I would move in together in a couple of years. Like, when we were twenty. And then I thought we’d run off and get married when we were, like, twenty-two or twenty-three, and everyone would think we were reckless for getting married so young, but we’d be happy, and we’d travel the world, and have all these adventures together.’
‘I kind of thought that would happen too. Except in my version, I’m part of your wedding, and your roommate, and I’m having adventures with you both.’
‘Oh yeah, you’re there in my version of this. You’re our witness when we get married, and we need you to live in our spare bedroom to help pay the rent.’
In Zach’s mind, I’m in the supporting role of the movie of his life, which makes sense from his point of view, but it only occurs to me in this moment that I’ve also cast myself in the role too. I’m not even the lead of my own movie.
‘You and Lucy might still get married one day. We might still all travel together and live together.’
‘Maybe,’ he says, and suddenly I feel very sure that it won’t happen like that, that Zach and Lucy’s story is ending, not beginning, and that the movie of our lives is going to be about something else entirely.
We lie in silence for a little while, listening to Lucy’s snuffling snores.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, breaking the silence. ‘I should have told you about Alex as soon as it happened. But I didn’t know what was going on. I still don’t, really.’
‘What’s going on is he likes you.’
‘I don’t know why.’
‘Don’t fish for compliments.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You’re always at our house, so it was bound to happen.’
‘Oh god, that’s it, isn’t it? I was there and it was convenient.’
‘I meant, he was bound to notice how smart, funny and interesting you are. Yes, interesting. You need to stop second-guessing people and thinking the worst.’
‘I don’t think the worst.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Well, so do you. The whole fuss you made over Alex and me getting together was based on you thinking the worst.’
‘That’s true. But I don’t think the worst of you. Or Lucy.’
‘Maybe not, but you did yell at me.’
‘I’m sorry for that. I was completely overreacting.’ Zach turns on his side to look at me as he says this. His expression changes to what I think of as his serious listening face. ‘So you and Alex had a fight.’
‘Yes. A bad one.’
‘He wouldn’t tell me much, but I got the gist.’
‘You two are talking now?’
‘I apologised to him.’
‘Wow. This is a big day for you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you say sorry to him before.’
‘Well, I’m not normally wrong.’
‘Zachary Russo: The Boy Who Is Never Wrong.’
‘I’m obnoxious. I know. Lucy told me that many times after the movie.’
‘Why were you being so obnoxious about this, though?’
‘I don’t know. I just felt really angry. Like Alex was stealing you from me. No, stealing is the wrong word. That’s gross. I don’t own you. God, I’m saying this all wrong. I just…I don’t trust him to be the kind of guy that’s right for you.’
‘What kind of guy is that?’
‘Someone who gets your jokes, and knows you hate really loud music, and that you want every text message to have an emoji in it. Someone who will recommend great books, and listen to your fan theories, and bring you cups of tea when you’re stressed out.’
Everything he just listed is the stuff he and Lucy do for me. ‘What I want in a guy is…well, I don’t quite know yet, I’m still figuring it out, which is the point. You can’t know who is right or wrong for me if I don’t know.’
I don’t know how to put into words what it is I like about Alex. Part of it is something that feels too shameful to say: that Alex makes me feel special, wanted, desired, seen for the first time in my life. Which is problematic, because I’m supposed to love and accept myself without the help of anyone else. I know that, I have absorbed that message via every possible channel. Alex can’t be the hero who saves me from my low self-esteem. It goes against every feminist narrative I’ve ever read, every lesson I learned at my progressive all-girls school, every positive, healthy, empowering message I’ve ever seen someone share on Instagram. A woman saves herself. Be the hero of your own story. Be Katniss, not Bella. Even though I always