Got a text from Emma today saying:
Sorry if I did something you didn’t like.
I don’t even know where to start with that.
Except that she obviously doesn’t regret it.
OMG, and of course I liked it.
But I don’t like how it’s making me feel.
I hate that I’ve become this pathetic human who is looking for her self-worth, or some sort of salvation, in someone else’s eyes.
I hate that I’m unhappy when I’m not with Emma, and I also hate that I feel like I’ve swallowed a bucket of popping candy when I’m with her.
I don’t want someone else to make me happy, because what happens when they are no longer there to do it?
Look at Mum. I obviously didn’t know her when Dad was alive, but from what Kate’s been telling me, I know that when he died, Mum changed. And now she’s running away from everything and everyone all the time, and when she stands still for a moment, she’s got to be the center of attention, and who’s actually really like that?
And what would happen to Polly if Tristan left her? Or worse, if he left her for someone else?
I don’t want to be that weak.
I can’t give that sort of power over my life to another person.
I wonder now what’s easier: being in love with your partner, or not being in love with them.
Maybe there’s a point to an arranged marriage.
Wednesday, July 11 #TheBlindLeadingTheBlind
Polly and I had Starbucks in Kingston today.
For some reason, things escalated, and she ended up telling me every detail of her sex life, and now I know what Tristan looks like without any clothes on.
I also know everything about the curvature of his penis and that the tiny hole on the end is slightly off-center.
Oh my God.
Then she was like: “Honestly, Phoebe, I can’t wait for you to fall in love. I think it would be hilarious.”
That’s the moment I figuratively dropped the ball, and because I didn’t say anything straightaway, Polly suddenly shot up from her seat and was all in my face like: “Shut. Up.”
Me: What?
Polly: You’ve met someone.
Me: No.
Polly: Don’t lie to me.
Me: I’m not.
Polly: Liar. Who? When? Where? Now.
Me: Fuck off, I’m not in the mood.
Polly: Who?
Me (shaking my head):…
Polly (reaching for my hand): Phoebe?
Me:…
Polly: I’m sorry I said it would be hilarious. You know I’d never make fun of you like that.
Me: Maybe you should.
Polly: Tell me?
Me: We sort of kissed, but not really. On Saturday.
Polly: Tell! Me! Now!
Me: Emma.
Polly: FUCK! OFF!
Me:…
Polly: How am I that thick?
Me:…
Polly: It was totally obvious, and I didn’t realize. I’m so stupid, of course. You’ve been hanging out with her, like, every free second this year.
Me: Only because you were busy with Tristan and forgot about me.
Polly: You didn’t call me, either, P. I thought you’d gone off me. Oh my God, did you fancy me by any chance? Were you jealous?
Me (laughing, because, really, what’s wrong with people?):…
Polly (punching me in the shoulder): Rude! Anyway, tell me. You kissed her. Oh my God, Phoebs, you big lesbian.
Me: Fuck off. And she kissed me.
Polly: And then what?
Me: Then nothing. It was outside her house. She went inside, and I ran home.
Polly: And then?
Me: Nothing.
Polly: But today is Wednesday.
Me: And?
Polly: Are you going to kiss her back?
Me: No.
Polly:…
Me: I can’t do all that, Polly. I’m not like you.
Polly: You can’t do what? The kissing? Have sex? You don’t have to do it all straightaway, don’t be stupid.
Me: No, yes. The whole … love thing. I can’t do it. It’s too … I don’t know …
Polly:…
Me: Big.
Polly (clutching her chest): You’re such a romantic, Phoebe, I literally want to cry.
Me: You and me both.
Polly (still clutching her chest, looking at me with pity):…
Me: I don’t recognize myself anymore, and I hate it.
Polly: You fancy her, though.
Me: I don’t want to.
Polly: But you do.
Me: Of course I do.
Polly: And you think about her a lot.
Me: I mainly think about how to un-think of her, but yes.
Polly: You do realize that you can’t help who you fall in love with?
Me: Apparently not. But at least I’m trying.
Polly: You know, Phoebe, for someone so clever, you are remarkably stupid.
10:10 P.M.
I texted Emma to ask if she’s coming to my birthday party, because she still hasn’t confirmed on the Instagram group conversation.
10:30 P.M.
Emma just texted:
Not sure yet if I can make it.
So that’s that, then.
Thursday, July 12 #MowglisNewAdventures
I wanted to see Emma so much, but I ended up not going to the thrift shop this afternoon for that exact reason.
Just like my brain, Polly won’t shut up about it all, and now I regret having said something, because the last thing I need is someone else’s hysteria added to my already volatile brain chemicals.
Polly called me at lunchtime and was like: “Any news?”
Me: No.
Polly: You know, Phoebe, being in love with someone isn’t a disease.
Me: Why do I feel sick, then?
Polly: That’ll go away.
Me: Like a headache?
Polly (sighing): Emma’s embrace will work like Tylenol.
Me: I don’t want drugs.
I don’t want to be sixteen and in love and stupid!
Intellectually I know that the best outcome to the whole Emma situation would be if Emma didn’t come to my birthday on Sunday.
