once read in a magazine that it’s a really positive sign for the relationship.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?
It’s horrible. I feel terrible.
An hour or so later I’m striding down Fifth Avenue trying to make sense of this sudden turn of events. Having finished clearing up the kitchen until there wasn’t a splash of beetroot or a speck of green pulp left, and the marble worktop was spotless, I showered, dressed, then left the apartment. I didn’t even hang around to dry my hair, I muse, glancing at my reflection in the windows of a store.
And immediately wishing I hadn’t. My fringe has already gone ping! in the heat and I’ve got bits sticking out all over. And it’s true. It does kind of look purple. Dismayed, I sigh miserably and look quickly away.
Nate didn’t even say goodbye. He was on the phone when I left and he just nodded. And it wasn’t a nice friendly ‘Love you, babe’ nod – it was a dismissive ‘Whatever’ nod. I’ve never really thought much about nods until that moment. I’d always assumed that one nod was pretty much the same as another. Until then. And trust me, that was not the kind of nod that is positive in a relationship.
Fighting back angry tears, I continue stalking down Fifth Avenue. Normally I’d be looking in all the glossy shops, revelling in a bit of window shopping and thinking, Look at me, I’m in New York! But now they barely merit a glance. Instead I’m just vacantly staring down at the chewing-gum-littered pavement, mulling over theing ingat mloo… argument in my head and thinking, Please don’t look at me. I’ve just had an argument with my boyfriend and I think I might start crying at any moment.
No, you won’t, Lucy, I tell myself sharply. You’re angry, remember, and you need to stay angry.
Roughly wiping my eyes, I take a few deep breaths. Nate was behaving like such a smug, patronising, sanctimonious prat. Standing there lecturing me while he was wearing those criminal pineapple boxer shorts! Clumsy indeed! It was all that machine’s fault.
Still, perhaps I shouldn’t have left the lid off, I reflect, feeling a seed of doubt. I try to ignore it and keep walking, but it quickly grows into a prickle of regret. I mean, that was my fault. I push it briskly out of my mind, but it’s rapidly turning into guilt. God, the kitchen was a right old mess.
In fact, by the time I’ve reached the edge of the park, all I can feel is full-blown remorse. I pause at the entrance and rest against the railings. I’m completely to blame. If I wasn’t so bloody useless and pig-headed, we’d be looking forward to enjoying a lovely Saturday together picnicking in the park.
Instead I’m standing here on my own, looking at all the other couples on the grass doing just that, I think miserably.
I’m not sure how long I would have remained there, feeling sorry for myself, if someone hadn’t walked past sipping a coffee. Catching a whiff, my taste buds immediately spring into action.
No wonder I’m feeling miserable, I realise, catching sight of a Starbucks across the street and dashing off in its direction. I haven’t had my morning coffee. In fact, this whole week I’ve gone without, as I’ve been staying at Nate’s and he doesn’t drink it. I haven’t felt any better, though. In fact, quite frankly, I’ve had a nagging headache all week. Nate says that’s because I’m addicted caffeine and I’m going through withdrawal, that I just have to persevere and I’ll feel like a new me.
Which is fair enough. Except, the thing is, I don’t really want to feel like a new me. I want to feel like the old me who used to drink coffee and didn’t have a nagging headache.
‘A latte with two extra shots, please,’ I say, smiling broadly at the woman behind the counter. I’ve come to the conclusion there are two types of people in this world: those who drink coffee and those who don’t. And I’m not sure you can ever put the two together, I reflect, as she taps in my order.
On second thoughts . . . I feel a secret twinge of defiance. ‘Make it three shots.’
Fifteen minutes later and I’m walking down the street sipping my coffee. I feel loads better. The sun is shining, it’s a beauª€g, it’s a£beatiful day, and I don’t have to go to work.
OK, so now what?
It’s still early