NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY |

33: chop your sanity and sauté with self-preservation

            She's still in love with her ex. She is still in love with her ex. She's in love with her ex. Stop looking at her like that.

But I can't help it. The streetlamps reflect in her irises as Joe watches the storefronts pass in the back of the uber. She hums along to the bedroom pop the driver plays on bluetooth, swaying to the mellow rhythm. At four am, Joe still has the energy to dance.

Caleb's party lasted long enough for my intoxication to fade. A comforting haze still lingers at the periphery of my mind, just the right amount of ease that I forget there's owt bad in the world because why would anyone want to do owt bad when they could feel this nice? Why would anyone want to do owt bad when they could watch streetlights in Joe's eyes? Who needs stars, anyway? The Milky Way can't compete.

It takes us both several seconds to understand that we've arrived at her building, that the uber has parked on the curb and not just paused at a red light. With a jolt, Joe gathers her tote bag and zips up her coat.

Thanking the driver, she opens the door but don't move out of the car. Her stare adheres to the group of men smoking outside the building's glass doors.

Joe turns to me. The wonder has vanished. 'Sorry. This is a bit stupid. But would you mind walking me inside?'

I've undone my seatbelt before I manage to speak: 'Yeah– No, I wouldn't mind. Of course, I'll walk you.'

I tell the uber that she don't have to wait. She gives me a grateful smile and wishes us a good night. Soon, it's just Joe and I, standing on the curb but Joe seems to have rooted to the paving stones.

She zips up her jacket as far as it'll go, knuckling her chest where her necklace lays beneath it. The hackling laughter of the men is an electric shock that makes her flinch each time.

'Hey,' I nudge. 'What d'you need from me?'

'Can you just... tell them to shut up if they say something?'

'Of course.'

Joe digs out her keys. I walk so close to her that our arms brush. Even as she keeps her eyes downcast the whole way, the group's leers adhere to her as we approach.

'You're looking spiffy, love,' one of the men calls, pointing at her with the burn of his fag. A wire of smoke lassos us once we're close enough. 'I can keep you busy if you need. The night's still young.'

Joe gives an uneasy smile as she hurries past them. She presses her automatic key to the pad but it's incredibly slow—probably much slower than a regular key would be.

'Don't be like that, pet–'

I turn around to face the man. 'She's not interested, mate.'

'Yeah?' His demeanour curdles.

He dissects me, taking in my turtleneck and printed shirt visible under my unzipped jacket. With the charms in my locs and my layers of gold necklaces, I doubt I look like anyone he'll respect.

In a single step, he's right in front of me. 'And who the fuck are you, anyway?'

'I said she's not interested,' I hiss. 'Prepara una sartén con aceite para freír la cebolla y el ajo.'

The door opens and I swivel around to step in after Joe.

The bite of fresh paint is just as displeasing a smell as the tobacco outside, to say nowt of the supermarket-level of unbearable lighting. The entrance hall is incredibly spacious. I could easily carry a bathtub up those stairs! Not that I'd have to since there's, not just one, but two lifts.

Joe turns out not to be a lift person since she steers away from them. I follow her up the first flight of stairs until we're out of sight from the glass doors. The men seem to have forgotten about her; at least none of them followed us inside.

'You alright?'

She hums to assure she is until she rethinks. 'I'm angry. I don't want to need a man around to protect me from other shit men. And he's always like that. This is my home—I don't want to feel like I did...' Joe blinks her eyes back into focus. 'And I looked fit tonight, too. Now they've ruined it; I just feel gross.'

'I still think you're fit.'

She shoves my arm, exhaling a laugh and my heart skips.

'I'm sorry you have to deal with them,' I add sincerely.

Joe offers a smile. 'Thanks for doing that. Tamsin kind of messed me up when it comes to this stuff. It was always my fault as if I want– Anyway. Thanks.'

Tamsin. So that's her name. Of course, she has to have a name that makes her sound like a fucking fairy. Maybe she looks like a fairy too and she and Joe were like an inhumanely attractive fairy couple who were made for each other by divine prophecy–

'What are you doing?'

I snap my attention up from the toes of my Buffalos (thirty quid at the charity shop, absolute bargain) to Joe's furrowed brow. It's a gentle confusion: I can assume she isn't actually a fairy and hasn't read my thoughts but is literally asking.

'Er... Walking you up.'

The affection that floods her eyes must be from the intoxication because it's entirely disproportionate to walking up a few flights of stairs. I'm quick to look away.

We resume climbing, arms brushing occasionally and all I can say to that is: thank fuck we're both wearing jackets. I'm a live wire; I'll spit sparks the second Joe touches me.

'What did you say to him?'

'"Prepare a frying pan with oil to sauté the onion and garlic",' I translate and Joe cackles out of sheer confusion. 'I'm hoping he don't speak Spanish. That's what I do during sex too. You know, if someone asks me to speak Spanish cause I never know what to say so I just recite recipes in a sexy voice. Gets them going.'

'Can't be very sexy for you.'

'No, but that were never important.'

'Well, thank you.' Joe pauses long enough to ensure I have to hold the full weight of her gratitude in my hands. 'And thanks for walking me up.'

'I'll come up with you anytime.'

'Really?' Summat unfamiliar strums in her voice. 'I thought you might have a hard time after all the alcohol.'

'Oh, that's gone already.' I stifle a grin. 'But I could have a hard time if you prefer.'

She laughs, the chime of it echoing in the stairwell, and I nearly trip because I stop paying attention to the steps.

She's in love with her ex. She's in love with her ex. She's in love with her ex. Snap out of it. She's in love with... Tamsin. Tamsin and Josephine. It even sounds better.

On the fourth storey, Joe steps off the staircase and walks down the corridor. The moment she's inside her flat, she unzips her boots but keeps the door open. Leaning against the opposite wall, I watch her take off her shoes and jacket. The wall is the only thing that keeps me upright when she smiles at me.

'Seriously, thank you for all this. I had fun tonight.'

'Anytime,' I say, sincerely this time. 'Good night, Joe. Hope you sleep well.'

'You too.'

She doesn't shut the door. I don't move.

She's in love with her ex. She's in love–

'Unless you... want to come in.'