Page 61 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

Awkward silence drops like a lead weight.

“I deserved that,” Eli says. “Sorry. To answer your question, Ryan’s home. I’ve come to the office.”

“Your other home.” At the kitchen counter, I fidget with the tea mug I’ve pulled out. What sort of tea is good for 3:00 a.m. drama when I should be sleeping? I have a peppermint tea sachet in the small tin I brought and set that out for when the kettle’s ready.

“I guess.”

“Soo…” I prod at Eli as best I can over the line. “You called me to announce that you had a fight with Ryan. And what can I do about that? What did you fight over? Also, can’t we have this conversation in daylight hours, like normal people?”

Fuck knows who’s normal these days, or what that even looks like. But five past three is, at the very least, an antisocial hour ripe for kicking. He should have the decency to be at least a little embarrassed by the hour, but nope.

Eli’s swallow is audible on the line. “Like I said, I didn’t know who to call. And you’re always good at listening, Aubs.”

Part of me bristles at the nickname he has for me, an intimacy he doesn’t deserve. Not now. Not after leaving me. Another part of me is flailing madly in the dark, desperate to hear more. What is wrong with me? There’s a strange vindication and satisfaction in knowing things are going pear-shaped for Eli. There’s another part of me that hates that he’s hurting.

“You still there?” he asks.

“I was…thinking.” A quick cover. “Tell me about this fight.”

“I don’t know. We were grousing a bit at each other all evening. You know, one of those nights where everything goes wrong. It’s all trivial stuff, but it added up. We went to the restaurant where I had made a reservation. They had no record of it. Then they didn’t have space for Ryan’s wheelchair so we had to wait quite a while for a table. Ryan wanted to leave, I wanted to stay. So I try to make it up to him by ordering food: the wrong meal comes for me, they forget his order. The waiter spills our wine—”

I can’t quite help but laugh as I pour the water over the tea to steep. “Jesus, Eli, did you take him to the most shit restaurant London has to offer?”

“Hey. It had excellent reviews.” He’s defensive.

“I could be petty and say that I’m happy you had a shitty time.”

“I know you’re hurt—”

“You have no fucking clue what I am, actually,” I say coolly. “So how did you get to the fighting part?”

“Then we had to get home, and the taxi was difficult about his wheelchair and that’s when we had a terrible row in the street. And he said I wanted an able-bodied boyfriend and not him and his inconveniences, which is definitely not true, but then we kept fighting. And then things got really heated.”

I sigh, the momentary joy for his misery going just as suddenly as it came. I feel bad for Ryan, who faces enough shit already, and it does sound like an epically crap night out. “What were youactuallyfighting about?”

“Aside from each of us saying the other’s impossible to please?” Eli swallows again. A gulp of liquid, I think. Hopefully water and not booze.

“Don’t fuck me around more than you already have.”

Silence. Then—

“We fought about you, Aubrey.”

“Me?” It takes a long moment. “What theactualfuck?”

“Ryan’s convinced he’s living in your shadow. That I’m comparing him to you. And it’s not the same, it isn’t. No two relationships are the same, of course. I know that. But…maybe he was a little bit right.”

I rub my face wearily. Hot tears spring to my eyes, and I white-knuckle grip the edge of the counter. “So then you fucking call me? That’s fucked, Eli. You know it is.”

“I didn’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know. It’s definitely not my problem. Go for a run? Do yoga? Work things out with Ryan?” I say pointedly. “And stop being an arse.”

He’s quiet. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. It’s totally unfair of me to call and dump on you like this, in the middle of the night—”

“Damn right.” I sip my tea through my tears. My voice, thankfully, doesn’t give away anything. Not till one small snuffle as I sit quiet on the line, taking refuge by the embers of the evening fire. “I probably should go. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“At three in the morning?” Eli asks blankly. “You starting new shop hours? Or is it because of the filming?”

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