Page 65 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

‘So,’ he says, like he’s been building up to something,

‘So … ?’ I grin back.

And to my surprise, he says, ‘What’s all this about you and Ryan then?’

What? ‘Ryan? Your housemate?’ What’s that scarecrow got to do with anything? What a way to kill a mood.

‘He said something about you two … going on a date or some shit?’

‘A date? With Ryan? I said we’d have a drink.’

‘A date is what he said.’ Lowe acts like he doesn’t care, his sixteen-year-old self shrugging me off. ‘He said he asked you out and you said yeah.’

Wait, are his feelings hurt?

‘Yeah, but like not like a date! Lowe! Really?’

‘I didn’t say it!’ Lowe puts his hands up, spraying nervous laughter. He ponders. ‘He said some other stuff too … ’

‘Like what?’

Lowe is quiet for a moment, runs his finger around the glass. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Gosh, Ryan’s been busy, hasn’t he? Tell me then, what did he say?’ I hold my nerve.

Lowe watches me, not saying a word until he’s absolutely sure, trying to work me out before he lays down his cards. ‘That you two get on really well?’

I’ve never seen him so unsure of himself; he wants me to fill in gaps for something that didn’t happen.

‘Right?’

‘He’s just obsessed with you basically.’ He lies down on my bed, hides his face under his cap.

I’m confused. Is he now trying to bundle me off with his mate?

‘And … ’ he begins, his voice muffled under the cap.

‘And?’ I ask.

‘… He said what great friends we are.’ Lowe peeps his head out from under the cap to look at me. He rolls his lips together like he’s stopping words from falling out.

‘Well … ’ I say proudly, ‘we are great friends … aren’t we?’

‘Yeah, course.’ He looks at me, properly; he seems disappointed somewhat. ‘Best friends,’ he adds but like he’s being sarcastic.

‘Wait, Lowe … ’ Was Ryan asking me how I felt about Lowe … for Lowe? Did Lowe ask Ryan to ask me how I felt about him to see if I felt the same? And I confirmed we were just friends and then Ryan asked me out. And then Lowe went and got a girlfriend? But obviously I say none of that.

‘Like I said’ – Lowe rubs his face; he, like me, is tired of our complicated situation and game-playing – ‘what does it matter now?’ He drains his drink, coughing at the strength of it.

But it really does matter.

Why the fuck didn’t he just ask me himself?

I’m stunned. I just sit there, like, what now?

And then I think, if there’s any chance for something to happen, it’s now.

It’s time.

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