Maame(27)

Joe Public is a small restaurant and only barstool seats are available inside, but they have a strip of the street enclosed within white picket fences for benches and tables. Jo picks the one in the middle.

“Maddie, look.” She points to a chalkboard on the other side of our table. “They’re doing two-for-one on frozen cocktails. Cam’s driving, so should you and I get one?”

I’m about to say I don’t really drink (more down to lack of opportunity than a personal stance), but then I remember my list, the New Maddie list. “Sounds good,” I tell her.

It’s pizza by the slice or twenty-inch and because we can’t all agree on which toppings, we get it by the slice. I first go for the pepperoni and onion, Jo picks mushroom and truffle whilst Cam goes for the “Meat Lover.”

“Appropriate,” she says, and Jo laughs. I join in, although I’m not sure what the joke is. It could be that she’s an infamous carnivore. It could also be a reference to … penis. Obviously, vocally assuming one over the other could be detrimental.

When our drinks arrive (Diet Coke for Cam), they’re pink, served in a tumbler with a straw and a halved strawberry on the rim. I take a sip. It’s sweet and goes down like semi-frozen honey. I can taste the alcohol but not very much. I take a longer sip.

“Oh my God,” Cam suddenly says. “Okay, don’t look but—”

Jo begins to swivel in her seat. “Where? Don’t look where?”

Cam sighs. “Fine, Maddie, don’t look yet. Jo, on our right, second seat down, brown hair.”

“Guy in the gray jumper?”

“Yeah. Now, Maddie, you look.”

I act as if I’m scanning the area and look at the bench on our right. The man in the gray jumper looks our age and he’s sat in a group of six but has his hand in the red hair of the girl on his left.

“What about him?” Jo asks.

“His name’s Callum and he ghosted a friend of mine after three dates,” Cam says. “Now we know why.”

Jo pretends to be sick as I look at the girl with her back to me. “Men,” Jo says. “Were they sleeping together?”

“They did once, after their third date.”

Jo looks up at the sky and says, “Typical.”

“Apparently he pulled out all the stops, too,” Cam says. “Picked Kirsten up in his car, bought her flowers, they went to dinner, he paid, et cetera. She invited him to hers, they do it, and the next morning he says he’ll call her, he’s running late for work or some bullshit, and then nothing. She thought he was dead until he had the ‘decency’ to text her saying it wasn’t going to work out. She was a mess.”

Jo takes a bite of her pizza. “Unbelievable.”

“What a dick!” I throw in.

Jo coughs, “Dick!” loudly, but thankfully Callum and his table don’t hear her.

I’ve read many internet tales of ghosting, but it’s usually after the first date or a couple of days texting, so disappearing after the third date is new. My first thought is: What did she do wrong? Then I shake my head and call myself a bad feminist.

“I can’t believe people really don’t call you back after you’ve slept with them,” I say.

“Men don’t,” Cam says.

“Not even a bedside note?” I ask.

Cam laughs at this.

“He’s not even that good-looking,” Jo says. “Not to say the good-looking ones are excused, but he’s … so plain!”

“Those kind of men always have the most audacity,” Cam remarks.

“Are you going to say something?” Jo asks.

“No,” Cam replies. “Kirsten wouldn’t thank me for it. She’s talking to someone new now, anyway.”

“Where is she finding all these eligible—although questionable—men?” Jo asks. “I have a friend who’s been looking with no luck.”

I should probably contribute something meaningful to this conversation; it’s like doing a group presentation and the two alphas dominate, but soon the teacher is going to look my way, say, “You’ve been quiet, Maddie,” and stick me with a question I have no hope of answering.

Cam pulls a face. “Online.”

“You’re not a fan?” I say, curious.

“I don’t know how you could be,” she replies. “With shit algorithms that present you with profiles proudly displaying DTF? It’s hard to get excited.”

I nod supportively whilst making a mental note to google “DTF.” I think it means “down to fuck,” but I’d like to make sure.

“Cam is a little old-fashioned,” Jo mock-whispers. “I’m less so.”

This surprises me as I assumed it would be the other way around. Cam gives the impression that she eats time-wasters alive, whilst Jo looks like she’d expect flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates on a first date.

“You can afford to be,” Cam says. “You have Sam.”

“I don’t have Sam,” Jo corrects.

“Who’s Sam?”

“Just a guy I’m seeing,” Jo says, running a finger around the rim of her glass. “It’s not serious.”

If I ask why, is that intrusive?