Bliss

thirty

Jess is my first port of call.

She answers almost immediately; I unclench.

"How you feeling?" she asks as I stretch out on the sofa, my phone in one hand and a threadbare blue pillow in the other.

"Conflicted."

"Conflicted?" The worry in her voice is palpable, so is the fear that I'll go running back to Spencer. I should be offended, I wish she had more faith in me, but I can only laugh.

"Not about Spencer," I say, throwing the pillow into the air. "I'm over that, I promise."

"Okay." She pauses as if to swallow the information and then begins again. "So, what are you conflicted about?" she asks.

It's my turn to pause and swallow. My turn to ruminate. If I tell her the truth, it'll be out there, confirmed and alive forevermore. But if I keep it in, I may never get it straight in my head, and that buzz of potential may wane until it's not even a note, not even a whisper.

"Isaac," I say, the fear of losing what could be winning out over the fear of admitting what everyone else saw long before me. "I'm conflicted about Isaac. Well, not conflicted, more confused."

"Confused?" She sounds like she's laughing.

"I'm serious, Jess. I don't know what to do."

"About Isaac?"

"Yes!" The pillow flies up into the air once again.

"Okay, okay." She's laughing now. "Let's start with the basics."

"The basics." I nod. "I can do that."

"Okay, so do you like him?"

"Like him?" I wail, throwing the pillow again. "Like, like him like him, or just like him."

"Jesus Lizzie, do you like him as a person? Like if you were to introduce him, would you be nice?"

"Oh, well then yeah. I like him."

"Noted."

There's a prolonged pause. It's torture.

"Next question," she says, the utmost authority dribbling through her voice.

"Go ahead." I hold the pillow close.

"Do you like him like him?"

It's in the air again.

Jess repeats the question.

"Yes," I groan. "I like him like him. Of course I like him like him. I've liked him liked him since the fireworks."

"Can you perhaps stop saying like him like him?" Jess asks.

"Yes," I whisper. "Sorry."

"No worries, and what happened at the fireworks?"

"We almost kissed."

"Shit."

"I know. And after all of that, you know, realising that I never hated him, that I was just disappointed and that I missed him and that I guess I really liked him, I ran back to Spencer. Fucking Spencer, who couldn't give two shits about me and made that abundantly clear countless times. God, what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Jess says. "You loved Spencer. He was a known. Isaac, despite everything, was a massive question mark."

"Well, now I want the question mark. I think."

"You want the question mark?" I can practically hear her smile, see it.

"Yes," I whisper, bringing the pillow to my face. "I want the question mark."