The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (26 page)

I took to my bed as soon as we got home after Pete’s little bombshell, and called in sick to work yesterday and today. I
am
sick. I’m also a bit smelly. My hair is turning a bit Rastafarianism. I’ve managed to clean my teeth only because the taste of morning breath and desolation was too much to bear.

There seems to be a hole in the middle of my soul. When I dare to peer inside, I see what I had with Sam. Every time I look, a dizzying chill sweeps over me, pushing more tears out. My eyes couldn’t be more swollen if they’d just undergone lid surgery. My world is collapsing and I don’t know how I’m ever going to feel better. Maybe I’m not. Maybe the rest of my life will be spent under the duvet in my tiny maid’s room, forcing down the food that Stacy keeps hopefully bringing back to the apartment. ‘You’ve got to eat,’ she says. Why? Why do I have to eat? Every mouthful is dry and tasteless.

I’d trade physical pain for emotional pain any day. At least I could dope myself if I’d merely broken a leg or accidentally lopped off a hand. It’s absolutely impossible to take away these feelings though.

I’m having thoughts, scary thoughts, the kind of thoughts that are dangerous, of the, ‘Well, if I’m never going to feel better in my whole life, then…’ variety. Luckily they’re fleeting, and there does seem to be some sense in my head because every time one pops up, another thought says, ‘Yes but you’re not crying as much as you were yesterday, are you?’ So it appears that I’m schizophrenic, not suicidal.

When Stacy comes back from work she tries to feed me again. ‘Thanks, I’m really just not hungry.’

‘But I cooked!’

‘You what?’ There’s little she could say that would make the prospect of eating less appealing. ‘You don’t cook.’ I know she didn’t cook. I live in a doorway off the kitchen. Even in this state I’d have noticed activity in there.

‘You’re right. I assembled. Look, all your favorites. Spaghetti lobster from Grissini’s, avocado and crab maki roll from Zuma, and Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. Won’t you try a little something?’

‘Grissini’s does takeaway?’

‘I convinced them it’s an emergency. Zuma too. They were really very nice. Come on, just a little bit?’ She’s laid out a feast on the dinner tray and is a short step away from playing choo-choo train with a forkful of lobster.

‘Thanks, Stace. I appreciate that you’re trying to make me feel better. I just don’t think anyone can do that right now. It’s me. It’s in my head. I have to get over this. I’ll try to eat something.’

Dipping the maki roll in the soy sauce, an odd thing happens. My mouth starts to water. I’m not hungry and yet I’m salivating like Pavlov’s pooch. It does taste good. It tastes really good. And the spaghetti has just the right blend of chili and garlic. Mmm, what sweet lobster.

Stacy sits on the narrow bed and rubs my back, wrinkling her nose at bit. It’s definitely time for a shower. ‘Feeling better? With the food I mean.’

‘Yes, a bit. This is really delicious, thanks. And thanks for going all over to get it. Grissini’s was way out of your way.’

‘Don’t give it a thought. I just popped over on the way home. Besides, what’s a little walk when you get this?’ She grabs a chunk of lobster from the plate. ‘I’m just glad to see you eat. This diet of despair is out of character.’

‘It must be serious then, eh?’ I chuckle without mirth. ‘How can this be happening? I just never thought…’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about this and, I don’t want to give you false hope, because you know my feelings about Sam. I still think you’re better off without him, at least if he won’t commit. But, really… technically… he’s done nothing wrong, has he? I know,’ she says to my are-you-kidding-me expression. ‘I know it’s shitty for him to date what’s her name. But technically you’re both able to see other people. Technically he did nothing wrong. Now, from a human being’s perspective he’s a complete shit who deserves to die.’

‘So I can forgive him or kill him? Isn’t there any middle ground?’

‘Sure there is. You can stay in limbo like you are, ignoring his calls and emails while you wallow in hurt and anger, never resolving the issue. But it needs to be resolved, don’t you think? One way or the other, whether you like that or not. Pete’s right.’

‘I know he is. But what am I going to do?’ Just thinking about definitively ending it is making me snuffle. ‘I don’t want to break up with Sam. I love him!’ There I go again, shooting for gold in the snot Olympics. The really shitty thing is that Sam doesn’t even know that I know, so while I’m single-handedly driving up the share price of Kleenex, he’s not suffering in the least. I haven’t been able to face talking to him. Okay, I’ve been afraid to talk to him. I know I’ll confront him if we speak. That’s not a good idea on the phone. He’s coming on Friday (Lara must be busy building another school for deaf children or donating her bone marrow). I know Pete won’t give him any warning. He went behind his friend’s back to talk to me. Besides, I don’t think he caught on to the fact that the conversation shocked me. Sam must know something’s wrong though. I’ll have to talk to him before Friday, if only to put his mind at ease so I can ambush him in person. ‘And all this time I thought Pete didn’t like me, or that he was jealous. I’m sorry I misjudged him.’

