Ruth was right. Casual or not, the next person she dated wouldn’t be someone who fit inside the parameters she’d agreed with Mei, but someone who was right for her. Bette found herself nodding, and Ruth continued.

  “I’ve had a fair bit of casual sex, mainly after my first boyfriend and I broke up. And I had a really good time.” Bette raised her eyebrows, could feel the corners of her mouth turning up. Ruth smiled too, her cheeks pink. “He was the first person I ever fell in love with, and I was obsessed with him. With feeling like that. He was offered a graduate position in Singapore after we finished undergrad, and of course it made sense for him to take it. We tried long-distance for a year. And then, and trust me, I know how boring it sounds, we grew apart. I felt it running through my hands like water, spent so much time furiously trying to stop it draining away. But he froze on Skype one day and when his video kicked back in he was halfway through ending things. For a while after him I didn’t want a future with anyone else. I couldn’t see it. I wanted to put less pressure on meeting people for a bit.”

  Bette thought of the future she’d imagined with Mei, of the family she had started to visualize, and thought of how devastating it might be, how exhausting, to do that over and over again. To put that much pressure on everyone she slept with.

  “Yeah. That makes sense.”

  “It was fun, too. I met some great people. Just, no one I fell for.” Ruth sounded wistful, fiddling absent-mindedly with her hands as she spoke, and Bette realized that this was the most she’d ever delved into her romantic life. Short of knowing that Ruth was looking for something serious, that she had been taking things slowly with Gabe, Bette didn’t know anything else about her history. It had felt like territory Ruth didn’t want to explore. But there was an opening here. And Bette couldn’t resist.

  “Have you been in love since?”

  “Oof. Okay. I—yeah—actually, you know what? That’s not a question for here.” Bette was about to apologize, about to walk it back. But Ruth made eye contact with their waiter again. “Let’s go sit on the wharf instead.”

  Bette nodded. It wasn’t a brush-off. It was a change of location.

  It was, she thought as they sat down, a great one. The midday sun was still present enough to cut through the October chill. When they arrived at the wharf, Bette shrugged off her jacket and sat down cross-legged on top of it. Ruth followed suit, her legs dangling over the side, and opened the tins of whisky and ginger they’d bought en route. She took what sounded to Bette like a deep, steadying breath.

  “So. Being in love. Yeah. I have. It was…it was pretty recently. It ended earlier this year.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Ruth said, her voice tight. “She was a colleague. We were together three years. Nearly four. We met doing our master’s. But she was seeing someone else too. For quite a while.” She paused and Bette bit her tongue, longing to interject. “For the whole time.”

  It didn’t sound like Ruth, the story, the telling of it. There was none of her usual warmth, no segues, no self-deprecation. Her tone was that of a coroner in a TV drama, laying out the facts for the visiting detective, cold and sterile as the slab.

  “Ruth, I’m so sorry,” the words utterly inadequate. Bette took a sip, to give her something to do with her mouth, and coughed as a rush of bubbles invaded her throat. “That’s—I don’t know how—I mean—fuck…”

  “It was her ex. The other person she was seeing. I’m still not sure whether they ever stopped sleeping together. She was working in the States. The ex. So I was a placeholder, or something. I guess. Until she came back. They’re together now, I think,” Ruth was fiddling with her hands again, pinching at the skin between thumb and forefinger, hard enough that her skin turned white under the pressure. Bette wanted to reach over. Her own itched in her lap as she fought the impulse; she didn’t want Ruth to feel embarrassed that she’d noticed.

  “I mean, she’s clearly a fucking idiot.”

  Ruth laughed, short, sharp and surprised. “She is,” she confirmed. “But I was an idiot about her for a long time too. I should have trusted myself. I felt like something was wrong, especially in that final year. And I ignored it.”

  “The old sunk-cost fallacy?” Bette said, thinking back to a half-remembered lecture. “You’d invested too much to leave?”

