CHAPTER NINE
LIKE A FAT KID LOVES CAKE

you see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back
together
to make a creature that will do what I say
or love me back.
- Litany in Which Cartain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

Seven years ago, Lucy 18, Ted 21

The warm sprays from the faucet hit my back mercifully. I exhale deeply and dip my head under the water. Closing my eyes, I turn the faucet off.

The room is thick with steam as I step out of the shower and reach for a towel. I smile as I see the steamed-up mirror. Across its steamed-up surface I can see a hand-written note.

Love you like a fat kid loves cake.

I reach up and draw across the slippery surface.

I love you like a zombie loves brains.

"Thanks for the note," I say, drying my hair with my towel.

Ted looks up as he ties his shoes, "Sure thing. Always a nice way to start the day."

"Got any plans today?"

"Yup. Me and Jake, we've got the nightshift tonight. Think Potter's testing me."

"'kay." I nod. "Perhaps it'll be good practice."

"Nah. Just hard," Ted shrugs. "And boring as shit."

He gets up from the bed and hugs me close, before coming to his knees, nuzzling his face into my stomach.

"What's your plan today?"

"Hm… not much… Painting… eating chocolate… That sort of thing."

"Sounds like a great day to me." Ted laughs.

"Huh? Well… just like any other day, I suppose," I shrug.

"Have you spoken to your mum?"

"Nope." I say, popping the 'p'.

Ted sighs. "She'll come around, Luce."

"Hmpf."

"I love you, you know that, right?" Ted straightens and lets me go with a gentle squeeze.

I pull at the edges of my shirt. "I know."

"Good. I'll see you later, yeah?" He kisses me on the cheek.

"Yeah."

I arrive at the house alone. Clem has gone to bed and the house is cold, dark and feels foreign as I hang my coat. I can hear the winds press against the roof, pulling at the house, as I wait for the kettle to boil.

It knocks on the door.

It takes me a few seconds to gather my courage. In this town of foreigners, there are only so many people it can be.

My heart in my throat, I open the door to find James standing outside, his jaw set.

"James." I say surprised.

There's a long silence where he seems to be attempting to muster his wits.

"Ted wanted me to invite you to his bachelor party," he says suddenly. I look up at him, surprised, opening my mouth to answer. James shakes his head.

"I said he was being stupid, but he insisted. And frankly, it doesn't matter. It's his day. What Ted wants, he gets."

I stare at him. "Are there going to be strippers?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course there are."

I straighten, suddenly finding my voice. "No thanks."

I walk back to the kitchen, grabbing my tea on the way. "Bye, James!" I yell over my shoulder.

James blocks my path to the stairs. He looks tired, angry even. That takes me by surprise. I didn't expect it would have been he who came for the intervention.

I expected angry fights, tears and empty promises. I didn't expect this. James's wide eyes, a tired stance as if he couldn't even be bothered. I expected murder and disownment. I didn't expect indifference.

"You owe him this much, Luce," he says. "You left him to deal with all of this mess. You sent in the divorce papers. You owe it to him to support him and be happy. So go to that ruddy Bachelor party. And dammit, if Pippa makes him happy, you should be there and tell him that it's all right to settle down and be happy. You're all he's ever cared about. Give him that, Luce. Give him that."

I stare at him. "Fine."

James nods. He looks wary and tired. "You know, Luce. If it weren't for Ted, I would have clawed your eyes out that night. So this is me saying to saying to you, that you have better not make it worse. Or I will curse you all the way back to London myself. No joke. So you, know take this me taking a stand, if you'd like. That I'm with Ted on this whole ordeal. I've got his back. That guy is my family."

"I know." My voice is timid, fragile with all the words that I wish I could say. For five years worth of bruised lives and love. But I'm still stuck inside that French cabin by the sea, unable to see past the brownness of his eyes in my paintings.

Instead we stare at each other, my one foot on the steps of the stairs, the other on the floor, half-way in run, half-way in retreat.

"Something wrong?" Clem is standing in the doorway in her nightgown, staring back and forth between the two of us.

James smiles at her kindly, "Nah, just coming to say goodnight."

Clem looks back at me, anxious.

