Topher looks highly amused. “How many humans have you questioned in your time, Ava?”
“I…I mean…” I flounder. “Obviously I talk to people….”
“I have the data.” He pats one of his computers. “Humans are weak, hypocritical, sanctimonious, inconsistent….I’m ashamed of humans. I include myself, naturally. Nihal, are you going to load up the fucking robot or what?”
“I have to send an email,” says Nihal, with mild-mannered determination. “I’ll do it in a minute.”
“What do you do?” I ask Nihal.
“Nihal runs Apple, only he’s too modest to say so,” says Topher.
“Stop saying that, Topher,” says Nihal, looking flustered. “I’m not that senior. I’m like…It’s not…”
“But you work for Apple.”
Nihal nods, then says politely, “What do you do, Ava?”
“I write pharmaceutical copy for a company called Brakesons,” I explain. “They make drugs and medical supplies.”
“I know Brakesons.” Nihal nods again.
“But I also want to go into aromatherapy, and I’ve got a novel on the go,” I add, “so…you know. A few things. I like challenging myself.”
“Cool,” says Nihal shyly, then puts his headphones on and resumes typing. Both guys are so absorbed in their work, I’m not sure what to do next. But then, in a sudden gesture, Topher pushes back his chair.
“Fine,” he says. “I’m going to load up the robot. Nihal, you owe me a kidney.”
As Topher strides into the kitchen, Matt reappears from the bedroom, his gaze downcast.
“Hi!” I say, feeling more relieved than I want to admit that he’s back. “Everything OK?”
“Oh.” Matt focuses on me with what seems like an effort. “Yes. Have you got a drink? Are you all right? Have the guys been looking after you?”
“Yes!” I say. “I’m having a lovely time!”
I wait for Matt to respond—then realize he didn’t even hear me. He looks stressed out. Oh God, has something bad happened at work?
“I want to hear all about what you do,” I say encouragingly. “Shall we go and sit down? Or…shall I give you a massage?”
“Sorry.” Matt rubs his forehead. “No, it’s fine. Just…I have a couple of things to think about. Give me ten minutes?”
“Take your time,” I say, trying to sound reassuring and soothing. “I’m happy here. I can amuse myself.”
As I look around vaguely for something to do, I notice a whiteboard covered in writing. I head over to see what it is—then stare, nonplussed. It has BASTARD CHART scrawled in capitals at the top. Underneath is a list: Topher, Nihal, Matt, and each of them has a tally. Nihal is on 12, Matt is on 14, and Topher is on 31.
Nihal sees me staring and politely lowers his headphones.
“What’s a bastard chart?” I ask, puzzled.
“If someone’s, like, a total bastard or really annoying, they get a strike on the chart. The loser buys drinks every month. It’s always Topher,” he adds. “But if we didn’t have the chart, he’d be way worse.”
“Wait, Nihal,” I say quickly, before he replaces his headphones. “I can’t imagine you ever being a bastard.”
“Oh, I am,” he says earnestly.
“Like what?” I demand. “Give me an example.”
“I told Topher his new sweater looked like shit.” Nihal’s eyes gleam through his glasses. “He was really upset. It cost him a lot of money. He gave me six strikes. But it does look like shit.”
He replaces his headphones and starts typing again. I’ve pretty much explored the whole room by now, so I head to a nearby black leather barstool and check my phone. Sarika is out shopping for dresses and has sent over about sixteen photos from shop changing rooms for opinions, so I start scrolling through them and chiming in with my thoughts.
Short black is gorgeous!!! Blue beaded OK but weird sleeves? Which shoes?
All this time, I keep glancing at Matt. He’s been standing stock still, scrolling through something on his phone and scowling. When at last he moves, I’m expecting him to go to his desk. But he heads to another concealed cupboard, opens it, and takes out…
What? My stomach clenches. Surely that’s not—
“Hey, Matt!” I say casually. “What’s that?”
“Putter.” Matt lifts it up, so I can see. “Golf club. Helps me think.”
Golf?
As I watch, aghast, he gets out a couple of golf balls and places them on a strip of green carpet I hadn’t noticed before, because it was masked by the leather sofas. He hits one of the balls toward an artificial golf hole, then waits as some sort of machinery rolls it back to him, his forehead creased in thought. Then he hits it again. And again.