‘I know. Who’d have thought that he was just trying to make Sam talk to you about it? It’s sweet really. You don’t think about guys being romantic like that.’

‘What would you do, Stace?’

She gazes at me with pity. Despite her feelings about Sam I know she won’t say anything psychologically damaging right now. I want her to tell me what to do because my head and my heart are giving very different orders. She sighs. ‘Let’s start with you. What do you want?’

‘I want everything to be back to normal with Sam.’

‘But what’s normal with Sam? Do you mean what you’ve had? Because that’s what you’ve got now, isn’t it? You’re living in different cities, able to see other people. That’s not what you really want. Is it?’

‘No.’ I sigh. ‘I want it to be the way it was when we were in London, at the beginning. We were so happy. Everything looked shiny and exciting. We had a future.’

She takes my hand. ‘But you can’t turn back time. You’ve moved on from those first, new-relationship days. You’ve had experiences, both of you, together and apart, and you’ve had conversations and you’ve had feelings that make things different now. I’m sorry, honey. I wish I could put you in a time machine. If it were that easy everybody would do it. You’ve got to look at where you are now. What you know now, about each other, and… maybe more importantly, about yourself. Because you’ve changed. Hannah, don’t you think? Your move here has changed you, just like your move to London changed you. It showed you that you can stand on your own two feet. You can move halfway across the world, find a great job and build a life for yourself. That’s amazing. You should be proud.
I’m
proud of you. So while you may love Sam, you don’t need him the same way you did six months ago. I know it feels like you do. But you don’t really. So if you don’t need him, then you should have him in your life because you want him, right? And I know you do want him. But see if you can try to say what you want in a man in general. Try not to think of Sam as you say it. Tell me what your ideal is.’

I’m not sure I’ve got the mental capacity right now for this kind of thing. I want what all women want. ‘I want someone that I’m in love with, and who loves me back. Someone who’s supportive and open and caring. And funny and smart and sexy.’

‘And local?’

‘Well, yes, in an ideal world. But we can’t have everything.’

‘Why not?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Why can’t we have everything? Don’t you deserve all those things? I think you do. I know I do. So why do we settle for less than what we want? I think we’re brainwashed into shrugging our shoulders and saying, “Oh well, can’t have it all”, when really, if we can
give
it all, why shouldn’t we get it? Aren’t you supportive and caring and funny and smart and loving?’

‘And sexy?’

‘And sexy.’ She smiles. ‘Yes, aren’t you all of those things?’ I nod. ‘Then you don’t deserve someone who is less. I’m sorry, Han, you really don’t.’

‘But I want him!’ This is where my heart’s petulance wins over my head’s common sense. ‘It doesn’t matter that he’s not perfect. Nobody’s perfect.’

Stacy laughs. ‘Honey, sometimes I want to shake you. Listen to yourself. He’s not perfect? Hannah, he’s dating someone else. He’s not fully committed to you. Has he said he’s in love with you? No, I didn’t think I missed that memo. Wouldn’t you say those are pretty big flaws? You’re right, nobody’s perfect. But in the right relationship, you’re going to be perfect for each other. Because you tick each other’s boxes in the things that matter to you. So you can overlook his snoring, or he can ignore your aversion to exercise, or whatever it is that doesn’t exactly align, as long as you each fulfil the big things, the important ones. I’m afraid your differences are just too much. You want a commitment. He isn’t giving you that.’

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ve been short-changing myself, accepting less than I deserve. Have I betrayed me?

‘I love you, you know,’ she says, hugging me. ‘I’m going to help you through this, whatever you decide to do. And I’m going to support whatever you do, okay? You have to make the decisions, not me. I’m your best friend. We’re in this together.’

I’m sobbing as I hug her.
This
is what a relationship should be – total support and commitment, the assuredness of unshakeable love. Stacy’s right. I do deserve more.

‘All right,’ she says. ‘I love you, Hannah, but you are rank. Please go shower. Then let’s go over to Stuart’s. He’s invited us for drinks if you’re up to it. He thinks you need to get out of the house, and I agree.’

‘But what if I start blubbering all over them? Thanks, Stace, but I’m not fit for polite society.’