"It's fine, Clem. Go to bed," I smile shakily at her. Reluctantly, she trudges back and closes the door with a sad smile. I feel a twinge in my gut at the lie.

"Finished?" I ask James.

"Yeah."

I show him out, giving him a hug before he leaves. Somehow I cannot fault him for looking out for Ted. Not after all I've done.

5 years ago, Lucy aged 20

"Are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Positive."

Dom looks at me dubiously. "You can't change this back. I.."

"It's fine, Dom." I nod grimly. "I won't want to change this."

"Okay."

Dom's acceptance is quiet as she retrieves inside the cabin once more. In the horizon, the skies are angry, grim and full with the burden of rain. I gaze at them quietly for a moment as the wind rips heavily in my hair and coat.

I eye the collection of paintings on the ground. I've stacked them neatly on top of each other, but some of them have already been soaked in the mud, brownness seeping into the canvas, joining his brown eyes in the mess.

I light the match almost instinctively.

My hand feels robotic; the nerves numb and dull as I feel the dusk creep in from the seas, the wind salty and cold on my cheeks. Soon it'll be night and all I will be able to see is the bright fire, lighting up the dark. I won't be able to tell the paintings apart, or know which one was the first, the second, and the one where we found each other and the one from when we broke apart into fragments. All that they will be are a huge pile of burning wood in the middle of the darkness, lighting up my face, providing me with a warmth that I've sorely missed.

The first match takes time to ignite the stack. The paintings have been lying on the ground for too long, the moisture of the French weather has seeped into the canvasses. It gains momentum slowly, inching millimetres across parchment, banishing any resemblance to my former life.

The second match ignites faster, a small fire starting. The smoke oozes slowly from the paintings, wandering along the ground towards me. It snakes around my feet lazily as the flames eat into the paintings.

The third match barely flares before I throw it into the pile. By then the fire has grown larger, engulfing various canvasses. The heat starts to permeate towards me. Goosebumps rise on my skin.

The fourth match is unnecessary, the fire already spreading, eating more and more of my memories. I keep standing slightly too close, feeling the small hairs on my face and arm get singed by the heat. I watch his brown eyes get eaten whole by the flames. They seem to ignite for seconds before curling backwards on themselves, turning into charcoaled regret.

"Careful you don't get burnt," Dom calls from the doorway, her face lit up by the fire. She looks anxious, hugging her thin nightgown closer to her body. She inches away as I walk closer. I ignore her lengthy stare and keep standing close, my feet nearly touching the fire.

"I'm already burnt, Dom. Whole."

The entire room resembles Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop with plush teddy bears and pink hearts and tacky and frilly decorations. The gaudy tables and chairs are claimed by fifteen girls, all dressed in pastels. Pink cherubs hover over each table, billowing confetti over the girls with frequent intervals.

Pippa is gilded laughter and bubble-gum pink smiles. It's sticky toffee fingers and choirs of high-heeled stilettos. It's always being happy, eggs the sunny side up and manicures. It's Pippa's best friends and gushing and silly, silly, simple things.

The entire room is engulfed in glitter. There are pink bows on every corner, a small tiny miniature Pippa, holding hands with a miniature Teddy. We sip from pretty pink punch-glasses. I almost choke on a small confetti heart as I empty my cocktailglass.

The glitter seems to stick to every surface. Within minutes of entering the room my hands, face and clothes have been coated in a fine sheen of pink glitter that never seems to rub off.

I sit impatiently in a chair by the door, watching the nightmarish show unfold. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells, unwelcome in this crowd, like a fish out of water. Yet somehow in a twist of politeness and properness I am forced to sit through this ordeal.

Thankfully, Pippa ignores me and enjoys her day. She is being catered for and looked after by all her giggling friends. She tells them stories of how they met downtown. How their gaze had locked over a sticky coffee table at Neil's. How they're trying for a baby. How her crystal ball's been telling her that it was good to go through with Ted. I sit in my small chair in the corner, sipping my pink drink, twirling the small paper umbrella idly between my fingers as I listen to what Ted's life is about to become. All that happiness feels unbearable to me.

"Well, Pippa. We've arranged for a small game for you. It's called 'How well do you know your future husband'," A small blonde stands up suddenly, pulling a small chalkboard forward I hadn't noticed.