Because then it wouldn’t have to be awkward, and we could just never see each other again.
I can always tell Kate that I have to concentrate on school, and learn Russian, and that I have no time to come to the thrift shop once Mum’s back. I mean, I’d be really sad not to see Alex again, but I suppose we can still have Sprinkles dates and stuff.
And I can pay Kate the remaining kitten money back at a later stage. Like when I’m on the mission to Mars.
Hm. I never thought about it, but I wonder how much astronauts earn. It must be really good money, because it’s such a dangerous job, and you have to be highly skilled.
And you’d have, like, zero expenses, because you’d be in a spaceship. I wonder if it’s tax free. I feel like that would be fair.
Anyway, Kate can have back her money then. Plus interest.
PS: Tomorrow after work we’re going to Kingston to get the flat ready.
Dusting, hoovering, food shopping, the usual. Plus we have to do all the party decorations and food for Sunday.
Can’t believe it’s been half a year since Mum left.
PPS: Most bizarre news from Bill.
He’s joined Instagram and now posts daily about #MowglisNewAdventures. Apparently he already has 385 followers.
Seriously, I can’t even.
And because everyone loves him and Mowgli, people have been messaging him to ask where he got the kitten from, and Kate now has ten requests for kitten viewings, and they are all coming on Monday.
PPS: Tomorrow is the last day of school. How did that happen?
Friday, July 13 #Surprise
Mum isn’t going to be here for my birthday after all.
I told Kate that my birthday is canceled.
11:07 P.M.
I just threw a massive tantrum.
I’m so embarrassed, and I’m not just saying that.
Kate hasn’t tried to talk to me since, which means it was bad. Like, really, really, really bad.
I kicked a wall.
Like, really, really, really kicked a wall. My foot is throbbing.
And then I threw my school shoe against the front door so hard that it left a mark.
And I screamed like I was losing it, calling Mum every name under the sun.
And then I went to my room and slammed the door so hard that the whole house shook.
And then I cried for, like, three hours.
I think that’s what they mean when they say “she lost her shit.”
I can’t see myself ever getting out of bed again.
I love Emma so much.
Saturday, July 14 #Whatever
I didn’t go to the thrift shop today, because I’m
a) still too angry with Mum and
b) too embarrassed to face Kate and
c)unable to deal with Emma.
I’m not even mad about Mum not coming home for my birthday even though she promised that she would, but I’m mad because I’m mad.
Because I should have expected it, because this is what always happens.
I canceled my party via Instagram, and literally five minutes later:
Polly: Are you okay?
Me: Yes, fine.
Polly: Party canceled. Why?
Me: Mum’s staying behind for a patient, so she won’t be home until next week.
Polly: That SUCKS.
Me: She sucks.
Polly: Why is she staying?
Me: Someone’s having a baby, and apparently women haven’t been able to give birth successfully without her since always, and so Mum needs to be there. Naturally.
Polly: But I’ve got a present for you. Can I at least come over tomorrow?
Me: I’m not in the mood for anyone. Sorry.
Polly: I respect that. But I’ll call you.
Me: Okay.
Polly: Don’t be sad. Love you.
Me:…
Then I watched Love Island.
Luckily the show is so dumb that my brain literally switched off to protect itself from further deterioration, and I fell asleep.
I only woke up when Kate got back from work, and I swear my whole body felt broken.
Kate (looking down at me lying on the sofa): Do you want to talk about last night?
Me (new tears rolling out of my eyes): I’m so sorry, Kate.
Kate: Thank you.
Me: It won’t ever happen again.
Kate (nodding):…
Me:…
Kate (putting her hand on my forehead like she’s checking if I have a temperature): Have you had food today? Water?
Me: No. And yes.
Kate (sitting down, putting my feet on her lap): I know you find emotions hard, Phoebe.
Me:…
Kate: But they make us human.
Me: I hate that.
Kate: I know. But what happened last night is not acceptable.
Me: I know.
Kate: I know you know, and that’s why we don’t have to talk about it again.
Me: Thank you.
Kate: Emma tells me you canceled your party.
Me: So?
Kate: So, when were you planning on telling Alex? He’s not on Instagram.
Me: Shit.
Kate: Yes, shit. But don’t worry, I spoke to his dad.
Me: I’m sorry.
Kate: You’re welcome to change your mind, you know. We can go to Morrison’s right now.
Me (shaking my head):…
Kate: Okay. But we are going to go out for lunch.
Me: I’m honestly not in the mood.
Kate: I wasn’t asking you, pet, I was telling you. I feel like telling the story of how your clever little head breached your mother’s vagina and you plopped out into my hands sixteen years ago.
Me: I guess I owe you that.
Kate: You do, pet.
10:43 P.M.
I wonder where I’ll be in a year from now.
11:15 P.M.
I’ve never cried as much as I have in the last twenty hours. I thought I was done crying, but then Kate made me a cheese toasty, and I started all over again.
Sunday, July 15 #HappyBirthdayToMe
12:01 A.M.
I’m sixteen.
11:35 A.M.
Thirty-five people have already messaged me wishing me a happy birthday, including Miriam Patel.
