Is She Really Going Out with Him?

Chapter 20

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“I think you should just sleep with him,” Lottie says as we stand on the sidelines watching Ethan play hockey for his school team.

“Shhh,” I hiss, nervously looking around to see who might have heard her. Lottie is already drawing attention. She’s wearing a World’s Greatest Aunt T-shirt pulled tight around her pregnancy bump and she keeps whooping loudly whenever anyone on Ethan’s team has possession of the ball. The sidelines are buzzing with parents, and my heart sinks as I spot Neil standing alone near the goal line. Even from half a field away, I can see his cheek is still a strange purple color.

“I don’t want to be another notch on Will’s office bedpost,” I tell Lottie.

“Maybe it’s not that. Maybe he’s in love with you,” Lottie says, and this makes me burst out laughing.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes!” Lottie says, warming to this theory. “He’s had a crush on you forever, but he’s trying to rein it in because he knows he’s leaving.”

Now that I’ve filled Lottie in on my moonlit flirtation with Will, his kindness over Katniss, and the secrecy over Deedee, she is full of theories and advice, most of which involve “throwing caution to the wind” and sleeping with him.

“How does Deedee fit into this theory of yours then?” I ask, wincing as Ethan takes a thwack to the ankles by someone on the opposing team.

“A distraction,” she says.

“It’s more likely he got bored in Hay, and I was the distraction until someone better came along.”

“Better?” Lottie shakes her head. “What planet are you on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hot! You turn heads wherever you go, you always have. I don’t know when you stopped seeing it.” We watch as Ethan runs for the ball and I take a minute to digest her words. Is that true, or is she just saying it because she’s my sister? “Woohoo! Go, Ethan!” Lottie yells toward the pitch, then at almost at the same volume says, “Will is exactly what you need, a younger guy who knows what he’s doing. Break the seal, get your confidence back. If he’s not boyfriend material, who cares, have a kinky weekend, then move on.”

“Hi, Anna,” comes a voice from behind me. Lottie and I both swivel around to see Neil standing right there. His appearance makes me start, not only because he’s crept up on us, but also because his face looks even worse at close range.

“Oh Jesus, Neil, that looks…bad. Have you seen a doctor?” I ask.

“It’s a secondary infection,” Neil tells me. “It looks far worse than it is. I’m told the oozing is a sign of improvement.”

“Really?” I ask, wincing. “Um, Neil, this is my sister, Lottie.”

“Hi,” Lottie says, reaching out to shake his hand. “Is your daughter playing in the match?”

Neil nods. “Tilly scored a goal,” he says proudly. Then, with his eyes on the pitch, he says, “I told Sheila that you and I were seeing each other. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, right. Um, why?” I ask, a sinking feeling in my chest.

“I want her to know I’ve moved on. You don’t need to do anything. I’m only telling you in case she asks.”

Lottie and I exchange a look.

“I’d rather not lie, Neil,” I say gently.

“I already mentioned it to a few people. You can spread the word that we broke up if you like,” Neil says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. My gut swirls with indignation, and I clamp my jaw shut. This is why people date online—it’s easier to never see people again.

“We’re going to go and stand over here now. Lovely to meet you, Neil,” says Lottie, steering me away from him. She says it with such a warm smile, Neil doesn’t even seem offended, he just waves us off.

“This is what happens when you get involved with people you have to see again,” I hiss to Lottie. “I can’t just have a kinky weekend with Will, I have to work with the guy. Plus why are we even talking about this, because he’s clearly not available.”

“Why don’t you just ask him what’s going on? What have you got to lose?”

“My self-respect. Others’ professional respect. This whole thing is proving a massive distraction, and I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“That’s just an excuse.”

“An excuse?”

“Yes. I can say this because I’m your sister, but sometimes I think you use work or the kids as an excuse to say no to stuff. Stuff that feels scary because it might not work out.” She must see my face fall because now she reaches out to put an arm around me. “All I’m saying is, sometimes it’s okay to think with something other than your head,” Lottie says, thrusting her pelvis inappropriately, just as Jess appears beside us.

“How’s Ethan doing?” she asks, taking off her headphones and peering at the pitch.

“He hasn’t touched the ball, but he’s having a wonderful time,” Lottie tells her.

“Look at me!” shouts Ethan as he runs past us, waving his stick in the air.

“Wouldn’t it be great to be Ethan,” Jess says, and we both laugh, knowing exactly what she means.

