Page 25 of The Moon Also Rises
“God, yeah, absolute wanker,” Rami says. He’s getting better at sarcasm.
“And he’s clearly stinkingly, offensively rich. That accent cost more money in school fees than I’ll earn in seven lifetimes.”
“He could just pride himself on good elocution,” Rami says but I ignore him.
“And what’s with them going to therapy already? Why can’t they just wait until they hate each other or themselves like a normal couple?” I continue, waving around the straps in my hand, even though I’m facing Rami’s back.
“I think it’s one of the most sensible things I’ve ever heard of,” he says and if he was closer, I think I would thump him, or step on his toe at least. “Very romantic too.”
“Yes, that’s why I hate it. I hate all the romance that’s here today. Why can’t they just have a registry office wedding with some lukewarm supermarket Cava? Why do they need to flaunt their love in our faces?”
Rami stops at a door and puts both of our bags down in front of him. He rummages in his pocket for the key we were given.
“Jake, you do know what weddings are for, right?”
“I know, I know. Celebrating love. The best day of their lives, blah-di-blah-blah-blah. But why, oh why does the best day of their lives have to be the worst day of mine?”
Rami puts the key in the door and pushes down on the handle. Before he opens the door, he looks back at me. “This is not going to be the worst day of your life; can you trust me on that?”
I’m pouting when I reply, “Fine. It won’t be the worst day of my life. It will just be in the top ten of worst days of my life.”
“I can work with that,” Rami says, and he pushes open the door, before bending down to grab the bags. He steps to the side. “After you, Lover Boy.”
Loosening the grip on my pout a little, I walk into the room thinking how I have a couple of hours to try and calm down. Beautifying myself and dancing to Wham!’s greatest hits should do the trick, two things that are instant serotonin boosters for me. Maybe Rami’s right, maybe it won’t be the—
“Fucking worst day of my life!” I yell as I stare at a beautifully made king-size bed, the only bed in the room.
Chapter Eight
Rami
Jake practically pirouettes on his heels to turn and leave the room, charging down the corridor.
“I’m going to fix this mess!” He yells out to me and I am about to call after him to say there’s really no need, but he’s already turned a corner and is out of sight.
Going into the room, I seize the opportunity to be alone, possibly for only a few minutes. I dump our bags on the desk and sit on the floor cross-legged with my back resting against the bed. I pull out my phone, find the app I need and set the timer for five minutes. It makes no sense that I find it easy to slip into a languid emptiness in my mind after the chaotic few hours I’ve just spent with Jake, but I do. And I treasure it. I don’t even think about RemiX or Michelle or Gee or my dad or anything that curdles my insides.
The timer goes off quicker than I expect, and I slowly come out of my meditation, wriggling my toes and stretching out my fingers, before shaking out my limbs and getting up. I move to stand at the window on the far side of the room, noticing we have a view of the gardens we just walked through. They stretch out much further than you realise on the ground, and from up here I also see a large oval-shaped lake at the very end of the grounds, before rolling hills and woodlands claim the horizon. Taking in all the greenery, I’m struck by how beautiful and peaceful it is, and how good it feels to get out of the city.
This sense of open calm is uncomfortably familiar. It’s how I felt when we moved out to the Mojave Desert four years ago. The wide endless skies and views for miles and miles held such promise back then, and while I learnt that they were false promises, I wonder if maybe there is still peace to be found in the countryside for me one day.
But probably not today.
After meeting Lionel and Luigi, I can understand a little better why Jake is so worked up about today. They make a striking couple – handsome, gentle-natured and clearly besotted with each other – and it seems like it’s not just surface-deep. At the same time, it was palpable that Lionel and Jake share history, that there is possibly still unfinished business there, something that Lionel seems ready and keen to resolve, while Jake is only determined to run away.
Whatever it is, I feel the need to remind myself it’s not my problem. I agreed to come and be Jake’s plus one, to put on a good show as his fake boyfriend. I did not agree to help him confront his past. Indeed, to do so would be hypocritical when I am still running from my own.
Jake is gone so long I decide to at least unpack my suit and hang it up to prevent any creasing. I then look in Jake’s bag and do the same for his because I figure regardless of where we sleep tonight, he’ll also not want a crumpled suit and shirt. Hanging them in the wardrobe, I feel a foreign pang looking at the suit bags hanging side by side. It feels peculiarly intimate, our clothes sharing this small space together. Bizarrely, I don’t ever remember feeling this when Michelle and I shared a closet space, but then again that ‘closet’ was a room, not a small wooden wardrobe. Even in the desert she made sure there was plenty of room for her clothes and shoe collection.
Eager to push this memory away, I stick my head out of the door to see if Jake is on his way back. When all I see is an empty corridor, I pull my phone out of my pocket and go to call him, but I get distracted when I see several text messages from Radia.
