyway.
The next day, I’m at a friend’s house. She’s trying to persuade me to ask an old flame for help with a job application. I’m being stubborn.
‘If you won’t call him, I will!’
‘No!’ I say, grabbing the phone out of her hands. ‘Argh, OK, I’ll do it.’
I fish my phone out of my bag. The ‘home’ button is flashing green.
‘Ooh! He’s accepted my–.’
The words die in my throat. Below the profile picture and education information are three little words:
In a relationship.
‘But – but – I don’t understand!’
‘He’s in a relationship,’ my friend says, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
‘But – but – he asked me if he should get with that girl! At the party!’
‘Oh – yeah.’
‘He must have been really drunk,’ I say, nodding.
‘So… what are you going to say to him?’
Friend sighs. ‘No, to Richard! About the job!’
She’s invited me round to do job applications, not to discuss my latest crush’s dubious take on monogamy.
‘Oh – right. I’ll draft something.’
I get out notepad and pen and begin.
I break off. ‘I can’t believe it.’
I bend my head to the notepad.
I hope you are well…
I pick up my phone, scroll down the page.
I throw the phone into my bag.
… and enjoying the summer.
Like I am.