“We used to be closer,” I admit, my mood dipping. “After I left high school, I screwed everything up. Cut contact with him for years. Like a prick.”
“When you joined the rugby team?”
I nod. “I didn’t wanna speak to anyone back home. He’d message me, call me, and I never picked up the phone. Even when his mum… when he really needed me to help him, I didn’t do it. Ignored his texts and emails.”
“But you answered when he invited you onto the podcast,” she points out.
I shrug. “Didn’t have much of a choice. He forced me to join. After I got thrown off the team because of my knee, I went on a wee bender. He heard I was back in town, found me in a hotel room, and moved me into his and Luke’s spare room. Next thing I knew, I was on the podcast. Gave me something to do, I guess.”
“Hm.” She studies me for a second, then tilts her face up, catching my mouth with hers. She’s gentle and tentative, kissing me with soft, deep strokes that press us closer together. I stay still, letting my eyes fall closed.
Eventually, she sighs, flopping back on the pillow. “That was nice.”
I snort. “You’re so odd, L.”
“Mm.” She trails her finger through my chest hair, then turns her attention to the ring hanging from the chain around my neck. It’s just a cheap silver band. I bought it when I was seventeen — back then, it was all I could afford.
Layla touches it, running her finger over the cold metal. A sense of wrong rolls up in my stomach, and I smile tightly, pulling her hand away.
She looks up at me questioningly. “What is it? Do you never take it off?”
“Only to shower.” I clear my throat.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re not secretly married, are you? Because I think fake girlfriends still count as real cheating.”
I snort. “No. It’s a promise ring.”
That’s a lie. It’s actually an engagement ring, but I don’t really want to get into that conversation.
She looks astounded. “You? You never promise anything.”
“I promise my face between your legs and my tongue inside you. What more could a girl want?”
She doesn’t laugh, focussing her hard gaze on me. I relent, looking at the little silver ring. “Yeah. I was a different guy back then.”
“I’ll say.” She’s silent for a moment, absentmindedly stroking my chest. “Did she die?”
I flinch. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, it would be a bit weird to be wearing an ex’s promise ring for literally any other reason.”
That’s fair. I rub my beard. “Aye,” I say quietly. “She died.”
She lays her head against my shoulder. “What was her name?”
“Emily.” I haven’t said the name in so long. It used to feel so familiar in my mouth, but now the sounds are foreign and clunky. I don’t even remember the last time I thought of her.
God. I’m a terrible person.
“Was it a long time ago?” Layla asks, drawing a spiral in my chest hair.
I take a deep breath through my nose. “Aye. She passed when we were both eighteen. The summer before I joined the team.”
Her hand tightens on me. “What happened?”
My throat goes dry. My insides clam up. For a second, I can’t speak at all.
Layla looks horrified. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine,” I rasp out. “She got sick. It was fast. Aggressive. She died a couple months after her diagnosis. They did everything to help her. Surgery, medicine. Nothing worked.” It feels like someone’s wrapped their hand around my throat. “I can’t talk about it, pet.”
“Okay,” Layla says.
I let out a breath, my chest easing. “She would’ve loved your bras,” I admit. “The middle-clasp ones. She had to get me to help her put hers on at the end, ‘cause her fingers were too weak. And her whole life was all hospital gowns, and catheters, and shit. She didn’t have anything pretty.”
Layla nods, her face serious. “Did you love her?”
“She was just… like a sunbeam.” That’s how Emily is in my memory. A small girl with brown skin and flowing dark hair, who just glows. The old pain rises up in my chest, but I press it back down automatically, like I always do. I can’t feel it. It would kill me.
“I’m sorry.” Layla bites her lip, then awkwardly butts her head under my chin. “I’m sorry.”
I smile down at her. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, bless her. Layla doesn’t like talking about feelings, but right now, she’s trying so hard to comfort me, even though she clearly hasn’t got a clue how to. “S’okay, lass. Can’t undo it now.”
It took me a long time to come to terms with that. After Emily passed, I walked around feeling like I was in a nightmare, and sooner or later, someone would pinch me and wake me up. It wasn’t until after the funeral that I finally realised that there was no way I’d get her back. So I put her engagement ring on a chain around my neck, deleted the phone numbers of all my old friends, and headed off to play rugby for the next seven years. Without her. I’ve not gotten serious with a girl since.
Layla kisses my chest tiredly, and I stroke my fingers through her hair, feeling her breathe against me. She falls asleep soon after, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed.
TRANSCRIPT
THREE SINGLE GUYS EPISODE 446: THE SECOND DATE
JOSH: Hello, and welcome to episode 446 of Three Single Guys, a relationship podcast by three guys who are absolutely not qualified to give you dating advice. My name is Josh…
ZACK: I’m Zack.
LUKE: And I’m Luke.
LAYLA: And I’m Layla! These boys’ long-suffering neighbor-slash-fake-girlfriend.
ZACK: You didn’t look like you were suffering too much last night.
LAYLA: Shut it.
ZACK: No, seriously, I’m worried now. Why are you suffering? Crap, did we not use enough lube?
LAYLA: What would be the point? It would be like trying to lubricate a pipe cleaner.
LUKE: (Clears throat)
LAYLA: We have a great show lined up for you today. Spoiler alert — the experiment is going really, really great. But before we get into all of that, today’s episode is brought to you by… me.
ZACK: Our girlfriend has her own company! Surprise!
LAYLA: For those of you who don’t know, my company Her Treat focuses on making ethical, affordable and adorable undies for people of all shapes and sizes. Today, I want to talk to you about my latest design — the Butterfly bra. Josh, what is the number-one most disliked feature on a regular bra?
JOSH: … The… cups?
ZACK: I know! It’s the underwire!
LAYLA: Correct. Underwire has been around for eighty years, and women have been complaining about it the entire time. Instead of underwire, I designed the Butterfly to have a thin, very strong strip of elastic at the bottom of the base, wrapped in glossy ribbon. This allows the design to provide the same support as an underwire by contouring to your ribcage, but without the irritation and potential stabbing. Okay, I’m going to pass one of my pieces to all of you. What do you guys think?
LUKE: … It’s very nice, Layla.
LAYLA: That’s all you have to say? No other comments?
ZACK: It’s well soft.
LAYLA: Yes, it is. The cups are all made from microfibre fabrics that are strong, silky, and extremely durable. It’s the perfect option if you’re taking hormones, or you have sensitive skin, or you’re nursing. Or you’re just on your period and you’re extra sensitive. The Butterfly also features a front-clasp, which is ideal if you have limited arm or finger mobility — no more fumbling around behind your back when you’re trying to get ready in the morning. And, best of all, it’s hot as Hell. Zack, since you apparently know the most about women’s clothing, how would you describe the overall look of the design?
ZACK: Dunno, lass. It’s pretty, but it’s hard to review clothes without seeing them on someone.
LAYLA: Okay, hang on. I’m wearing one right now. (Muffled sound of clothing) What do you think?
JOSH: Jesus.
LUKE: Layla! Put your shirt back on.
ZACK: This is the best day of my effing life.
LAYLA: Thanks. Review, please.
ZACK: Um. Yeah. Your tits look huge. Five stars. Would recommend.
LAYLA: The pants match.