“So,” says Matt as he puts the car into reverse to turn. “How was that for you?”
Even his question flicks me on the raw. How does he think it was?
“Oh, I’m just super-thrilled I’ll get an A-plus in my test on ‘Genevieve the wonder woman,’ ” I say, still smiling sweetly at his parents through the window, and Matt sighs.
“I know. I’m sorry. My parents are…They can’t let go.”
He puts the car into first gear, and we shoot forward with a little spurt of gravel under the wheels. As we exit the gates, we both breathe out.
“But it was OK otherwise?” says Matt after a few moments. I know he wants me to say it was lovely. And I know I should. But I can’t. I’m feeling tetchy and stroppy.
“Apart from Genevieve and the naked sauna and you insulting Harold, it was fab,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Insulting Harold?” Matt sounds perplexed. “How did I insult Harold?”
“You said he needs training.”
“He does need training,” replies Matt, and I feel a spurt of rage.
“He does not! And why didn’t they open my cake?”
“What?” Matt looks baffled. “What cake?”
What cake?
“I spent an absolute fortune on a cake from a patisserie, and they just left it in the kitchen!”
“Oh.”
“And then they just served biscuits at tea, and I kept thinking, ‘But what about the cake? Why don’t we have the cake?’ ”
Matt shoots me a wary look. “They’re probably saving it up. I think you’re overreacting.”
“Maybe,” I say morosely. “But it’s no wonder.” I suddenly feel weariness crashing over me and rub my face. “Matt, listen. You have to move into my place. I can’t sleep a wink at yours.”
“Move into yours?” Matt sounds aghast. “What— No. Sorry, no.”
“But my flat is more conducive. It’s more comfortable. It’s more welcoming.”
“More welcoming?” Matt echoes incredulously. “Ava, your flat is a liability! Fucking…nails sticking out and stuff toppling down everywhere, and you never screw jars closed properly….”
I stare at him, baffled. Jars? Where is this coming from? Jars? I open my mouth to defend myself, but Matt carries on as though the floodgates have opened.
“There are bloody ‘rescue plants’ everywhere…your ‘rescue bed’ is impossible to sleep in….”
“At least my flat has character!” I snap. “At least it’s not some monolithic concrete box.”
“Character?” Matt gives a short, incredulous laugh. “It’s crummy! That’s its character! Rescue books? Rescue books are not a thing, Ava. You’re not making a noble gesture by housing crap.”
“Crap?” I stare at him, incensed.
“Yes, crap! If no one wants to buy An Illustrated Guide to the Cauliflower published in 1963, guess what? It’s not because it’s an unloved gem which needs to be rescued. It’s because it’s a shit book.”
For a moment I can’t speak for shock. I don’t even know where to begin. And by the way, I do not own a book called An Illustrated Guide to the Cauliflower.
“So, what, you hate my flat?” I try to sound calm.
“I don’t hate it.” Matt signals left and changes lanes. “I think it’s unsafe.”
“Not this again. You’re obsessed!”
“I would just like to go about my life without being injured!” says Matt with heat. “That’s all I ask. Every time I set foot in your flat, I get some injury or a bloody rescue yucca falls on me or my shirt gets shredded by Harold. I’ve had to buy six new shirts since we started dating, you know that?”
“Six?” I’m momentarily halted. I didn’t realize that. I would have said maybe…three.
“I love you,” Matt sounds suddenly weary. “But sometimes I feel like your life hates me. I feel attacked. Your friends…Jeez…You know, every day Nell sends me some piece trashing Harriet’s House: ‘Why Harriet’s House is misogynist.’ ‘Why all feminists must boycott Harriet’s House.’ It’s a dollhouse company, for God’s sake. We may not be perfect, but we’re not evil.”
I feel a slight qualm, because I hadn’t realized that, either—but that’s just what Nell’s like.
“That shows she respects you,” I say defensively. “Nell only fights with people she likes and respects. It’s a compliment. And at least she engages! At least she doesn’t ignore you. Your dad said nothing to me, all lunch! Nothing!” I know my voice is getting shrill, but I can’t stop. “And my flat might not be perfect, but at least it’s tasteful! At least I don’t have robots everywhere!”
“What’s wrong with robots?” shoots back Matt.
“It’s ridiculous! It’s adolescent! Who has their snacks brought to them by a robot? And as for your