Page 109 of We Used To Be Magic

ISEEEDIE BEFORESHE SEESME.I WATCHTHROUGH THEFOGGEDwindow of the restaurant as she lightly jogs across the street in a sage-coloured Lycra ensemble, exhaling at the sight. She came. She’s fifteen minutes late and may well be stopping off here on her way to the gym, but she came.

I couldn’t imagine her reacting well to a long, sentimental screed, so when I messaged her last night, it was a clear-cut invitation – a time, a place, a promise to pick up the bill. The place in question is an old-school restaurant in SoHo, a New York staple –think dark wood, yellow light and copious amounts of butter in almost every menu item. Romy’s suggestion, of course.

I drop my gaze as Edie approaches the hostess. I don’t dare wave her over, knowing that she’ll want to make an entrance on her own terms – said entrance turns out to be dropping into the chair opposite mine without a word of greeting.

‘Surprised you wanted to meet for breakfast,’ she begins, picking up a menu and turning it over. ‘Bit early for a drink, surely?’

‘For some.’ I nod. ‘But don’t discount the humble mimosa.’

‘Hm. Are you surprised that I’m here?’

I’m relieved. She’s being spiky, and spiky is good. Reassuringly on-brand, at least.

‘Pleasantly. Thank you for coming. Genuinely.’

‘God – if this is going to get sappy then maybe mimosas are a necessary evil.’

‘I’m actually not drinking right now,’ I admit. ‘You go ahead, though.’

Her eyes flicker upwards, her expression inscrutable.

‘Good for you,’ she says. ‘Is that her influence?’

She doesn’t put any particular inflection on ‘her’, but it’s weighted all the same.

‘I’m trying to make better choices,’ I say, shifting in my seat. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else.’

‘Yeah? Have you quit smoking?’

‘An attempt is in progress, yes.’

‘Good. I don’t know why you ever started.’

‘Because that’s what disaffected youths do. Smoke and write bad poetry.’

‘You never wrote poetry.’

‘None that I could show you, anyway.’

A smile ghosts her lips. But she’s still avoiding my gaze, tugging lightly at a strand of hair.

‘Would apologising be sappy?’ I venture. ‘I’d like to, so …’

‘No need,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘Things change. I get it.’

‘Edie …’

‘Ezra. Let’s just forget it, okay?’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Very,’ she says. Then, after a beat, ‘You look well. Better than last time, anyway.’

‘I’ve been staying with Caroline and her girlfriend. They have this weird routine of eating three meals and sleeping eight hours.’

‘That’s nice of her.’

‘Very, yeah. How’s your family?’

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