Page 33 of Stella is Starting Over

Last week we were lying in bed – my bed, she has housemates therefore her house is deeply unappealing as a location for shagging – and she ran her hand over my body. ‘I wanted to have a check-in,’ she said, her hair soft across my chest. ‘I’m concerned that you’re not embracing your options.’

I made some excuses about being busy at work and not sparking with anyone on the apps, which she seemed appeased by. Then I stupidly didn’t know when to stop and said, ‘Anyway, maybe you’re enough for me,’ which then sparked a long conversation about how if I don’t see other people it will create an ‘imbalance in our dynamic’. So I promised that I’d do more.

A friend, I type back. Then I pause, concluding that I can probably be totally honest here, while making her feel better about my ability to see multiple women at the same time. We met on Tangl a while back, and I slept over just before I met you.

I watch the dots on my screen bounce as she’s typing, feeling slightly sick. I’ve just told a girl I’m seeing that I’m at the house of another girl I met on a dating app. In what world was that going to go down well?

I’m so glad you were able to receive what I said last week, she writes. Have fun <3.

The irony is not lost on me that most lying men pretend that they’re not seeing other women behind their girlfriends’ backs, whereas I’m pretending to Florrie that I am. But whatever. She feels better, I feel better, no harm, no foul. And I guess it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that Stella might reconsider our just-friends status. Maybe. Probably not, realistically, but, yeah. It could happen.

Eventually, around half eleven, the door opens and I realise that I still haven’t heard from Stella. I jump to my feet and immediately shout, ‘I’m still here!’ in an attempt to stop her from being terrified that there’s a stranger in her house. It doesn’t work. She screams.

‘Jesus FUCKING CHRIST!’ she yells.

‘I’m sorry!’ I shout. ‘I’m so sorry!’

‘Why are you still here? You said you were leaving when I left?’

I look at the key on the side. ‘I thought you’d left your house key and I was worried you’d be locked out.’

She looks at the key. Her chest is rising faster than usual, presumably because I’ve just terrified her, but she looks very pretty. ‘That’s a spare.’

There’s a pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘No, no – that was really nice of you.’

‘I think maybe it was a bit weird.’

‘It can be nice as well as weird,’ she says, taking her shoes off and sitting on the sofa. ‘Also, you literally saved me with the pipe earlier so, even if you were very weird, I’d still be fine with it.’

‘I did message you.’

She looks embarrassed. ‘I didn’t see it.’

‘Oh my god,’ I say in horror. ‘Did you block me?’

‘No!’ she says. ‘You’re just in my archive folder on WhatsApp.’

‘What?’

‘The archive – it’s where you put conversations if—’

‘Yeah, no, I know what the archive is. What did I to do deserve that?’

She looks embarrassed. ‘I felt, like, a very deep sense of shame about what happened last time you were here and I wanted to pretend that nothing had happened.’

‘You? I made you cry when we tried to have sex, insisted on staying all evening and then accidentally met your husband and your kid.’

‘Ex-husband.’

‘I thought you weren’t legally divorced.’

‘Yeah, okay, technically you met my husband,’ she snaps. ‘Anyway. That’s why I didn’t see your message, not because I blocked you. And for what it’s worth I don’t think you have anything to be embarrassed about.’

‘That’s a relief,’ I say. ‘So. How was the date?’

She looks surprised at the question. ‘It was good.’ She considers me for a minute. ‘Do you want a glass of wine?’