“To go through life with the confidence of a seven-year-old boy? Heaven,” I say.

“You okay, Jessie?” Lottie asks, and I turn to see Jess’s expression falter.

“What’s happened?” I ask, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“At break, Penny told everyone I was changing my pronouns. Now everyone is calling me they/them,” Jess says, rolling her eyes as though she’s over it, but I see from the set of her jaw she’s not. “Which would be fine if I wanted to identify that way, but I don’t.”

“That is not acceptable. Have you told your teacher?” I ask.

“No, Mum,” she says, pulling her hand away. “What’s the teacher going to do? Call a meeting about my pronouns? That’s exactly what Penny wants me to do.” She holds out her hand. “Can I have the car keys? I’m going to put my stuff in the car.”

“What am I supposed to do about this Penny girl?” I ask Lottie once Jess is out of earshot.

“Nothing,” says Lottie. “Just be supportive. Make sure you give her time and space to talk to you about it. Maybe’s there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” I ask. “Did she say something?”

“No, I just sense it. Jess is like you, she bottles things up.”

“I don’t bottle things up,” I say indignantly.

The whistle goes; the game has finished. Ethan runs over to us waving his stick in the air. “Did you see me? Did you see me?”

“You were brilliant,” Lottie says, grabbing his stick and jumping up and down with him. “Such excellent running!”

“Did you see when I nearly got the ball?” Ethan looks at me with huge, excited eyes.

“Yes, you were so fast!” I say, giving him a high five.

As we all pile into the car to drive home, Ethan leans forward from the backseat.

“Mum, what’s that on your arm? Is that a tattoo?” he asks in dismay.

“What?” Jess shrieks, leaning over him to see. Looking down, I realize the plaster I’ve been wearing has come off.

“Oh.” I swallow uncomfortably.

“When did you get this?” Jess asks, slack-jawed.

“It was a mistake. I’m getting it removed,” I say, putting a protective hand over it.

“How do you get a tattoo by mistake?” asks Lottie.

“It was a work thing,” I say evasively.

“I love it, it’s so cool. Can I get one?” Jess asks.

“Absolutely not.”

“What does it mean? ‘And’?” Lottie asks while trying to stifle a laugh.

“It’s supposed to be a symbolic ampersand rather than literally the word ‘and.’?”

“I think you should keep it,” Lottie says. “It’s got so much attitude, like you’re saying ‘AND?’ to the world. ‘Yeah, my name’s Anna, AND? You got a problem with that?’?” Lottie says in a gruff voice, then starts giggling to herself.

“Speak to the and, ’cause the face ain’t listening,” says Ethan, holding up his hand, which makes all three of them fall about in hysterics. The sound of their laughter fills the car and it’s such a wonderful noise, I find myself laughing too, despite their teasing.

—

When we get home, Johnny the handyman has been, and the kitchen cabinets are now a beautiful dark green. They look perfect. Now all I need is some more houseplants, and every meal will feel like I’m foraging for food in a jungle.

“Green, cool,” says Ethan.

“The house smells of paint,” says Jess.

Neither of them seems as excited about the change as I am, and they soon disappear upstairs to start homework. I should make a plan for dinner, put a wash on, respond to some work e-mails, but instead I head toward the garage.

“Jess, Ethan, I’ll be in the garage if you need me,” I call up the stairs. “Takeout for dinner. Your choice.”

They yell down their approval of this plan. When I open the door to the garage, a cold gust of air hits me. I grab a cardigan from the hall, then plug in an oil heater. Next, I find a folded picnic table in the corner, dust it off, and lay a piece of tarpaulin over the top. Unwrapping the huge block of clay, I lift it onto the table, and it makes a satisfying “thwack” as I set it down.

I’ve been putting off starting a sculpture, worried my efforts will be embarrassingly childish, fearing I’d misremembered having any talent for this. But seeing Ethan on the pitch today reminded me you don’t have to be good at something to find joy in it. Taking out the box of molding tools, I cut off a large chunk of clay. Maybe Lottie is right: I do overthink things; I say no because it’s less scary than failing or being disappointed. Perhaps I should try to be more like her and follow my instincts more.

The last few years have been about keeping everyone else happy—trying to cushion Jess and Ethan from the fallout of the separation, soft-stepping around Dan and Dan’s mood. I have shut out the voice asking what else I might want, what I might need. As my hands start to warm the cold material, the infinite possibilities hidden in this lump of brown clay make my fingers dance with anticipation.