Truth Or Date

by Portia MacIntosh

  I know (unfortunately, first hand) that there are a multitude of ways for people to break up with other people. “It’s not you, it’s me” is a good one. It’s kind enough in that it reinforces that there is nothing wrong with the other person, while at the same time making it clear that it’s over and it’s final. Ghosting is another option, just going silent, cutting contact, nailing that fine line between missing that first message and faking your own death. Then there’s the friendzone. My friendzone is so populated they’re going to open up a Nando’s there. I joke, I strongly believe that there is no such thing as the friendzone, I think it’s just something that people say to try and make themselves feel better when someone has absolutely no romantic feelings for them. It is absolutely fine to just not fancy someone for whatever reason and, usually, if they’re not an absolute dick, you’ll want to be friends with them, because not being a dick is usually pretty good grounds for friendship. Sometimes we go off people, sometimes we don’t develop feelings for them for a while – women don’t meet people and file them away in boxes. Still, if people can make themselves feel better by claiming they’ve been put in a special zone for the under-appreciated, then that’s good for them. Usually, if I find someone so completely undateable, I don’t even want to be friends with them. If I have anything, it’s a “I’m going to pretend you died” zone.

  There are so many good options for breaking it off with Deano, but when he finally arrives and sits down opposite me, none of the above feels like it’s going to do the trick. I need something he can’t dispute, something he can’t talk me out of, something solid, like…

  ‘I’m a lesbian,’ I blurt.

  Deano nearly chokes on his cinnamon latte.

  ‘You’re a lesbian?’

  ‘I am,’ I tell him. ‘I realise this may come as a surprise…’

  ‘Yeah, I mean, not really. You talk and act a bit blokey sometimes, your best mate is a bloke –’

  ‘OK, thanks,’ I interrupt. ‘Well, there you go. I’m out the closet.’ I exhale with faux relief. ‘So I think it’s best we don’t see each other any more. I’ll always be wanting more – or, less? I don’t know. You’ve got a dick, that’s like the opposite of what I want.’

  Oh God, I’m floundering. I just need to stop talking.

  ‘Wait,’ Deano starts, his brow furrowing with a thought – possibly his first this year. ‘Your phone wallpaper is a photo of Zac Efron with his shirt off.’

  ‘Body goals,’ I tell him. ‘I want to buff up.’

  Deano laughs to himself.

  ‘I suppose it makes sense,’ he starts. ‘I’ve never met a girl who didn’t want to fuck me before. And the bigger girls are usually happy to take what they can get.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I agree, glad he’s catching on. ‘Wait, what?’

  ‘No offence,’ he insists. ‘It’s just that curvier girls like you are usually more grateful for the opportunity.’

  ‘To sleep with you?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he agrees. ‘But if you’re into birds, it makes sense.’

  I pop the lid off my latte, dipping my finger in to test the milk. It’s not too hot, so I climb to my feet, sucking the coffee off my fingertip as I do so, before walking over to Deano.

  ‘The only thing that makes perfect sense…’ I pour my cup of coffee all over his crotch. ‘…is what an absolute dick you are.’

  Deano jumps to his feet. Not because it’s hot, just because it’s wet and, I’d imagine, because he’s wearing a pair of ill-advised pale blue skinny jeans.

  ‘You fucking crazy bitch,’ he snaps at me before storming out, embarrassed.

  I give myself a mental pat on the (apparently fat) back until I realise that everyone in the coffee shop is looking at me.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to apologise for that,’ I start. ‘Men be crazy, right?’

  Hmm, that probably wasn’t the best way to explain what happened, but soon enough everyone gets back to their drinks and their lunch.

  Well, this is what happens when I’m left on my own. Millsy is supposed to be on shift too, but he’s had to pop to the theatre for something for this bloody play that I am absolutely sick of hearing about.

  I go back behind the counter and hover, waiting for a customer. Soon enough a couple of little old ladies wander in with their shopping bags and ask for two cups of tea. I tell them to take a seat and that I’ll bring them over for them. Just as I’ve finished putting everything on the tray, Millsy gets back.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ I tell him. ‘Can you take this to those two lovely ladies over there?’

