Page 142 of The Long Way Home

Thirty-Six

Magnolia

This is all BJ and I used to do — long aimless drives to faraway parts of the country. I love being in cars with him.

Locked away in our own little box, no outside forces peering in, just me and him alone in the world is how it should be.

Not this drive. I hate this drive.

I’m waving the boys I’ve slept with around like they’re sage I’m burning, trying to ward off true love.

I do it because it hurts him, which is what I want to do. Those lips on my neck that aren’t his, someone else’s sweat on my body and in my mouth.

But it hurts me back because I don’t know that he cares anymore.

He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t tell me to stop. Just looks at me like I’m a foreign object.

We get to Anglesey a little bit after 10, and I’m motion sick from looking at my iPhone the whole time, but what the fuck else was I going to do?

I’m out of the car like a light, putting as much distance between me and him as possible.

I don’t know how to handle today anymore because it’s Taura’s birthday. Jonah brought her up here, away from London, so that they could be couple-y — he didn’t say that but I know it’s true. So I can’t just make her be my buddy. I want to give them space, I want them to get to feel like whatever they want to feel like. Just because BJ and I are stuck doesn’t mean everyone else should be.

Plus they look so cute together. Both of them in their little Moncler puffers, those cuties.

When I climb out of the car, BJ looks down at me.

“What the fuck is on your feet?”

I glance down at myself then glare up at him. “The Adhara boot from the Moncler Genius, 8 Palm Angels, Moon Boot collab. Obviously.” I cross my arms, huffing at him. “And I don’t appreciate your tone implying that these were the wrong shoes to wear.”

Jonah and Taura hold hands and walk over to who I assume is the guide. Jonah ushers me forward to the guide-man, I think just to get me away from BJ.

“Magnolia, this is Angus Welling.”

I give him a quick smile, acknowledge him but only just. And I stand there, bored already but not bored because BJ’s standing opposite me, staring right at me with eyes I used to think I could read but maybe I know nothing anymore. Still even if that’s true — I want to poke the bear, because I love poking the bear.

Because I love the bear.

That stupid bear, standing over there in the black balloon leg trousers from Tom Wood, a grey hoodie from Balenciaga (which feels like a personal attack because he knows I love him especially in grey) that he’s wearing under the black reverse monogram puffer jacket from Louis Vuitton, which feels annoying because I’m wearing a Louis Vuitton puffer too and I don’t feel like being on the same page as him like that because we aren’t on the same page in any way that actually matters.

I stare over at him, hypothesising how to best make him cross or sad or annoyed or just anything more than how indifferent he was to me last night.

I look around us. We’re in the middle of nowhere. We took a turn off a small road just north of Llanfaelog village. There’s no one around but the four of us and the guide.

I glance back at the guide.

Tall guy, dark hair, almost black. Broad. He gives off a Clark Kent vibe. Handsome.

He’s no Ballentine, but who is?

In a pinch — you know?

I square my shoulders, brighten my face, and walk over to him, batting my eyes.

“I’m sorry. What was your name again?”

“Angus.” He smiles, a bit pleased to have my attention.

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