He said they were “on a break”. The ring tan said otherwise. I still let him pay for the vodka sodas. Research, innit.
Category: Gossip
Someone’s fiancé bought drinks. Someone’s best friend slid in. I am not starting it. I am finishing it, with details, denials, and the screenshot I swore I would delete and obviously did not.
Sunday, hangovers, full English, and a whiteboard. Cruel? Maybe. Accurate? Deadly. One of them is already texting and I haven’t decided if that’s peak or useful.
Three girls in a cubicle at 4am swapping who they’d just left in the main room. Names, positions, who came, who didn’t. I wrote it down in Notes. Gold.
Everyone’s pretending they’re done with apps. I’m not. It’s research. Also I get bored on the District line and some of these boys write like they’ve never met a woman. Useful.
They’ve given him a nickname. I won’t repeat it. It’s accurate. He still thinks he’s mysterious.
Not proud. Also not sorry. His mum, his ex, a booking for two at Dishoom. I screenshotted the Dishoom one for later.
She doesn’t know. He texted me after their row. I went round. It was messy and good and I am a terrible friend. Will probably tell her when it makes a better story.
He looked well. I looked better. I made sure of that in the mirror by the sinks before I walked over.
Girls’ night started classy. Ended with who slept with whose almost-boyfriend in May. I didn’t start it. I just didn’t stop it. That’s different, innit.
The bill was fine. The speech about “what this means” was not. I kissed him to shut him up. It worked. Temporarily.