  ‘Ooh, lovely ladies,’ he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. ‘Oh, old ladies. No worries, they love me too.’

  Millsy takes them their drinks and hangs around for a quick chat – he really does have the ability to charm any woman he wants.

  ‘So, anything eventful happen while I was out?’ he asks. ‘Sorry for abandoning you, but I’ve got a job tonight and I needed to get measured up for my pants.’

  ‘Nah, nothing much,’ I tell him. ‘Although I did break up with Deano.’

  ‘Oh shit, how did he take it?’

  ‘Erm, he basically called me fat.’

  ‘I told you he was a cock,’ my friend reminds me, with a shake of his head. ‘And you’re not fat.’

  ‘I know. And I know,’ I say with a smile. ‘I guess I can see why he was pissed off though. Kind of. I’ve made such a mess of things.’

  My friend grabs me a triple chocolate muffin.

  ‘Eat that, fatty, and tell me what’s up. It’s quiet now, we can talk. You haven’t seemed yourself today. And you still haven’t explained that hair.’

  ‘The hair was a mistake, end of story. Anyway, I thought of the perfect way to break up Nick and Heather. I managed to convince her that he was thinking about proposing, but that he was too scared to do it and that he liked bold women who made the first move.’

  ‘She didn’t fall for it?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh, no, she did. And now they’re engaged. That pretty much sums the situation up.’

  ‘What the fuck?! He said yes?’

  ‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘And it kind of sounds like they’re expecting me to move out. And I can’t even try and be happy for him because before this happened, Heather made it pretty clear that his money was a major factor in their relationship.’

  ‘She sounds like a bad person,’ he concludes.

  ‘And that’s coming from you,’ I tell him with a smile.

  ‘You need distracting,’ he insists. ‘We need another man for this job tonight, why don’t you do it? It’s easy money, it will distract you.’

  ‘You need another man?’ I laugh. ‘Will a woman do?’

  ‘No,’ he says with a grin. ‘But we’ll make it work.’

  Chapter 29

  During my life-long friendship with Millsy, I have done many, many things for him. When we were ten years old, Millsy smashed his mum’s favourite ornament – a china swan – by playing football in the house, even though his mum had already told him not to a million times. Not only did he knock it over, breaking its neck, but he made things worse by trying to glue it back together. He applied the superglue that he stole from his dad’s shed before wrapping his hand around the bird’s neck tightly to hold it in place – sticking his hand to it tightly. When his mum found out, I took the blame, because I knew I’d be in much less trouble than Millsy would. Flash-forward a few more years when we were sixteen, and I had to take his then girlfriend for the morning after pill because they’d got “caught up in the moment” and neglected to use a condom. Or what about just last year, he got caught kissing some guy’s girlfriend at a party, and I had to convince him that Millsy was gay and that we’d been playing truth or dare – something I’m not sure he believed until I kissed his girlfriend too. He seemed fine with that.

  Yes, I’ve done lots of things for Millsy over the years, but tonight takes the cake. Millsy has all these random not-quite-acting acting job
s that he fills his time and his CV with when he isn’t working at the coffee shop, like being the Leeds Lions’ mascot. One of his other gigs is for an agency who supply in-character wait staff for parties and events, and tonight they were a man down – literally a man down.

  We arrived at the large house in Ilkley and were shown to a room where we could get into character – at this point, I still didn’t know what that character would be. The house was stunning, though. An absolute mansion, up a leafy, floodlit driveway that looked like something fresh out of a romance movie. We passed through the main room where the party is being held, just as the finishing touches were being made on the decor. Despite the house having quite a traditional look and feel, the party looks positively modern, with colourful disco lights, crazy cocktails complete with umbrellas and 80s pop music booming from the speakers. As I watched Millsy unpacking the costumes, I got quite excited. Maybe it would be disco-themed attire? Maybe the theme is the 80s and I’d be dressing up like Cyndi Lauper or someone equally as awesome and stylish. Then I found out our dress code: men in drag. So when Millsy said they were a man down, they were literally a man down.

