The Show Must Go On

Chapter Twenty: Do I Wanna Know?

Chapter Twenty Soundtrack: Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

My face is burning. I open my emails just to do something, then close them, then open them again.

Nas is still not looking at me. He looks completely indifferent to me, in fact. Did I just hallucinate that? Is he trying to distract me from work with thinly veiled innuendo? Because, if so, it is working. I am literally flaming with anticipation.

'Thanks for the brief,' I say. My voice is annoyingly thin.

His victory smile tells me that he noticed.

'You're very welcome.' I try not to read anything into that. I try not to imagine what else I might be welcome to. I fail.

'Did your computer hurt you in some way?' he asks politely. An understandable guess, since I am smashing the return key.

An excuse to change the subject. Despite my onslaught of tapping, the screen is frozen. I shrug to indicate my helplessness.

'I'll call IT.' I dial their extension, and after an excruciating wait, Natalie picks up.

Natalie does not sound happy to help. Natalie does not sound happy at all. If I had to pick an adjective to describe Natalie, it would be 'irate'.

'Guess you'll need a new laptop,' is her advice. Do they have any? 'Nope.' Shall I log a request in the portal? 'Sure. Why not.'

Nas, who is doing a weak impersonation of someone not eavesdropping, cracks a sideways smile as I slam down the receiver.

'So.'

'So?'

'I guess IT won't help us anymore.'

'Weird,' he says. He's trying very hard not to laugh.

'So things didn't work out with Natalie?'

'No idea what you mean.'

He winks.

Fuck. I like this man.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Except for my fiancé dying, obviously.

Ben. Ben, dying.

The thought is a sobering reminder. Clearly my hormones are out of control, and clearly Nas is not entirely repulsive. But we could never date. It would blow apart my life. I'm not sure I'm even ready to date yet, but when I am, I need someone safe and stable.

Could we just have sex? Get it out of my system? Maybe, but that would require Nas to be attracted to me, too. Natalie pops into my head: her long legs, her long hair, her long list of achievements. If she isn't beautiful enough to tempt him again, I don't have a chance.

Nas is unaware of my inner torment. He's leaning back in his chair like a bored teenager. The light catches on his glasses, darting off and obscuring his eyes, and I take a moment to enjoy his distraction: staring at the hard lines of his shoulders, his foot tapping against his desk, how his fingers tighten around an orange. He raises it to his mouth and, as I watch, bites off a wedge with sharp, white teeth. A drop of juice drips from his lips.

Oh my God.

This is torture.

Have I always felt like this? Have I always known his body so closely, felt each movement as though it's against my skin? Maybe what I thought was hatred was attraction, all this time, pushed down into the corners of my mind where Ben, and guilt, and loneliness all keep company.

Nas bites his lip—

Well, I hate that.

This is impossible. I am a grown woman. My body is making its needs very clear, and it is time to meet them.

Should I download Hinge?, I text Mei.

Her response takes less than 30 seconds: oh my god !!!! literally finallyyy xoxo

So that's a yes.

let me sign off on your profile pics pls xoxo, she adds.

Giving up on pretending to work, I scroll through my photos for a few options. There's one I like, from a work trip a few years ago, where I'm glancing back in a candid laugh. My outfit was great that day, and my hair was behaving for once, and I know because—

Because Nas didn't roll his eyes when he saw me. I need a different photo. I will not build my dating profile around my colleague's tastes. I need an excuse to dress up and go out, and let go of the imaginary Nas in my mind, who notices everything I say and wear. I need to realise that he's not obsessing over me, as apparently I'm obsessing over him.

'What did you think of Freud's paintings of the dogs, by the way? I meant to ask you,' Nas asks. Luckily he has finished the orange or my heart would give out entirely.

'Haven't seen them,' I tell him, still scrolling through my pictures.

'At the exhibition?'

My face gives me away. I see it immediately, the moment he realises that I lied about going. Guilt creeps up my spine. I want to apologise, but something in his eyes tells me not to bother. What could I say, anyway? That I wanted to seem superior to him? He returns to his laptop, not looking over again, and I keep the truth to myself: that I regret not going together. That I regret slapping down that gentle introduction to friendship.

Instead, I return to work, determinedly not looking over at him. 'Your phone's ringing,' he tells me a few minutes later. Even though I am not looking at him, I can feel, on my skin, that he isn't looking at me either. We are trapped in this together.

It's Ben's sister Laurie, whose wedding is this weekend. My mind jumps to everything I've done to help her prepare: finding the vendors, loaning her the deposit, attending every fitting. Have I forgotten something? What else does she need?

'Hey.'

'Ellie, oh my God! I'm so glad you picked up.'

'Everything okay?'

'It's the flowers. The florist says they can't change the order, but I've realised that dahlias are just so droopy.'

'Okay, well, we ordered the wedding bouquets months ago, so I don't think we can find someone else on short notice.'

'But what if they clash with the dresses? I changed those last week and now the moodboard vision is ruined.'

'What colour are the bridesmaids wearing?'

'Pink.'

In my periphery, Nas leaves his desk, his laptop open and his jaw tight. Somehow, he is even more annoyed than before. Is it the wedding phone call in the office? Does he hate florists? I can't ask because he's gone, striding out, and I can't help feeling that he's leaving just to avoid me.

'The flowers will be fine,' I tell her, not really listening as she lays out the rest of her worries. The flowers will be fine, the wedding will be fine, it will all be fine. She's even using the venue Ben and I chose, at a discount, offered to compensate for our terrible tragedy. Everything will be just fine.

'You're the best, Ellie,' she tells me, and somehow this doesn't warm me like it normally would.

*

The guilt really hits a few hours later, when I'm checking my receipts and realise the flight to Ireland was booked standard class. Finance, when I call them to ask, explain that an upgrade would have been paid out-of-pocket.

By Nas, they don't say, but I know that already.

For his own comfort? Maybe. But really I know, and the knowledge makes his absence even worse, that he upgraded us because I'm scared of travelling. 

*

happy sunday! it's a sunny, toasty day in london (finally) so i'm updating early so i can go sun myself like a lizard. what are your weekend plans?

thank you so much for reading so far! means the world to me.