"Oh, yay!" Pippa jumps up and down, clapping her hands. "This'll be jolly good."

"Alright, the rules are as following: you must answer all the questions on your own."

Pippa nods obediently, sitting on the edge of her chair. The alcohol in my drink is making my head fuzzy and heavy, yet I feel my interest spike.

This might feed the jealous monster roaming in my gut.

So I watch, gleeful, as they commence on a game I know that she can never win. I see Lily's sharp glance at me and Dom's quivering mouth. I look away and down my drink.

"What's Ted's full name?"

"Um… Edward Lupin."

Wrong.

"Nope. Edward Remus Lupin."

"Oh, yeah, that's right." Pippa laughs shrilly, taking a sip of her drink.

"What's Ted's eye colour?"

"Oh, that's easy. Blue."

Wrong. Brown.

"Correct. It's blue."

I stare at the midget blonde for a long time, my brows knotted. That can't be right.

"Ted's favourite dish?"

"Chicken Tikka Masala. It's what we had for our first night."

Wrong. So wrong.

"Uh, no. It's actually Shepherd's Pie."

"Oh yeah, he likes that, too." Pippa slaps her skinny thigh.

"Ted's favourite colour?"

"Red!"

No. Green.

"Correct!" The blonde smiles. I give her a dirty look. She must have changed the answers. It has to be that. The other conclusion seems impossible.

"Who was Ted's first best friend?"

"James," Pippa answers, glancing quickly at me.

Rightly so. It's me. It's always been me.

"Correct!"

I stare at the blonde and Pippa in shock. Dom grabs my hand. Squeezes it hard. I blink at her slowly. It's like I've been erased. As if Ted's been erased and this new person with new priorities and new fancies has taken his place. I watch as Pippa scores a near perfect score on her knowledge test of a man whom, it seems, I no longer know.

They pull out a mountain of gifts, which Pippa begins unpacking. She goes through the packages quickly and efficiently, holding up garments and presents to the crowd's ohhhs and ahhhs.

"Oh, lovely!" Pippa exclaims, holding up a near non-existing piece of underwear. "Well, I won't be needing that one. He's got enough stamina without any encouragement," she giggles to the crowd.

I down the nearest drink.

5 years ago, Lucy aged 20, Ted 23

The paintbrush strokes the canvas gently. I breathe out as I listen to the rain, twisting it idly in lukewarm water. Acrylic blue swirls and drips onto the floorboards. I hear them creak. The echo of laughter. I look up.

"Ted?" I ask, but there is no answer, just the echo of the empty apartment and rain hitting the window.

I put down my paintbrush slowly, carefully stepping between the scattered pieces of discarded paintings that line the floor. I tiptoe through the apartment, careful not to stir the silence.

I pass the bathroom's open door. I can still see Ted's handwritten note on the mirror.

We're tighter than a fat guy in spandex.

The smile spreads on my face, large and wide. I exhale/laugh. I hear a muffled sound, like shuffling shoes.

I find him on the bedside, laughing hysterically.

"Nice night?" I lean against the doorway, eyeing him.

"The best," he sighs, stretching out on the bed. He pulls off his cap, belching loudly.

My breath stops. "Ted -"

He halts his movements, seeing my face. "Luce…"

"Your hair…"

"Wait. I mean, um. Well. The lads and I had a bet and well… I lost."

"I can see that!"

He takes himself to the head, running a hand over the coarse stubbles. "I think it looks refreshing? I look like a proper lad."

"You look like a doorman. That's what you look like. One of those who belch and slur and hit lads just for fun."

"Belch and slur?" Ted laughs at me. "Love, that's basically every bloke in London."

The edges of my mouth quiver. "Besides, what did they cut it with? A lawnmower?"

Ted touches the occasional bald spot dotted across his scalp.

"Jake had an old barber's knife."

He has the decency to look a bit ashamed. "He said he'd done it before. Loads of experience."

"Was this before or after the Sambuca shots?"

"After."

I sit down on the bed. "Honey? I think you've been played well and fair by your mates."

Ted looks at me astounded.

A pause.

"But… Tom said he works part-time at the barber's shop…"

And then we burst out laughing.