  “It wasn’t even that considered. It was just…denial. I couldn’t believe it of her. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was when I met her. If I’d listed out everything I thought I wanted, she would have ticked every box. Clever. Compassionate. Cared about the same stuff I do. Made me laugh, even when I was in a horrible mood. She came to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, with my parents. She was great with my cousins’ kids. Everyone adored her. I adored her.”

  “But she was sleeping with her ex,” Bette said, entirely unnecessarily, before she could question the impulse. There was something hot coursing through her, and she was suddenly desperate for Ruth to look at her instead, to list out her good qualities. She wanted to meet Ruth’s family, wanted them to adore her. She wanted not to have to Google Rosh Hashanah, wanted to know already what the rituals were and why it was important. She hadn’t gone back to church since her brother’s wedding, since they had used one of the blessings during the service to pray for Bette. Specifically. But she could go to synagogue, if Ruth wanted. She liked that it was important to Ruth.

  “She was sleeping with her ex,” Ruth repeated quietly, her gaze squarely on Bette, her expression curious. It was as though she could see right through all Bette’s layers. Straight to her heart.

  Fuck.

  Oh fuck.

  She fancied Ruth. The thought didn’t hit her like a train, or like a bolt of lightning. She just…saw it. Knew it. Realized consciously what the rest of her had known since the start. It wasn’t news, not really. She had thought Ruth was gorgeous since the app. Certainly from the date. She’d lingered on the low cut of her playsuit, on the way the fabric sat on her thigh. She’d noticed her. She’d thought about kissing her. She’d wanted Ruth from the moment she’d approached the table.

  And then they’d become friends. Of course she could be friends with someone she found attractive. Bette found a lot of people attractive. It wasn’t particularly complicated. Ash was fit. Carmen was too. Erin was beautiful, in a pretty intimidating way, and it had never been an issue at work.

  But there was a difference, she realized, between thinking someone was attractive and being attracted to them. A difference between appreciating someone’s outfit and wanting to strip them out of it.

  She didn’t just like Ruth. She didn’t just think she was clever and sparky and fun and beautiful and brilliant. She didn’t just enjoy spending time with her. She liked Ruth. Ruth was gorgeous, and now Bette thought about it, the image did come to mind every now and then of running a hand through her hair, of how warm and soft she’d feel pressed up against Bette. She wanted to kiss her, to bite down on her collarbone, to suck on the tender skin beneath her ear. She wanted to see her make tea first thing in the morning, and take her to visit her nonna, and argue about where their children should go to school. All things considered, they weren’t particularly platonic feelings to have for a friend.

  And now she’d reacted in a weirdly jealous way, and Ruth knew. Maybe Ruth knew? She was looking at her as if she might know. But maybe she was looking at her oddly because Bette hadn’t spoken in a while, because she’d said the weird thing about the still-unnamed ex-girlfriend. Because Bette was still staring at her. Without saying anything.

  “Um—sorry,” Bette said, not knowing how else to address it. “That was a really weird thing to say. I was just—I hate that she hurt you. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Ruth, her voice soft and careful. “I’m okay now. Mostly. But it’s why I need to be really careful with myself. Why I need to take things slow, and look for the right person this time. I jumped off a cliff with her, you know? Trusting that I’d land safely. It felt like I’d ended up so deep in something that it was hard to breathe, but I thought that at least she was there beside me. That we’d both jumped. But she hadn’t. I was just down at the bottom of the cliff, drowning alone in the sea. I can’t fall head over heels into something again. It’s what I’m doing with Gabe at the moment: acclimatizing as I go. I’m considering every step. He’s nice. I like him. But I’m not losing my head over it. I’m nowhere near the cliff.”

  The twist in her stomach at the mention of Gabe’s name felt familiar. It was so obvious now, what it was. What she’d felt as far back as the party, watching him on the step with Ruth. She felt stupid. And also so thrilled about the banal nothing that was the word “nice” that she wanted to jump up and scream in joy. “Wow. That’s…vivid. You’ve really thought about this.”

  “Oh sure, like you’ve never spent an afternoon coming up with the perfect metaphor for a feeling.”