“I thought you were into martial arts, Matt!” I say, trying to sound lighthearted. “Not golf.”
“Both,” says Matt, glancing round.
“Both!” I clench my glass tighter. “That’s…great! So great. I mean, all hobbies are great.”
“Matt’s whole family is into golf,” says Nihal, who has come noiselessly over to one of the leather sofas and is loading up another computer game. “It’s like your family obsession, isn’t it, Matt?”
“Not obsession,” says Matt, giving a short laugh. “But I guess we take it pretty seriously. My grandmother was Austrian ladies’ champion back in the day, and my brother turned pro. So.”
I splutter on my wine, then cough frantically, trying to hide it. Now I learn this?
“You never mentioned that,” I say with a forced smile. “Isn’t that funny? All that time we spent together, and you never mentioned golf! Not once!”
“Oh,” says Matt with an unconcerned shrug. “Huh. Guess it didn’t come up.”
“Do you play?” Nihal asks me politely.
“Um…” I swallow. “That would be a no—”
“Madame.” Topher’s deep voice interrupts from behind me. “Feast your eyes on this.”
I swivel around and scream before I can stop myself. He’s holding a white platter on which are four raw, red, quivering steaks. I can smell their odious fleshy smell. I can see blood oozing from them.
“Steak night,” Topher elaborates. “Choose your cut. You’d like it rare, I assume?”
“Could you…could you possibly move that away from me?” I manage, almost wanting to hurl.
“Oh, Ava’s vegetarian,” says Matt, lining up his shot. “I should have mentioned.”
“Vegetarian!” says Topher, halted. “OK.” He looks at the steaks again. “So…medium-well?”
Is that supposed to be a joke? Because I still have revolting meat fumes in my nose, and those steaks were once an animal.
“It’s fine, I’ll just eat some vegetables,” I say faintly.
“Vegetables.” Topher looks taken aback. “Right. OK. Vegetables.” He thinks. “Do we have those?”
“We have some peas,” says Nihal vaguely, staring at the screen. “Although they’re ancient.”
“If you say so.” Topher moves toward Nihal. “OK, Nihal, which is it to be?” He lowers the platter so Nihal can see the steaks—and there’s a blur of brown and white, accompanied by the scrabbling sound of paws.
Oh my God. No.
“Harold!” I cry out in dismay, but he’s already on the other side of the room, a dripping raw steak in his mouth.
“What the hell?” Topher gapes at the platter, which now has only three steaks on it. “Did that dog just steal one of my steaks? I didn’t even see him.”
“What?” says Matt, putting down his putter and looking up incredulously.
“He came out of nowhere,” says Topher, looking shell-shocked. “He’s a stealth missile.”
We all look at Harold, who eyes us with mischievous defiance, then falls on the meat like the happiest dog in the world.
“That’s a grass-fed, dry-aged filet steak,” says Topher, staring at Harold. “I took out a mortgage to pay for it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say desperately. “Could I…reimburse you?”
“Well, it was yours,” says Topher. “So, you know. Sort it out with Harold.”
As Harold polishes off the remaining steak, Nihal starts laughing, which is the most endearing sight. His face screws right up like a baby’s and his glasses mist over.
“Topher, you looked so freaked out,” he says gleefully. “Topher never gets freaked out,” he adds to me. “That was worth the price of a steak.”
“I was not freaked out.” Topher has regained his composure.
“You so were—” Nihal breaks off as a buzzer sounds. “Who’s that?”
“I’ll get it,” says Matt, heading to the answerphone. “Probably a delivery. Hello?” There’s a crackly, inaudible response, and he peers at the little video screen. “Hi? Hello? I can’t…” Then his face changes. “Oh.” He swallows. “Mum. Dad. Hi.”
Ten
Oh my God, oh my God! I’m beyond excited. And nervous. In fact, I’m a bit hyper. Matt’s parents are on their way up, and I don’t want to overdramatize it, but meeting them is basically one of the biggest moments of my life.
Because let’s suppose that Matt and I stay together forever. Just suppose we do. Then…this is my new family! They’ll be part of my life for good! We’ll have nicknames and in-jokes and I’ll probably do little errands for them and we’ll laugh happily at the antics of the children Matt and I will have—
Shit. Wait a moment. I clutch at my glass of wine, halted in my thoughts. Does Matt want children? I haven’t even asked him.