I end up at Daisy's pub again.

Everyone's there and it almost seems like old times, except it's not. Pippa's there. Ted isn't looking dotingly at me. I'm just the odd one out. My skirt is too short, my blouse too chesty and my make-up feels cakey. I'm sitting alone with no one to talk to while everyone laughs at something or to someone.

Whatever my life becomes, depends on something that happened five years ago. In my brain, in my limbs, in my dreams – the scenes are playing out on repeat.

But then Scorpius is there, his hand insistent on my sleeve. And somehow his eyes make me smile and I agree to yes, one more drink, on the house, thank you, Daisy. And down it goes, burn, burn. The blueness of the drink rubs my throat dry of resentment. It pillows my head, making the buzz last longer. And suddenly all I see is Scorpius and large bottles of wine on line. Just for me. For this moment.

He's brought James with him, who is so obnoxious he makes me forget our encounter earlier today. It makes me forget everything that's happened before the last drink. We laugh until my teeth hurt, until everything hurts and the heat rises behind my eyes, until I cannot think anymore. All I feel is my hand clutching James's arm, his large eyes and my laughter, loud, loud.

Darren shows up. I hug him hard, screaming Darreeeeeeeeen! Sweetums! I feel his hands large on my back and it feels nice to have someone hold me tenderly. A man. And yes, okay, I might have even whisper/slurred it to him in a would-be-but-not-really intimate overshare. I feel his giggle and I laugh, amazed at hearing Darren, big boy and macho-man, giggling. It surprises me how happy such a small thing can make me. How it can drown out the pitiful black hole of hurt.

And then we start reminiscing. Walk up and down that memory-lane of good stories. We talk about Darren's old bumper jacket, how he'd pull all the lassies with the stickers and the stories tied to them. We touch on the motorbike, how it rattled and rumbled until it broke one September afternoon out in a field. Of the old yellowed picket fence that Ted drove into on that first ride on his bike. We talk about the old backyard's apple-tree we used to climb in. And Dad's old garage that we burnt down by mistake. My head is spinning with liquor and memories, my eyes swimming in laughter. Ted is laughing, too. And so is James. He looks happy, looking at me like he used to. Like I'm a friend, not a foe.

We laugh and laugh, until we don't.

"Hey, remember that time when the two of you ran off and eloped in Scotland? That was some fun shit."

James's eyes are large, the beer spilling onto the table top, making my hands wet and cold. The playing cards skirt around in lager towards me, beer crafting watermarks and bending the queen of spades.

And then comes the silence. The silence always surprises me. How an entire table can eat their words in joint symphony. It's taciturn. Except for my hysterical giggle.

And then Pippa, so sober and sharp, her voice pitches above the hum of the bar.

"What?"

My head swims. My hands are cold. I feel the table push unforgivingly into my abdomen as she pushes her chair back and gets up. An exhale. The doorbell clings shut after her. Ted is hot on her heels out the door. And I'm just sitting, breathing, listening to the silence. My face looking like a deck of falling cards.

And Scorpius. "Oh, dear."

6 years ago, Lucy aged 19, Ted 22

Another morning. Another year. I allow the steam to rise above my body, my mind a different place, a different universe. The water is scolding and the humid air becomes hard to breathe in. I take a deep breath before twisting the tap closed.

The tiles are slippery and cold upon exiting the shower. I dry my hair slowly as I make my way to the sink. I look up at the foggy glass, my breath catching.

Marry me?

He's right outside the door, on his knees, eyes swimming.

I think about a lot of things. My parents. My sister. How to get back home. How our lives will play out. Money. Painting. Becoming something. I think about a lot of things, but mostly I think about him. Ted.

Ted gets to his feet. He opens a small black velvet box.

"It's small." He speaks, his voice tripping over heartbeats, "Tiny, really – but it's all I could afford, and I –"

"It's perfect." I take his hand. "It's beyond perfect."

He takes the right hand. My fingers spread willingly. His wide gaze meets mine.

"So… Will you?"

The next morning, a new note greets me on the bathroom mirror.

Hello future wife.

Before I leave the bathroom, steam still swirling around me, I put my finger to the bathroom mirror and respond, for the first time.

Hello future husband.