Page 9 of The Moon Also Rises
I nod and realise I did want him to say yes. I wanted to have something to look forward to because starting this new job was the thing I’d been looking forward to for the last few months and well, now it’s happening, it hasn’t proved to be as successful or exciting as I imagined.
Jake sighs loudly and I’m surprised this conversation isn’t over. “The third good reason is because… I don’t need just a date. I need someone to be my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Yes. My date needs to pretend to be madly, deeply and ridiculously in love with me.” Jake’s eyes finally land on mine. “I think we can both agree that’s a tall order for anyone.”
I open my mouth to speak but I don’t feel qualified to say what I want to say. As it happens, Jake hasn’t finished talking.
“I’m sure you’re excellent at putting on a three-day wellness convention for five thousand people but I can imagine pretending to be gay with a high-maintenance boyfriend you have to support while he experiences emotional trauma watching the one who got away get married is a stretch too far.”
I let his words land and realise very quickly the easiest thing is to agree. “You’re probably right.”
“Funnily enough, that was my next top tip for us working together,” Jake says with a few swift shakes of his head and shoulders, as if he’s unleashing something that was weighing him down. “I am nearly always right about everything. And when I’m not, I will still pretend I am.”
“Good to know.”
“Now, about this app. You’ve never used Share before?” he asks as he reaches for his lip balm again.
I shake my head.
The aggravation I feel when I watch Jake’s eyes roll again is akin to how foolish I feel for thinking we could be friends.
“Pay attention. I’ll talk you through everything but I’m not going to repeat myself. I have a three-thirty appointment with the gym’s elliptical trainer and need to save all my energy for that.” He smacks his lips after re-applying lip balm.
“Fine with me,” I say wishing I had an ounce of his quick wit to have an equally amusing response.
But I don’t. All I have is feeling foolish, feeling rejected and feeling like maybe this job isn’t going to be the answer to all my problems like I thought it could be.
Chapter Three
Jake
“So, how’s your week been, Jake?”
Every other week my therapist Anita asks me the same question, and every other week I lie.
“Fine. Good. Great.”
“How was work?” she asks, laying her pen in the middle of the open notebook in her lap.
“Fine. Mostly.”
“Anything happen you want to talk about today?”
“Not really.”
“Anything in general that is playing on your mind?”
Oh, only the fact I owe most of the banks in the UK and half the department stores thousands upon thousands of pounds. Let’s also not forget how I haven’t gotten laid since December last year. And while we’re at it, should we talk again about my mother who committed suicide when I was twelve years old, and I still can’t quite make sense of that.
“No, nothing.”
“Okay.” Anita draws in a breath as she looks down at her notes. “Then let’s talk about your father. Did you talk to him by any chance?”
“No,” I say.As if, I think.
“Did you think about calling him?”
