The Break-Up Clause by Niamh Hargan

Chapter Forty-Two

He’s already there by the time she arrives – he’s sitting atop the planter, just like the last time they were here, and Fia hoists herself up to join him. Once more, she has to fight the urge to reach out and touch him – to lean over and kiss him, maybe. Somehow, she can tell that similar calculations are running through his mind, but in the end, they keep their hands to themselves. It’s just too risky. Anyone could arrive up here, any time.

This morning, in the stationery cupboard, was risky as well – insanely so. What on earth is wrong with Fia’s brain? Nothing like that can happen again, she knows. She needs to be better at controlling herself.

It’s sort of ironic, really. After weeks and weeks of worrying that someone at ZOLA would notice something off between her and Benjamin – would wonder why they didn’t seem to like each other very much – there is now a new kind of danger. Fia’s biggest fear has become the thought of someone clocking that she and Benjamin Lowry seem to like each other a little bit too much.

‘How was your thing this afternoon?’ she asks him.

He shrugs. ‘Fine. I mean, shitty, but fine.’

Fia gets that. Sometimes, you need a person to listen to every detail of your work problems, to behave as though they are interested in the nitty-gritty of it all. Other times, you just don’t want to get into it.

‘So, I phoned Alyvia,’ she tells him next.

At this, his ears seem to prick up, metaphorically if not literally. ‘And? What’d she say?’

‘Nothing, really. Said she’d talk to Gus. I have to say, though, I’m still really not sure I’m with you on this whole theory. A weird feeling across a twenty-minute meeting does not a little mini online troll make.’

‘But it’s not just that!’ Benjamin protests. ‘You heard what he said. His birthday is October twenty-ninth.’

Fia doesn’t even try to hold back her laughter. ‘Oh my God! That’s what you’re basing this on?!’

‘Well, and “silverfish”!’ he adds. ‘Turns out “silverfish” is some kind of Minecraft thing. I googled it this afternoon. We probably should have googled that before now.’

Fia takes this in for a moment. ‘Probably,’ she agrees, and she lets a few more seconds pass, for effect. ‘Or, y’know, if only we’d spent like seven years working in video games, we might have just … already known it.’

It’s the type of thing that could have easily soured their whole morning, six weeks ago. As it is, her jibe isn’t serious, and the snarky face he makes back at her isn’t either.

Fia clicks her tongue against her teeth, forcing herself to genuinely consider the possibility for the first time. She casts her mind back to whatever specific Instagram comments she can remember. Upon reflection, was there something slightly juvenile to them? Some slight whiff of impotence or innocence? It would certainly explain the spelling deficiencies.

She supposes perhaps the idea isn’t entirely ridiculous. She doesn’t feel, as she did even a minute ago, that there’s zero chance. But she’s far from convinced.

‘Still, Gus wouldn’t be putting out those comments unless he just basically hates his mother, and it didn’t seem like he did – far from it. They seemed really close, to me.’

‘Yeah, well. I’m close to my mom. But did I love being paraded around like a show pony every time she needed to seem relatable? No, I really didn’t.’

Fia wasn’t expecting that one – the fervour of it. Nevertheless, she just nods, trying not to show her surprise. She feels, in some instinctive way, like she should try not to spook Benjamin right now.

‘Did that happen a lot?’ she asks evenly.

‘Pretty often. She was always trying to get elected for something, you know? Or re-elected. Ran for District Attorney twice and won twice. Ran for Attorney General of North Carolina twice and lost twice. That’s a lot of fundraising luncheons.’

‘I’m never totally sure what the difference is between a lunch and a luncheon.’

Benjamin chuckles, slightly ruefully. ‘About two grand. Anyhow, none of it was my mom’s fault – she basically needed to bring me and Dad along to all those things, ’cause that’s what everybody does, right? I get it. Even back then, as a kid, I got it. It was part of her job. But it wasn’t always a whole lot of fun for me. And … Alyvia’s putting food on the table with these posts. But I’ll bet it’s not a whole lot of fun for Gus, either.’

