– or shocked silence. I never quite know how he’ll react. Which is half the fun.
In a way, we’re perfect for each other. Or we were. Until that text.
Until he asked me over to his parent’s house for Christmas Day.
This means he has mentally crossed a line that I never intended going anywhere near – he’s strayed into ‘meet the family’ territory.
Meet the family is scary shit. They will see the things he’s hasn’t: that I will never be the perfect girlfriend, that I am a million miles from daughter-in-law material. I have blue hair (which was pink) and wear unsuitable clothes. I carelessly lost my parents and haven’t a clue where they went. I get over-excited. I am older than he is. I do not have a five-year (or even a five-minute) plan.
See? It’s not going to go well, is it?
Callum and I are a good fit now because he’s young and a post-grad student with a sparkling career ahead in astrophysics. One day, when he’s a bit more grown up, he will want the family I can’t give him. He will realise this and then dump me.
And if he doesn’t realise, his parents will. And they’ll tell him to dump me.
It is much better to realise that we are approaching the end of the road before we get there. While it’s still fun.
I’ve been practising in my head what to say to him, and I’m still struggling. No bloody wonder, really, when I hadn’t planned on doing this in bed. How was I to know that he’d greet me at the door stark-bollock naked with a battered gladiolus clenched between his buttocks (he said it had been a healthy specimen at the start but had been harder to hold than he’d thought and had taken several tries)?
Anyway, that was then, and this is post-then.
It’s not you, it’s me.
No, no, no. I can’t say that. Totally not. It’s so wrong on so many levels. I mean it is me, but just as it takes two to make a relationship, it takes two to break it, doesn’t it? The other person might not realise it at the time, they might not realise they’re not the perfectly fitting jigsaw piece. But when they’re told, they’ll feel like the damaged bit, the piece that the dog chewed. And Callum is not damaged, he’s just not the fit I thought he was.
Which brings me back to me.
It always starts out so well, so full of promise, and then I find I can’t live with it. Whatever it is.
Although it, in this case, is definitely linked to commitment. I mean, Christmas Day? That’s the start of the end. The start of getting serious, which always wrecks things.
We really hardly know each other. We share fun, pizza, movies, our bodies. We don’t do ‘meet the family’, and Christmas. Even thinking about it now is making me hyperventilate.
Christmas is for sharing with loved ones. And my loved one is Aunt Lynn, not some cute guy who makes me laugh and orgasm.
I could just say I have to spend the day with Aunt Lynn and leave it at that. But that wouldn’t be fair. And it would be a lie. He asked a question that is far more complicated and loaded than it appears, and now there is no un-asking.
Getting serious spoils things, doesn’t it? Everything becomes about settling down. If you’re not serious, then you can’t be horrifically dumped. I’m not ready for serious; in fact, I’m not sure I ever will be.
‘Holy Moley!’ Don’t ask where he gets language like that from, but I like it. I have a rather weird turn of phrase myself, apparently. He resurfaces, and his eyes are wide. ‘That looks more like a no entry sign than a landing strip.’
Freud would have a field day with me. And so would a masseur – I didn’t half get a crick in my neck (and a bit bog-eyed) giving ‘down there’ a makeover. ‘Callum, we need to talk.’
Callum sighs, drops the bed sheet and edges back up so that his head is at pillow level. His gaze drifts to my hair, then back to my eyes. ‘Is the whole hair change thing symbolic, then?’
Callum isn’t daft; he is a star astrophysics student. I will be insulting both our intelligences if I do the glib get-out.
I can at least try and keep it light and jokey though.
He picks the bedsheet up again, for another look, and gives a low whistle, which helps. ‘Is this because I asked you over for Christmas? You’re moving on, aren’t you?’ He doesn’t look me in the eye, he’s studying our naked bodies under the sheets, but not in a lustful way.
‘I’m going to Canada.’ I blurt it out.
‘You’re moving to Canada? Wow, that’s a bit extreme, even for you.’
‘Not moving. Just going for Christmas.’
‘Oh.’
‘And . . .’ I shake my head. Callum is sweet, and we’ve had loads of fun. He’s been up for anything, and he’s always seemed to get me – until now. ‘Well, to be totally honest,’ I need to be, ‘if Auntie Lynn had been at home, then I’d want to spend Christmas Day with her. Look Callum, you’re brilliant, but I can’t do the whole settling down, meet the parents, thing.’
‘Cool.’ He shrugs. ‘No problem, there’s plenty of time. There’s always next year.’ The grin is a bit lopsided, but totally sweet, totally Callum. ‘Or I could come to Canada? They won’t mind.’
I hate myself.
‘No, I need to go on my own, it’s work, and,’ I take a deep breath, put my hand over his and do my best to look him in the eye. ‘Who knows what I’ll be doing next year? I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, Callum.’ I go back to studying his neat finger nails. ‘You need a nice, sweet girl you can marry, have kids with, and I’m not that person.’
He opens his mouth to object, and I put my fingers to his lips.
‘Not now, maybe, but one day. You’re wasting your time with me.’ I shrug. ‘Settling down isn’t my thing.’
I hate doing this to him. To us. I hate to chase the happiness away. But I can’t help it.
When I look up, he’s shaking his head in denial, but I can see it in his eyes. He does know. He knows me well enough. ‘You’ve already decided, haven’t you? The hair, everything. You’re not going to change your mind.’
‘I have.’
‘Sah, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ From the look on his face, I think I probably will. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I do love you, and you’re fab, and a total laugh, and daring but . . .’
‘But?’ It’s my turn to wait for the ‘but’.
He squeezes my hand. ‘You do need to get your shit together you know, you can’t keep running away from people.’
‘I don’t run away.’ I can hear the indignation in my voice – and the hurt – as I pull my hand away from his.
‘Forget I said it, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – let’s drink to Canada, shall we?’ He’s already out of bed, and dragging his jeans on over his naked, toned butt, and pouring vodka shots out before I’ve even got my T-shirt over my head.
We perch on the edge of the bed and drink in silence, punctuated by awkward attempts at conversation. The link is gone. Broken. We aren’t the same any more. We aren’t a couple.
‘Hey, I do like the hair. Blue is good.’ He kisses me on the nose as we stand at his front door, both knowing our lives are about to head off in different directions. ‘But don’t forget your pink side, will you?’ His voice has a wistful edge that makes me feel like a naughty child.
‘I just needed a change.’ I run my fingers through my cropped hair.
‘One day a lucky guy will come along who you don’t mind being