addressed to Seb on the doormat, and for the first time I picked it up and stuck it in the box on the telephone table (that had never had a telephone on it) without even considering bursting into tears. Definitely growing as a person.
Plugging in my phone, I dumped myself on the settee and turned on the telly, my mind overrun. Lots to think about, lots to think about. I had to tell Sarah I was applying for the events position, I had to figure out how to work Kevlar into a passable outfit for the office once Shona found out I was applying for the job, and I had to plan my best friend’s wedding. So of course the only thing I could think about was why I hadn’t heard from Will. My own brain was failing the Bechdel test. I was the worst fourth-wave feminist ever. He would be in touch; he was probably still at work. Lawyers didn’t work normal people shifts. Seb used to be in the office until all hours. But then Seb was having an affair …
No.
We’re both playing it cool, that’s all, I told myself, forcing myself up to flick on the kettle before hitting the biscuit tin. He’s got my number, he knows where I live. If he wants to call, he’ll call. After all, the sex was brilliant, if I did say so myself. Why wouldn’t he call? That was not the last I’d seen of Mr Will.
8.02 p.m.
It was absolutely the last I’d seen of Mr Will. Oh God, oh God, oh God. It’s been twenty-nine hours and I haven’t heard from him. He hasn’t texted or called or added me on Facebook or looked at my LinkedIn profile. I think I just had my first ever one-night stand and it feels horrible. Why hasn’t he texted me? I know the rules say wait three days, but no one really waits three days, do they? This is horrible. I feel like such a slag. What did I do wrong? My poor vagina. She does not deserve this!
8.34 p.m.
I’m going to text him. I mean, he gave me his number − he wants me to use it, surely? And it doesn’t matter who texts first, we’ve already slept together. I can send a little message that’s just a ‘hi!’ and it’s fine. This is ridiculous. If I hadn’t had sex with him, I’d send him a text message. If he was just a man or a woman I had met and liked and had stuff in common with and wanted to see again, I would text him. I’m going to text him.
8.56 p.m.
I sent the text. I just said ‘Hi! So happy Monday is over!’ That’s OK, isn’t it? That’s totally normal. That’s like, hey! What’s up! I’m not crazy! He’ll reply to that. And you know, if he likes me, it won’t matter who texted first or what I said, he’ll just be happy to have heard from me. It’ll probably be a funny anecdote in the wedding speeches. ‘She couldn’t wait to hear from me so she texted me first and I was so happy!’ Actually, I think I texted Seb first. So it’s fine.
9.13 p.m.
Hmm.
9.33 p.m.
There are more than a million good reasons for him not to have replied to that message yet. Men don’t check their phones all the time, do they? They can’t put them in their pockets in case it gives them cancer of the nads. He probably hasn’t got his phone.
9.45 p.m.
He’s definitely seen it. There’s no way he hasn’t seen it. Maybe he’s just playing it cool.
10.07 p.m.
What the fuck was I thinking? I should NEVER have texted first. That’s probably the reason it didn’t work out with Seb. Our entire relationship was founded on him having all that power over me, knowing that I caved and texted him because I was so desperate to have him in my life. And it was such a stupid message − I didn’t even ask him a question! How is he supposed to reply if I don’t ask him a question? That’s messaging 101. I am so bad at this. And now I’ve ruined it forever. I’m going to run a bath and leave my phone in the other room and think very carefully about THAT TIME I TEXTED A MAN FIRST AND RUINED MY LIFE.
10.42 p.m.
A text! But it’s from Lauren. Wanting to know if I have an ‘in’ at Vera Wang.
So it begins.
I’m going to bed. I’m being ridiculous.
11.17 p.m.
Just checked. Nothing.
11.33 p.m.
Still nothing.
11.45 p.m.
He replied! HE REPLIED.
He sent me a smiley face! What does that mean?
12.04 a.m.
God, I almost wish he hadn’t sent anything at all … How do I reply to a smiley face? This is insane.
12.32 a.m.
A bloody smiley face? REALLY?
Weddings are all about love and commitment, not just the love between the bride and the groom but the love shared between everyone in attendance. Love can come in a thousand different shapes and sizes. Take a moment to think about this: what does love mean to you?
There’s no love like puppy love! What was the name of your first boyfriend?
Gowri Gopalan. We were both seven. It lasted from morning playtime until afternoon break.
When was the first time you ever said I love you and meant it?
To Seb, two months after we started going out. He said it first when we were on a night out, but I thought he was drunk and being stupid and I couldn’t say it back. I had to wait until we got home and I thought he was asleep, and then I said it and he smiled and kissed me on the top of my head and said, ‘Shut up, Maddie.’
If you could tell the bride and groom something you’ve learned about love, what would it be?
My mum and dad always say they don’t go to bed on an argument. I would say, if he’s got nothing to hide, why won’t he let you use his phone to order a pizza?
Half asleep and barely caffeinated is never my ideal state, but Tuesday morning had decided it wanted to be especially shitty. Sarah wasn’t responding to my cheery texts suggesting we meet so I could break the news about the job, Lauren had sent me fifteen summer wedding Pinterest links by 8 a.m. and I was already on the bus when I saw the deodorant marks on my jumper. Then I burnt the top three layers of skin off my tongue with a cup of molten lava trying to pass itself off as a flat white. And as if I wasn’t already feeling enough like a shit grown-up,
