The Dating Equation by Emily Merrill

Author:Emily Merrill [Merrill, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2024-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

22

Rory: Were you in the office today? I didn’t see you. In and out of meetings.

I winced. I’d rushed out of the office on the dot, and he knew it. I also had a text waiting for me from Ella asking if I was okay; I was a chronic overstayer, even nailing down my perfect office dinner (a nutritious combination of McDonald’s chicken nuggets and the egg fried rice from the Chinese takeaway down the street). Rory and I had spent many an evening in the office long after everyone else had gone home, debriefing about the day and trying to come to unanimous decisions. But the tables had turned since last week; I was no longer bothered if Rory was avoiding me, because I was definitely avoiding him. It was all part of my mission to avoid three eventualities. The first, that Rory would bite the bullet and tell me about his new relationship with my other best friend. I didn’t think I was emotionally ready for that conversation. The second, that he wouldn’t tell me, and I’d be left feeling an even bigger sense of betrayal. And third, that he’d devote the whole day to ripping into Daniel, who had ended up not being a bad date. Or a bad kisser. And I wasn’t ready to justify that to Rory. All three eventualities were bleak, so I’d done the sensible thing and chosen complete avoidance instead. Healthy. Maeve would have been proud. I typed out a response to him because I couldn’t drop completely off the radar.

Me: Must have just missed you. Busy levels have hit the roof.

I nibbled the cuticle of my index finger. He was going to see right through this. He replied instantly, the three dots appearing as soon as my message had sent.

Rory: No problem. See you tomorrow.

Or not. He had bigger fish to fry – or get home to – than me avoiding him for twenty-four hours. It wasn’t unusual for me to go off-grid if I was immersed in something. I closed the chat, scared of going home to him and Maeve and instead fleeing to Mum’s.

‘Mum?’

I turned my key in her door, listening for the tell-tale signs. If she was in her kitchen baking, then I’d be able to hear her humming softly to herself or the whirr of her KitchenAid. If she was in her living room, I’d be able to hear Classic FM, her background music of choice as she read one of the many courtroom thrillers on her shelves. I’d already noted her car in the driveway, so she was here somewhere. I couldn’t hear either of the giveaways, so I ventured further in, dropping my bag on the kitchen table and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from the plate in the centre. Still warm. The plot thickened.

‘Mum?’ I tried again, breaking the cookie in half and stuffing it in my mouth as I headed up the stairs. She’d been known to take naps at odd hours when she had a lot of orders.

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