For a moment, they both just sit with that, in silence. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll see what Alyvia comes back with,’ Fia replies. Right now, she finds she doesn’t actually care all that much about Alyvia or Gus or any of it. She just wants Benjamin to keep talking.

‘So, you’re an only child, too?’ she prods. ‘Same as Gus, I mean.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And that thing of, like … wanting adults to like you – that was kind of ingrained in you as a kid, was it?’

‘Not just adults,’ he replies, and some expression that’s half wince, half smile rises to his lips. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have some latent people-pleasing tendencies.’

‘I don’t know if I’ve always had the benefit of them,’ she teases.

He smiles, more fully this time. ‘No. I don’t know what it was with you, but … you pretty much always got the unfiltered version. Back in Camp Birchwood days, I think you were the first person I ever met who could kinda … see through me, I guess, would be the best way to put it. Everybody else? Yeah. I knew how to just … make them like me. But then, that’s weird, right? It shouldn’t be that way. You can only have everyone like you if you’re changing like the fucking wind.’

‘I think you’re hard on yourself,’ Fia replies, and she’s ready to admit it out loud: ‘I think I was hard on you. Being able to talk to people … adapting to your situation, trying to take an interest … Those are good things.’

‘I guess so. I’ve been trying to kind of re-programme myself, these last couple of years,’ he says. ‘But, yeah, it’s definitely a balance. Trying to figure out how to be a little more myself, while also not being …’

‘A total dick,’ she fills in, at the same time as he says, ‘Dislikeable.’

‘Dislikeable, yeah,’ she repeats, and they both laugh out loud.

For a moment, there’s an easy silence between them before she speaks again. ‘So, go on then. Tell me some dislikeable things about you,’ she says, and though there’s a buoyancy to it, she thinks it’s clear to both of them what she’s actually saying here: tell me the things you don’t tell other people – the stupid things, as well as the serious things.

‘Well, obviously there’s the stuff you already know,’ he replies, his voice rising jocularly. ‘Marries drunk women and then never calls them, etc. Or do you mean aside from that?’

‘Yes, aside from that,’ she replies, and who could have predicted that she’d ever have such an exchange with Benjamin Lowry and feel warmth spreading through her, feel a laugh bubbling over.

Another beat of silence follows as he thinks, or at least pretends to.

‘I’m not, like, a real big dog person?’ he offers then, and she gasps dramatically, on cue.

‘I know, right?’ he continues. ‘It’s like the last unsayable thing. I mean, I don’t hate all dogs. I wouldn’t harm a dog. But do I want some random dog licking all over me on the subway? Do I love a dog-friendly café? Not really.’

‘Well, you are a rarity in the world of New York dating apps, my friend,’ she replies. ‘Every guy on there, it’s him in the park with a Golden Retriever, him up a mountain with a Great Dane. I always wonder where they’re keeping these pets. Like, a lot of these dogs are not apartment-sized dogs.’

It’s a little strange, suddenly, just the suggestion of that aspect of her life. Even as Benjamin smiles along valiantly, Fia wishes, for some reason, that she hadn’t brought it up.

‘Anyway. Okay. What else?’ she says, in the attempt to blast past it.

He tilts his head, thinking again. ‘Not that into sports. I mean, I do like watching baseball. A lot. But all the others … I’m honestly kinda faking it.’

She sniggers. ‘I won’t tell,’ she says, and he holds her gaze for a second. When he replies, it’s almost as though he’s speaking to himself.

‘You know, Fia, I don’t think you will.’

She feels something bloom in her, at the tone of his voice, the look on his face. She can’t process it any other way than as a physical want. And it takes absolutely everything in her not to kiss him, not to reach a hand out to his thigh, not to pull him into her, on top of her, all over her.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’ he asks her.

She’s distracted. ‘Mmm, life admin. Laundry. I think Annie and Kavita and I might go down to the South Street Seaport for lunch on Sunday.’

‘Oh,’ Benjamin replies, a little awkwardly. ‘Cool.’

Immediately, Fia realizes her mistake and rushes to amend it, feeling a little awkward herself. ‘Well, but I could … I mean, I could not do any of that. If you, um … have a better offer.’

And, as it turns out, he does.