Page 120 of Someone Like You

There’s an eclectic mix of homes in my parents’ neighbourhood. Many were built more than a hundred years ago, with owners lovingly restoring and maintaining the original style. Quite a few are monuments to modernity, all glass and concrete and acute angles. The one thing most have in common is that they are worth a fortune.

My parents bought theirs soon after they got married when Issy was a baby, in the time she calls ‘before you were alive’. I have no doubt they could sell up and retire to the Bahamas on the proceeds of the sale, but my mom loves that house. She once told me that the only way she’s leaving is in a body bag. I’d been appalled at the morbid joke, but she’d just laughed.

And here’s me, living across the world in a teeny (but cute) apartment, my fourth since living in London. It’s hard to imagine getting married and starting a family and living in one house for the rest of my life.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ says Raff.

I’ve been in my head so long, we’re already halfway there. But at least I can tell him the truth – most of my thoughts since we arrived in Seattle have been abouthim.

‘I’m thinking about how long my parents have lived here – more than thirty-five years now. Since before I was born.’

‘Blimey. I don’t know many people who have lived in one place for that long. Certainly not my parents. Not even CiCi and Devin.’

‘Well, when you make a shit-tonne of money that you’ve worked your ass off for, you’re entitled to move into a mansion.’

The house they live in now is not the one Raff grew up in, which was far more modest – though, just as filled with love, I imagine.

‘True,’ he says, laughter in his voice. ‘But can you imagine buying a house now and still living there when you’re seventy?’ he asks.

‘Nope.’

‘Hmm, me neither. I suppose it might be different if you’re married, though.’

Okay, I am not letting that comment slide. ‘How so?’

‘It’s part and parcel, isn’t it? Building a life together, buying a home.’

‘But what if your idea of marriage isn’t so traditional? What if you don’t want to be tied to a mortgage?’

‘Don’t you?’ he asks, and it’s hard to miss the surprise in his voice.

‘Not really. I mean, I did – once – when I was with Eric. It’s what I was conditioned to believe, how life was supposed to go, right? Fall in love, get married, buy a house, pop out some kids…’

‘You don’t want children?’

‘I didn’t say that. It’s just… after Eric and I broke up, I re-evaluated, and I discovered that a lot of what IthoughtI wanted wasn’t what I wanted at all. I didn’t want to spend my entire adult life living in the same neighbourhood where I grew up. I wanted to explore and meet new people and have experiences I couldn’t even imagine yet.’

‘Is that why you decided to move to London?’ he asks.

‘I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?’

‘Not this part. Only that you had a breakup and moved to London soon after.’

‘Oh, well the breakup was the impetus – it sparked several weeks of introspection – but the destination wasn’t the point.Goingwas the point. Getting out of Dodge, breaking my routines and habits, getting as far away as possible fromEric.’

‘So, why London?’

‘I considered all the cities where Global Reach had offices, but it came down toNotting Hill,’ I reply.

‘Sorry? Oh, do you mean the film?’

‘Mm-hmm. Richard Curtis and his idealistic representation of life in London spoke to me. I was mainlining ice cream and crying my sad little heart out, and Mom put onNotting Hill. That night, I went online and looked up flights to London.’

He goes silent and I look up at him.

‘What?’

He smiles, his eyes roaming my face, and I look away, unable to bear how much I want him to lean down and kiss me.

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