  ‘You’ll pass,’ Millsy insisted. ‘So don’t even worry about it.’

  So I slipped on my sparkly purple dress, my big blue wig and the most make-up I have ever worn in my life. As Millsy and I stood side by side, looking in the mirror, I realised something.

  ‘You look more feminine than I do,’ I told him, unimpressed.

  ‘I do, don’t I?’ he laughed.

  So here I am, in yet another Shakespeare twist, a woman, pretending to be a man, pretending to be a woman. I’m working the room, handing out peach bellinis to all the beautiful people having a beautiful time. Millsy was right, this is easy money, and it’s definitely taking my mind off things. It’s quite nice, even though I’m not technically a guest, blending in, circulating and chatting to different people – most of whom tell me they’d never have known I were a man, which I’m very happy with. Best of all, there’s nothing here to remind me of Nick.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ a lady says as she takes the last full glass from my tray.

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ I reply, heading back towards the bar to get some more. As I hover while the barman fills up glasses, I glance at all the cool stuff behind the bar: ornaments, holiday mementos, family photographs – that’s when Nick catches my eye, staring back at me from one of the photos, sitting atop an elephant across a river.

  ‘Lovely party, Deborah,’ I hear someone call out. I look over and see Nick’s mum, sauntering around the room, warmly greeting guests, sipping from her glass with a grace and elegance I’ll never manage.

  ‘Thank you,’ she calls back. A couple walk up to her, exchanging air kisses as I look on, paralysed by fear. With the rate she’s moving around the room, it’s a miracle I haven’t crossed paths with her already. I know I’m in costume, but I’m in drag, not a ski mask. ‘I’m just going to grab another drink.’

  As the words leave her lips, panic washes over me. She’s coming over here. She’s coming over here and she’s going to see me and this whole stupid series of events is going to unravel and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Unless…

  I grab my empty drinks tray and hold it up, to shield my face, eyeballing the nearest exit. I make it into the kitchen and look around for an escape route. I notice that the back door is open – perfect – but as I dash through it I don’t realise that there’s a step and I go flying, landing on the cold, hard flags outside. Just in case that was too subtle, the metal tray that I was using as a shield hits the floor and spins a few times before settling, causing a loud clatter.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I hear a man’s voice shout. I hear him rush over before he helps me to my feet. ‘You OK, mate?’ he asks. ‘This is why men should never wear heels.’

  I’d know that voice anywhere.

  ‘Hello,’ I say awkwardly, finally looking Nick in the eye. Oh, this is so embarrassing.

  ‘I have so many questions, I don’t know which one to ask first – for starters, my mum is going to want a refund, she wanted men, and I know you’re not one of those, your skirts are too short,’ he laughs.

  I laugh too, and playfully bat him with my hand, but it hurts.

  ‘Ouch,’ I blurt, holding my hand to my body.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asks.

  I nod my head.

  ‘I think I must’ve landed on my hand.’

  ‘Come over here, let’s take a look at you.’

  Nick leads me back over to where he was sitting and it’s gorgeous. It’s like a mini secret garden within their garden, a cute little area secluded by the privacy of fairy-lit bushes. Nick sits me down on a comfy garden chair.

  ‘OK, let’s take a look at this wrist first,’ he insists. ‘Then we’ll work out why you’re at my parents’ house in sort-of drag.’

  ‘OK, sure,’ I laugh through the pain.

  Nick takes my hand gently in his and examines it. I follow his instructions and answer his questions.

  ‘Well, it’s not broken,’ he tells me. ‘We need to put something cold on it, bring the swelling down.’

  ‘Can we just sit here for a moment?’ I ask, and it’s not just because I need to hide from his mum, it’s because it’s peaceful and quiet, and in this secret garden, in this costume I feel a million miles from my real self and my real life.

  ‘Sure,’ Nick replies.

  ‘Heather not here tonight?’ I ask.

  ‘No, she’s out with her friends. Well, I say “out” but that makes it sound like she’s gone to a bar or something – she’s protesting for animal rights.’