Emma hasn’t.
Kate gave me a card Nan and Granddad sent from Hong Kong. They say I should visit soon. Maybe I should spontaneously go this summer. It’s not like I’m doing anything else. Maybe I’ll ask Mum.
She hasn’t messaged me.
Kate, James, and I are going out to lunch now, but we have to go via the thrift shop, because Kate forgot her wallet there, and she’d never let James pay.
Monday, July 16 #HereBeDragons
So, yesterday was basically insane.
We got to the thrift shop, which was obviously shut because it’s Sunday.
Kate unlocked and shimmied inside, and James was all rubbing himself up against her back in the process, and Kate was like: “Phoebe, can you see if my wallet’s on the stockroom table?” And I was like: “Check yourself,” but Kate was like: “I can’t, because I’m kissing James.” And then she went and kissed James, and I was just like: gross.
So I walked through the shop, and into the stockroom, and suddenly all these people shouted, actually shouted:
“SURPRISE!!!!!!”
And I swear I screamed and fell to the floor.
Kate was laughing and clapping, someone switched on the lights and opened the back door, and then everyone was singing “Happy Birthday.”
Everyone was there.
In the stockroom.
Singing.
Polly, Tristan, Emma, Miriam Patel, Alex, his parents, Bill, and even Pat.
I think I must have said “fuck” about a thousand times, but no one was outraged, they just laughed at me.
My eyes kept bouncing back to Emma, and my heartbeat was all over the place, but that could have been the shock of the surprise. She smiled at me, but I knew straightaway that something was off. Missing. Broken.
My brain was like: What have you done, Phoebe? But there was so much going on that I couldn’t process that question properly, and so I was left just looking at Emma, and looking at Emma, and looking at Emma.
Kate must have arranged the whole thing on Saturday when I was recovering from that awful meltdown and was literally lying unconscious on the sofa.
The table was set all Halloween-like with skull cups and ghost plates and a string of skull fairy lights along the middle, and skull and rat candles.
People must have brought chairs, and there was food, and presents, and everything.
It’s still so strange to think that everyone had made such an effort for me.
I’m also still surprised that Kate had any love left after I almost kicked down the wall that separates the hallway from the kitchen in my blind rage.
I hugged her for like five minutes, until she was like: “Okay, get off me now and say hello to your guests.”
I felt like a celebrity, walking down a line of well-wishers, shaking hands and hugging people.
Turns out Miriam Patel came minus one, because she’s jumped onto the suffragettes bandwagon, and therefore no longer believes in the “plus one.” She sat next to Alex, and they were talking all afternoon. He even let her pick a French Fancy off of his plate, and he normally really isn’t into people interfering with his snacks. I think the whole Emmeline Pankhurst thing actually suits Miriam. That way she can still talk and talk and talk, but without talking actual crap and sounding like the idiot she isn’t.
Alex’s parents are super nice, too. I didn’t speak to
them at Melanie’s funeral, because they didn’t come to the party bit at the sailing club. They got me flowers, and Alex baked my birthday cake. It had black icing on it and a white skull wearing a pink ribbon. But the best thing was that when we cut it, the inside was rainbow layers. I was like: “This must have taken you ages.” And Alex was like: “Yes. Three days.”
Three days.
He made me something that took him three days.
I almost didn’t want to eat it, but it was proper delicious.
Pat was like: “Alex, you are a magician,” which is true.
The party turned out to be a barbecue after all, because Kate had bought disposable grills and put them just outside the back door. Bill took charge of the grilling, and we could hear him and Pat bickering outside for literally an hour. For the rest of the day, if he wasn’t talking about sausages, he was talking about Mowgli. What have we done by giving him that cat? He’s now an online sensation. Eight hundred and sixty-three followers to date. And he’s got a sponsor for his cat food!
After everyone had eaten, Kate was like: “Time to open your presents. Mine first.”
She gave me a little box, and I already knew it was jewelry. I opened it, and inside was a silver chain with a tiny Star of David pendant. I think I must have looked at it for, like, ten minutes. In the end, Kate was like: “You do know what that is, don’t you?” and I was like: “Obviously.” Kate was like: “You like it?” But I didn’t even know what to say, because I literally loved it so much. Kate helped me put it on, kissed my head, and whispered: “I love you,” and Bill was like: “Mazel tov,” and everyone went: “Happy birthday, Phoebe.”
Polly and Tristan got me cinema vouchers, and Polly’s card said Happy New Year. LOL.
Miriam got me a book about inspiring women who have changed history. Honestly, half a year ago she probably would have given me fake eyelashes or something equally as tedious, but this is actually a really good gift.
Bill, Pat, and James got me a Starbucks gift card and a poetry book (clearly James’s idea).
When Emma gave me her present, I still hadn’t spoken to her, and it was all a bit awkward.
I was like: “Thank you,” and went to open the card, but Emma was like: “Maybe the card is for later. Open the present first.”
I tried to be all careful and not destroy the gorgeous wrapping, but everyone was like: “Come on!”
It was a T-shirt from Topshop with a picture of a space shuttle on the back and the NASA logo on the front.
Love Is for Losers Page 23