‘That’s all right, we’re not polite. If you don’t get some normalcy back soon, how are you going to face Sam this weekend? You need an intervention before you become a danger to yourself. Come on, trust me, you’ll feel better after you shower. I know I will.’ She waves her hand in front of her nose.

It’s a short walk to Stuart and Brent’s apartment, just along Robinson Road, but the fresh air does wonders. When I say fresh air I mean the hot, humid air in which the pollution is custard-thick, with only the slightest whisper of a breeze. Still, it beats the staleness of heartbreak in my bed.

They’re in one of the swankier buildings, just where you’d imagine a successful banker and an architect would live. It’s nice walking into a friend’s apartment building. I guess that’s the high water mark that tells me a place is home. And Hong Kong does feel like home, despite everything that’s happened. My best friend is here. My job is here. And this is where I feel like I’m growing up.

‘Come in!’ Stuart hugs us at the door. ‘Brent’s just in the living room and I’m in charge of drinks. Hannah, fancy a glass of something?’

I can see the concern in his eyes and nod. I’d like some courage, please. Make it a double. ‘Red, please.’

‘Coming right up me lover! Stacy, the same?’ He leads us to the living room where Brent is staring at Central’s twinkling panorama below. ‘Hello!’ He kisses us. ‘It’s a beautiful sky tonight.’ Hundreds of skyscrapers pulse and glow in the lilac twilight, their stairwell lights running up them like excavated dinosaurs’ spines. The dark pool of the harbor beyond the buildings reflects back at us, deceptively calm. And Kowloon blankets the far shore, stretching into the distance. I don’t think I’ll ever take these views for granted. I hope not. 

‘How are you feeling?’ Brent murmurs, rubbing my arm.

‘Not great, but better for coming out. Thanks for inviting us. I’ll be all right in time. It’s just a shock, you know?’

‘Oh I know, believe me. I went out with a woman for four years and then found out she was having an affair… not that Sam is having an affair!’ he exclaims.

‘Brent!’ Stuart chastises, sighing dramatically. ‘I told you not to bring it up unless she does. Jesus, you’re hopeless.’

Brent looks sheepish. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, we don’t have to talk about it at all if you don’t want to.’

‘No, that’s all right, I’d really like your opinions. Stacy’s given me her view. How much do you know?’

Brent’s sheepishness deepens, and this time Stuart joins him in pink-cheeked embarrassment. ‘Quite a lot, actually. Oh, it’s not like we’ve been gossiping about you or anything but obviously, with you so upset, Stacy mentioned what happened, and Stuart told me.’

‘That’s okay, really I don’t mind,’ I assure them. ‘Four heads are better than one on this one, don’t you think? So… what
do
you think?’ I’ve never had a close male friend to talk to before. I guess Stacy and I have always made a comfortably self-contained unit. Perhaps we’d have made fewer romantic mistakes if we’d had boys as informants.

They stare at each other for a moment, deciding who’s going to go first. It’s like waiting for the doctor to tell you you’re terminal. ‘Let’s double-check all the facts first, all right?’ Stuart starts diplomatically. ‘As I understand things, when you moved out here, you weren’t seeing anybody else, right?’ I shake my head. ‘Was that because you’d agreed not to? Did you have the talk? I’m only asking so we know whether there was a verbal contract.’

‘A verbal contract?’ Stuart scoffs at his brother. ‘What’s she going to do, sue him?’

‘Does that make a difference?’ Stacy asks. ‘In a guy’s mind, I mean?’

‘Sometimes,’ Brent says. ‘Come on, Stu, you know it does. If you’ve not explicitly told a girl you’re not going to sleep with anyone else, and then you do, it’s a get-out clause. I’m sorry, but it is. If it’s not been agreed, then in our minds it’s not a promise. It’s more of an intention. And despite the best of intentions, sometimes…’

‘God, men can be dicks,’ Stacy exclaims, turning to me. ‘So did you have the talk?’

We did. We were meandering hand in hand through Covent Garden’s narrow streets when I asked him. Are we exclusive? He’d looked surprised. ‘I am. I don’t want to see anyone else… Do you?’ No, I’d told him, with feeling. I didn’t want anyone but Sam. ‘There was a verbal contract.’ I smile at Brent. ‘We only mentioned seeing other people when he was here one weekend, after a fight. So we did agree we could do it, technically. I just didn’t think he would. And I didn’t think he’d do it with that woman! He must have stayed in touch with her all along, right? Otherwise how would he have been able to start seeing her after the weekend we talked? That’s why I’m so upset. He’s been in touch with her all along. It’s a betrayal, no matter whether he’s technically done anything wrong or not.’