Page 43 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

Can feel it.

‘I’ll leave you to your celebrations,’ I say, shooting for the door. ‘I have work, anyway. Thanks for the cake and the inspiration.’

‘Inspiration? Me? Well, you can thank me by practising calling Hildy, Hildy.’

‘Right.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

I look up and see that she’s holding up my watch for me to take, and there’s an endearing smile on her face. I grin and take it from her, settling it on my wrist as I turn and walk to my apartment.

I hear the elevator doors ping. Hildy’s probably off on a hot date but to be honest, I give it no more thought. I’m too busy thinking about how I need to get this new pitch written and then call my team.

Refocus our energy for tomorrow’s meeting.

My heart is thumping crazily inside my chest, but, oh, how bloody fantastic it feels!

Chapter Thirteen

ONE, IS A LONELY NUMBER

Ashleigh

12 Across: The state of being alone, 8

Crap!

I know – that’s only four letters.

As the rain pelts down outside, and inside the chatter of other coffee shop customers pushes in on me, I tug the crossword puzzle closer. Shifting on the hard chair, wanting to look at one with my surroundings, I realise Crapola is a letter short but for eight letters I could write ‘very crap’ in the little boxes instead.

It’s tempting but with a sigh absolutely no one in the café will notice, I write down the correct answer which is: solitude.

I feel like rebelliously writing in the margin that solitude doesn’t always equate to loneliness. For example, I can sit here, happily on my own at this table for two instead of on one of the stools at the chest-height bar area facing out onto the street and not feel in the slightest bit lonely. Or, okay, if not happily sitting here, then, at least contentedly.

I sip my latte and ponder happiness versus contentment.

Contentment is better, right? A steady course with a destination, rather than a quick-fix high you can cheat yourself into, in the endless pursuit of happiness. Contentment feels more adult. More realistic than always trying to be happy.

A bout of hilarity erupts from the table next to me. Two teenagers laugh deep from their bellies, shoulders shaking, as they try to catch breath. The friendship they share is palpable. Forged in shared memories and support for one another.

I stare back down at my crossword, my vision bleary. Sometimes the loss of Sarah is so acute I can barely breathe through it.

No matter how many chores, museum visits, cinema trips, picnics in the park, hours in the library and coffee shop crossword breaks … Saturdays are hardest for me. Steeped as they seem to be in togetherness and socialising.

I persevere because what else is a girl to do? No, really. What else is there to do on your own in the city?

I might as well confess the only words I’ve uttered aloud today are: One for Screen 5. Hey, you dropped your wallet. Latte with a white chocolate and macadamia nut cookie – to eat in.

This afternoon, at the movies, I opted for the last showing of an intense thriller in the hope I’d be so engrossed I wouldn’t feel I was filling time until facing an empty apartment. But as the couple seated near me chose to get their exhibitionism on in full high-definition surround sound, with no one to share a raised eyebrow with, a giggle with, or make matching vomit faces with, it was a very uncomfortable experience. Although now of course I realise if I’d complained to staff, it would at least have been another human interaction.

I glance at the woman sitting at the table directly across from me. There’s a small smile playing about her lips as she types away on her laptop. I shouldn’t study her but I do, hoping to somehow learn her secret. Absorb it by osmosis because how does she do it? How does she straddle the line between feeling exposed and feeling invisible?

Before Sarah died, I’m not sure I was ever conscious of being alone. She was always one message away, one call away, one minute away from walking through the door at the end of a hard shift at the hospital.

I should stop feeling sorry for myself.

Definitely stop thinking about all those times my mother tried to warn me to make lots of friends. Sarah’s mother probably tried to do the same for her. It’s not that we epically failed at that – it’s more that we didn’t even contemplate it.

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