  ‘That’s commendable,’ I reply.

  ‘Not really,’ he laughs. ‘It’s that new hotdog restaurant. She takes issue with the fact everything is named after a real dog. Like a Chilli Chihuahua dog.’

  ‘Dude, that sounds delicious.’

  ‘I know,’ he laughs, but then his face falls into a more serious look.

  ‘Look, tell me if I’m being out of line by asking, but are you OK? Because you haven’t seemed yourself for a little while now.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I tell him. ‘And what about you, huh? I can’t believe you’re getting married.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ he replies solemnly, a little too quickly. ‘Sorry, ignore me,’ he adds, probably after seeing my reaction to what he just said.

  It’s chilly out here now, but I’m enjoying Nick’s company.

  ‘You know you can talk to me, right?’ I remind him. ‘Like you said to me before, we might not always get on, but we’re friends.’

  ‘Well…I’m not sure I even want to marry Heather. We’ve been getting on well, but this just feels way too soon. And she hit me out of nowhere – with my own grandma’s ring – and I just panicked. I figured I was supposed to say yes – I didn’t want to upset her by saying no. But I don’t think she’s right for me…do you think she’s right for me, Ruby?’

  This is it. This is my chance to say something. But what do I say? Obviously I think Heather is wrong for him, but how do I tell him without seeming like I’m just trying to get her out of the picture? I have to do it, I have to tell him that she’s wrong for him and I’m right.

  ‘Well, it’s like with me and Deano,’ I start, ready to tell him all about just how wrong we were for each other.

  ‘About that,’ Nick interrupts. ‘Look, I think it deserves mentioning how well you’re doing with him. I’m impressed. The old Ruby would’ve thrown a drink in his face by now and moved on to the next Matcher bloke, with some silly game or other in mind. You seem to be embracing a proper relationship and that makes me so happy for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, faking a smile. Well, I can’t tell him now, can I? Because he’s not really that far off the mark.

  ‘Sorry, what were you going to say?’ he prompts me.

  ‘Oh, I can’t remember,’ I lie. ‘I’m too cold to think straight.’

  I glance down at my hand
s. The one that Nick hasn’t been holding is absolutely freezing.

  ‘Why do I go purple when it’s cold?’ I ask, changing the subject completely. ‘Am I going to be OK? Will I live?’ I joke.

  ‘I know you – you’re a hypochondriac. Whatever you do, don’t google “Raynaud’s disease”.’

  ‘Definitely going to do that,’ I reply.

  Nick laughs and squeezes my hand. Actually, wait a second…

  ‘Bro, are you taking my pulse?’ I ask.

  At first I thought he was just giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, but then I felt his thumb press into my wrist.

  Nick pauses before he answers, a look of concentration plastered across his face – he’s counting.

  ‘It’s weak,’ he tells me. ‘I’m disappointed.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask quickly. ‘Is there something wrong with me?’

  ‘It just means that me holding your hand is having absolutely zero effect on you,’ he laughs. ‘Oh, wait, now it’s quickening.’

  I feel my cheeks flush.

  ‘You look so funny dressed up,’ he tells me with a smile. ‘You don’t look like you.’

  ‘Well, that’s the beauty of dressing up,’ I explain. ‘You get to be someone else.’

  Nick shrugs his shoulders.

  ‘Never dressed up before,’ he confesses.

  ‘Ever?’ I double-check.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Not even at school?’ I persist.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What did you do on World Book Day at your school?’ I ask, gobsmacked.

  ‘Read books,’ Nick laughs. ‘What? I’m sorry, we can’t all be scantily dressed, sparkly versions of Mr Benn.’

  I pull an obviously jokey angry face at him.

  ‘I’ll give you one chance to redeem yourself,’ I start. ‘We’re having a fancy dress party at my parents’ house while they’re away on holiday. Come – you have to dress up though.’

  Nick smiles widely.

  ‘I’d love to,’ he replies. ‘I was only going to spend the evening watching Netflix with Heather anyway.’