We Met in December

by Rosie Curtis

The thing about being addicted to a certain kind of romantic movie is that you’re always half-expecting that your life might just suddenly take a turn for the better.

This is London, I think. And now, London is home.

‘I wish I could remember lines like that. I never think of the right thing to say until hours later, when I’m lying in bed reliving the whole conversation.’

And yet here I was, looking directly into the chocolate-drop eyes of a man who looked like I’d ordered him online from the romantic movie store.

‘I thought marriage was a tool created by the patriarchy to suppress women?’ Sophie raises an eyebrow, keeping her phone curled tightly in her palm. ‘Yes, yes, it is, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a bit of dressing up, and that’s basically what a wedding is, isn’t it?’

‘It’s called transference,’ Sophie says, thoughtfully. ‘Or something like that. It’s about wanting to live her life through yours, vicariously.’

‘Yeah, we wondered how long it’d be before you actually admitted to us that you’ve got a massive grade-A crush on him. I mean it’s been pretty obvious. But—’ Gen pauses to beckon the waiter, before asking, ‘how does that work with Becky’s no-relationships rule in the house?’

I WAS ROOTING FOR THIS BOOK.....not an insta love....

It’s still weird to think of books as products, if I’m completely truthful.

‘Thing is, I think I’m a bit of a romantic at heart. I wanted the whole thing.’

Grudgingly, I have to admit to myself that in another life, Jess would be completely my type. She’s funny and she’s interesting, and I love the fact that she’s doing the same as me: taking the plunge to try something new and start life over again. It’d be good to have a partner in crime. It makes it seem less terrifying, somehow.

‘Oh, it was fine. I’m just so tired that I can’t move. You know what it’s like when you start a new job – you’ve got so much stuff to remember and your brain gets overloaded. I could literally fall asleep here.’

It’s weird that January’s often colder than December – even though December is the month most associated with winter and snow. It feels a bit like it might snow now – the sky’s a funny sort of yellow-grey colour.

It’s taken me time to be able to talk about it so calmly. There were times when someone being kind would bring tears springing to my eyes. Grief is weird like that. But now I feel like – well, I guess I’ve made my peace with it. And somehow, I feel like Dad would be quite impressed that I’d decided to do something I felt passionate about, just like he did.

You know what, I said to myself, maybe it’s okay if I’m just not that sort of person.

The trouble with me is I’ve always been a daydreamer. Always been a sucker for a romantic film, always loved a book with a good old-fashioned happy ever after ending.

Yeah, it was more than a little bit clichéd and cheesy, but I thought that was what romance was supposed to be about.

She hands me the toothpaste and I pick up my brush, and somehow we’re standing there side by side – me in my trackies and T-shirt, her in a pair of mismatched PJs – brushing our teeth. She waggles her eyebrows at me in the mirror, making me laugh, which is harder than you’d think when you’ve got a toothbrush in your mouth.

okay but this is cute

‘I reckon when you start a career as an adult, you’ve got more of an idea what you’re getting yourself into,’

Placements are long, the essays are never-ending, but I still don’t regret it one bit.

Oh, Alex, you poor thing.’ Jess reaches out and pats me on the thigh. ‘I wouldn’t have left you sitting there like a lemon, I promise.’

Jess went to collect her rucksack and Harry gave me a look. ‘Got a good one there, son.’ ‘Oh she’s not my—’ I began, but he’d turned away before I could finish the sentence.

Alex pays attention to little things, I’ve noticed. He’s the only one in the house who remembers how everyone takes their tea and coffee and doesn’t have to ask. It’s nice.

I think when Gen and Soph and I were young, we’d all been quite certain that by this age we’d all be settled and happy. Domestic bliss felt like a lifetime away for me. I guess that’s what happens when you start all over again at the age of almost thirty.

I’m tired of trying to convince people that I’ve done the right thing when there are others out there who don’t need to be told.

‘You know when you don’t notice something’s missing until you realise it’s not there?’

‘Whatever happened to for richer, for poorer?’ I ask. Becky gives a snort of laughter. ‘In London? Are you joking?’

‘Look.’ Alex points over my shoulder. ‘There’s our café.’

‘D’you think we’ll see our giraffe again?’ Alex peers upwards.

He’s a friend, that’s all. And there’s no reason at all why a friend wouldn’t send a text to ask if everything’s okay, is there?

It’s weird that I’ve shared so much of this with Alex, but I think there’s something about walking that makes it easier to talk about stuff. Anyway, I think he’s got a more realistic view of what life with my mother was like.

‘This is 2019. I don’t have to snare a man before it’s too late. I’m not going to be on the shelf if I’m still single when I turn thirty. I’ve just started a brand-new job.’

But I’d still rather have that than be stuck in a marriage where we were both miserable. You need to actually like the person you’re with, no’ just fancy the pants off them.’

I want to tell them that what they see on Instagram isn’t necessarily representative of my real life, and remind them that the main reason I share the photos isn’t to try and become Insta-famous or to get free stuff. It’s because it’s an easy way of sending a little pictorial hello to Nanna Beth and my friends from wherever I am, whatever time of day it is.

But I think about Nanna Beth, and how she told me to remember I only have one life and that I should leave it with as few regrets as possible.

And being together with the wrong person was a million times worse than being single.