Emma said.
Nadia considered it. I mean, there’s like a 2 per cent chance, she typed. And then: If that.
Then it hit her: the man by the train doors, reading the paper. There’d been a man there! Was that him? Men must stand by the door and read the paper all the time, what with being male and commuting and picking up a newspaper on the way being statistically quite high. Nadia looked around the station, to see if she recognized anyone as the man she’d been near. She couldn’t even remember what he’d looked like. Blonde? No. Brunette? Definitely handsome. Oh god.
A weird feeling of hope that it was her came over Nadia, whilst she simultaneously realized that hoping for that was kind of non-feminist too. She didn’t have to wait to be chosen by a mystery man to date and be happy. Did she?
But – also – in The New Routine to Change Her Life, Nadia was supposed to believe that luck was on her side. And if luck really was on her side, maybe this was for her, and maybe this guy wouldn’t be an insecure loser. Awful Ben, her last boyfriend, had had a weird fragile masculinity – he was emotionally manipulative and made her think she was in the wrong until he’d undone her confidence. And he did do that – he did undo her confidence. It had really bruised her, because for the six months they dated she almost came to believe there was something wrong with her. She still didn’t understand why somebody would do that: say they’d fallen in love with you and then decide to hate everything that made them say that in first place. She was only just starting to feel like herself again.
Nadia shuddered at the bad memories. She thought about Awful Ben every day still, but when she did she always thanked the heavens that she was now out of that dire situation. She couldn’t believe what she’d let herself put up with. Occasionally she set her web browser to private and typed in his Instagram handle to check he was still as much of a difficult, pretentious arse as ever. He always was.
But now, months after their break-up, Nadia was equal parts bruised and in need of an emotional palette cleanser. A romantic sorbet. Somebody new to think about. A man to be a bit nice to her would do, as if that didn’t place the bar too low. Perhaps her own newspaper ad would read, Wanted, man: must actually seem to like me.
Oh, who was she kidding? Her advert would say: Wanted: man with strong sense of self, capable of having a laugh, healthy relationship with mother. Must love romance, reality television, and be ready to champion and cheerlead as a partner through life, in exchange for exactly the same. Also must understand the importance of cunnilingus and pizza – though not at same time. I cum first, pizza comes second.
Was she expecting too much? She thought of Tim and Deena. Surely she could have that too.
2 per cent is higher than 0 per cent, typed back Emma. So, game on.
Nadia laughed as she finally made her way to the escalator, emerging in the early-morning summer sun at the top. Whatever you say, she typed back. And to herself she thought, But I daren’t be too hopeful.
‘Emma has already texted me,’ Gaby said, catching Nadia as she headed down to the lobby for an 11 a.m. break. The coffee cart in their lobby served an amazing dark espresso blend. ‘And I reckon it’s you as well.’
Nadia was astonished.
‘Ohmygod. Worst thing I ever did was introduce you two to each other,’ she replied, laughing, before saying to the guy behind the counter, ‘double-shot espresso topped up with hot water, please.’
Gaby pulled a face. ‘What happened to a full-fat cappuccino as a political statement?’
‘I’m pivoting. I did one of those bulletproof coffees this morning, to see if it keeps my blood sugar regulated and also, have you seen this acne on my jawline? It’s a menace. I think it might be too much milk – like, apparently milk is just cow hormones not meant for people – so I’m giving up for a bit. These little fuckers hurt, you know.
Nadia craned to see her own reflection in the glass of the skyscraper they worked in. Having acne made her really self-conscious. When she was in the middle of a flare-up she tended to dress in darker colours, as if she didn’t want to be noticed. She needed a permanent filter to follow her around – it didn’t look half as bad when she was on Instagram Stories and could use the crown filter to smooth everything out. She’d try anything to get rid of the angry red boils under the skin of her jaw, including sacrificing her daily cappuccinos.
‘So,’ she went on, ‘I’m experimenting.’
Nadia thanked the barista and the pair walked from the lobby coffee stand to the lifts of RAINFOREST, home to two thousand Research and Development employees for a worldwide delivery service for everything from books to toilet cleaner to marble-top tables. This was where Nadia did her artificial intelligence work. Gaby was her work BFF. They’d met at the summer party two years ago and hit it off talking about AI and its role in a Good Future or Bad Future: what if they accidentally developed technology that turned on them, like in a horror movie? Gaby worked on what was called ‘cloud computing’ for the company, their biggest revenue-generator, selling pay-as-you-go data storage to everyone from start-ups to MI6. Nadia didn’t really understand it, but she knew Gaby was about thirty times cleverer than her, and scared half the people in her part of the office.
‘And, anyway – can I tell you about The New Routine to Change My Life?’ Nadia hit the lift button. ‘Because, I dunno. I guess I feel finally purged of Awful Ben and want to switch my energy up or something. I feel like I just came out of mourning. Like literally, this weekend I got my mojo back.’ The lift arrived. ‘And today I’m trying to be deliberate about keeping it. I’m taking my wellbeing and mental health seriously, beginning now.’
‘That’s great!’
‘Thanks!’ The lift button flashed ‘0’ and the doors opened. The pair got in and Nadia hit the buttons for their respective floors.
‘You know, if you want to get some endorphins going to keep your high, what about coming to spin before work tomorrow?’
Nadia rolled her eyes.
‘No!’ Gaby continued. ‘Don’t pull that face! It’s so good. It’s really dark in there and the instructor says positive affirmations and you get to scream because the music is so loud nobody can hear you.’
Nadia shook her head, watching the lights of the different floors ping brightly as they passed through. Spinning was her worst nightmare. She’d done exactly one SoulCycle class when she went to LA for work and spent forty-five minutes on a bike next to Emily Ratajkowski, wondering how a woman so tiny could peddle so fast. She’d hated it.
‘Absolutely not. I don’t do morning workouts. I’m happy with my evening body pump class, back row, two left feet but doing my best. Only psychopaths work out before noon.’
‘Urgh. Fine. Also – we’re getting sidetracked.’
‘I’d hoped you hadn’t noticed.’
‘It really does sound like you, you know.’
Nadia raised her eyebrows, partly amused, partly sarcastic.
‘It does! Literally you are cute and blonde and chronically late and you spill stuff. And –’ Gaby suddenly seemed to connect some mental dots ‘– and today is the beginning of your New Routine to Change Your Life! So, energetically speaking, the exact day something like this would happen. It’s