  “Yeah. I have. I really, really have.”

  The silence that settled between them felt heavy and loaded. This realization had changed…everything, really. And also nothing. Ruth was already seeing someone. She was looking for slow, for sensible. Not someone so recently out of a relationship, who’d fallen for her already, who’d been anything but sensible in the past few months.

  The original plan for brunch had been to warm up to asking Ruth about the wedding. Could she still ask Ruth to go with her? Now that she’d realized how she felt? After she’d risked letting Ruth know it too? Maybe this was her chance to reassure her, to let Ruth know that what she was asking was clearly platonic. That she was confident that they were friends who could do something ridiculous without the threat of it changing anything.

  She liked Ruth. But it hardly mattered. Even if they hadn’t settled into a friendship she was determined to keep, even if it was what Ruth wanted, it was far too soon. Bette was still bruised by what had happened with Mei. She wasn’t ready. Ruth deserved better than this version of her, a version who was still trying to figure things out. She could get a handle on the other feelings.

  “So, I have a favor to ask,” Bette said, digging her nails into her palms. “It’s a big favor and you can absolutely say no. Honestly, I’m kind of expecting a no, so really it’s not a problem.”

  “Bette, stop saying no for me and just ask.”

  Bette forced a laugh, peering over the edge, wondering whether orchestrating a fall into the water might be less embarrassing than what she was about to do. It was, she decided, on a par.

  “Jody was right, I think. I need a date for this wedding. It’s—I’m going to be all right. It’s not that I want to get back together with her. But I can’t go to the wedding alone. I just don’t think I’m going to survive seeing Mei, and watching her dance with this new woman, while I’m standing in the corner alone. Very Robyn, and not in the good way. So I—”

  “Bette, do you want me to go to the wedding with you?” Ruth interrupted.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” Ruth nodded.

  “Okay?” It would have been so easy to smile. To say thank you. But they needed clarity. Ruth deserved clarity. Or…at least…a bit of clarity. “I mean, that’s amazing, but I need to make sure we’re completely on the same page. I want you to go to the wedding with me, but I also want you to go to the wedding with me. Like, I want it to appear, for all intents and purposes, like I’ve brought my hot new girlfriend. I want Mei to look at us together and think: fuck.”

  Ruth was silent for a long time, looking out at the buildings opposite, squinting against the glare. Bette gave her time to process. Ruth didn’t make eye contact, didn’t turn back toward Bette, and Bette focused on the strong line of her jaw, the curve of her throat, the wide neckline of her Breton top. It was incomprehensible to think back even half an hour, to a Ruth she wasn’t entirely aware of fancying.

  “You want me to act like your girlfriend? Tell everyone we’re dating? Behave like we’re a couple? The whole bit?”

  Bette was suddenly convinced that Ruth was about to change her mind. That she’d just heard how ridiculous it all was. That it had been too much to ask for. She wished that Ruth didn’t have her sunglasses on, that she wasn’t facing the water, that it wasn’t impossible to read her.

  “Yes,” Bette replied, hope tight in her chest.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s Edinburgh, right? I love Edinburgh,” Ruth finally turned back to her, and offered Bette a small shrug. “And I love a train. And…I don’t know. I think we’ll be able to pull it off. I mean—we could be convincing. With the whole…thing. We like each other, right? Shouldn’t be that hard to extrapolate that. Exaggerate it, I mean.”

  Bette’s heart was racing, her mind struggling to keep up.

  “Do you think Gabe would mind?”

  Ruth paused, and Bette let herself imagine that Ruth had only just remembered that she was seeing someone. Let herself imagine Ruth saying, I don’t care or this is more important. You’re more important.

  “I mean, we’re not in an exclusive relationship. And also, us being together in Edinburgh isn’t real. He’s going to think it’s very very funny.”

