Page 39 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Right. Not unless I’m around to corrupt you.’

She smiles. ‘My lungs are in bad enough shape already. I went jogging with my roommate the other day and it almost killed me.’

‘Oh, I can’t even manage the stairwell in my building without getting wheezy. It’s a genuine problem – what if I have to do a big rom-com-style chase-down someday? I’ll be fucked.’

‘I’m sorry,rom-com chase-down?’

‘Yeah – the thing in romantic comedies where the main character runs to find the other main character and tell them that they love them.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever watched a film where that happened.’

‘Oh, come on!When Harry Met Sally?The Graduate? No?The Apartment?’

She shakes her head, apparently mystified.

‘13 Going On 30?The Holiday –God, I’m really exposing myself here.’

She’s looking at me blankly and I can’t help but grimace.

‘What?’ She laughs. ‘What’s that face for?’

‘I’m suddenly scared that you don’t care about movies,’ I confess. ‘I mean, it’s fine if you don’t. I think we can get past it. Probably.’

‘I like movies! Just not as much as you, clearly.’

‘Can we watch one together? Would you want to do that?’

‘Sure. Just don’t stare at me the whole time. I hate when people do that.’

‘Oh, to gauge your reaction? Or because you’re pretty?’

It just slips out – I barely realise what I’ve said until she chokes on a mouthful of kombucha, cheeks flooding with colour.

‘The first one, obviously,’ she manages, voice throaty. ‘Do you think I’m really full of myself or something?’

‘No, no!’ I say hastily. ‘Just – you are. Pretty, that is. You’re a model, so …’

‘For now.’ She nods, face pink. ‘It’s not – it’s not really about pretty, though. And it has an expiration date, so … that.’

‘Right. Because eighteen is practically decrepit.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ She smiles, gaze lowered. ‘Where are we watching this movie, then?’

‘Wherever.’ I grin, relieved I haven’t blown this just yet. ‘There was this retro cinema in the Village that showed old movies when I was a kid – I think it’s still open.’

‘That sounds cute. Did you go with your family?’

‘My mum. It was our thing.’

‘Not any more?’

‘No. She died a few years ago. It’s okay.’

I always say that last part reflexively. It’s not okay, but it’s okay that it has to come up in conversation sometimes. Audrey looks stricken all the same, dark eyes shining with pity.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, and I offer an approximation of a smile, bracing myself for follow-up questions.

‘And – your sisters,’ she says instead. ‘They’re both older?’

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