  It wasn’t real. Bette’s heart dropped. She was suddenly aware of her body, of being scrunched up over her crossed legs, of the folds of her belly. She wanted to stretch out, wanted to look casual and easy, the way Ruth did, resting back on her hands, her legs dangling. It was the first time since their single aborted date that she had thought about how her body might look to Ruth, had wanted Ruth to think she was hot. She was so fucked. Bette looked at Ruth, so overwhelmed and so entirely enamored with her that she didn’t quite know what to do.

  It wasn’t real, she reminded herself. It wasn’t real.

  “Okay then,” she replied. “Okay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  FRIDAY, 28 OCTOBER

  24 days post-revelation

  There were a scant five minutes before the train was due to depart, her phone kept buzzing in her pocket with texts she assumed were from Ruth, and Bette categorically did not have time to stop and check them. The road up to Temple Meads felt endless as she dodged her way through slow-moving tourists and uncertain drop-offs, her heart racing in her chest. She was going to make it. Almost certainly. Probably. So long as there wasn’t a huge queue at the ticket barriers, or a group blocking her journey through the tunnel under the tracks, and so long as the little suitcase she was hauling behind her didn’t break a wheel or burst open or break where the long metal bits connected from her hand to the case. Oh god, what if the long metal bits broke?

  She ran through the tunnel, feeling as though she might vomit, wondering whether she would be able to keep running if she suddenly couldn’t hold it back any more. She’d never run and vomited at the same time before. It might be interesting.

  And then she was on the platform and up the step and through the doors and on the train and it was moving forward with her in it. She sat down in the bit between the carriages, blocking everyone, gulping in stuffy, air-conditioned air. On her phone, Ruth’s gentle, polite, nudging messages hovered closer and closer to panicked but never quite crossed over. Thankfully, what the messages did include was a carriage and seat number; Ruth had found them two together for the first leg of the journey. Bette took one more deep breath, tapped out a quick reply confirming she was at least on the train, and made her way down the narrow aisle, trying to avoid hitting her case against the ankles that spilled into it as she did.

  And finally, there was Ruth, her bag in the seat next to her, clearly reserving it for Bette. She had a plastic M&S bag on the tray table in front of her and was staring ahead, white headphones over her ears, her head nodding slightly with the movement of the train. It was the first time she’d seen her since they’d hugged goodbye at the wharf, and Bette was tangibly aware of having spent the week thinking about Ruth, about her jaw and her collarbone, about her ability to laugh at Bette and at herself, about her clear eyes and the silk of her thick hair, about her asking for details of Carmen and Anton in Bette’s kitchen, about the line of her spine in the dress she’d worn to dinner. And here she was.

  And Ruth, of course, knew none of it. She jumped when Bette picked up her case and flopped down next to her, and then exhaled in apparent relief. She pushed off her headphones and left them sitting round her neck, a tinny voice issuing faintly from them.

  “Oh thank god. Really thought you might have missed it.”

  “I’m the worst. I’m on time for everything. I’ve spent weeks of my life scrolling through my phone because I’m waiting for someone. But when it actually matters I’ll sleep through an alarm or get stuck in an impossible traffic jam, or leave my bag on a bus.”

  “I woke up to the buzz of my phone once, thinking it was my alarm. It was actually the calendar reminder for my flight to Budapest, telling me it was time to board the plane.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yep. Went from being a cheap, easy holiday to a really stressful, really expensive nightmare. The hot baths were nice though.”

  They settled back into their seats, and Bette caught sight of the ticket on Ruth’s phone screen, open and ready for inspection. Bette had paid for it on her “only for emergencies” credit card, had forwarded it through, and had then felt sick about it all week. This close to the trip, it was almost eye-wateringly expensive for Ruth to journey up with her. It would have been far cheaper for her to fly. But it was part of the whole thing; it wasn’t unrealistic to imagine Mei was on her train, probably with her new girlfriend. Traveling solo was not an option. And she wasn’t about to ask Ruth to pay for her own ticket.

  She planned to ignore the M&S bag for as long as possible, at least until they were past the Bristol stations. But, as soon as her heart rate returned to normal, inevitably, eventually: “Okay, so I didn’t bring a packed lunch, and it appears you very much did.”

 

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