June arrived on Monday with a bag of screws and no intention of discussing Adam until Mary had made her tea.
“I've come to put up the shelves,” she said. “You can talk while you hand me things.”
“You're busy.”
“Yes. I have forty minutes. Where's the drill?”
Mary found it in the cupboard. She had sent June one message after Adam left, saying the afternoon had gone wrong. Now she wanted to describe it in enough detail that her friend could find the words that would turn it back.
June listened while they marked the wall. When Mary got to the part about trust, June put down the pencil.
“He said to cancel?”
“Yes.”
“And you said you wouldn't.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“It didn't feel good.”
“I wouldn't expect it to.”
Mary held the shelf against the marks. June moved one end a little higher.
“I know it sounds dreadful,” Mary said. “But I don't want him turned into one dreadful thing he said.”
“Did I do that?”
“No.”
“I'm glad you told him no. That doesn't mean I get to decide who he is.”
They put the shelf down. June checked the drill bit and gave Mary the pencil to hold. Mary didn't want her to be quite so reasonable. She wanted either permission to forgive him or a command that took the choice away.
“You think the twentieth is too soon.”
“I do.”
“You said you were glad when I told you we were engaged.”
“I am glad you're happy. I can still think the wedding's too soon.”
The drill was loud enough to stop them talking. Mary held the vacuum nozzle beneath it to catch the dust and missed most of it.
“Excellent teamwork,” June said, looking at the floor.
“I should have designed a bag.”
When the first bracket was up, June sent her to wash her hands. Mary checked her phone on the way. Adam had asked whether they could speak. She had left the message unread for half an hour, partly because she didn't want to answer and partly because she wanted him to know she could.
She disliked that second reason.
“I'm going to call him,” she told June.
June nodded and began sorting the books. Mary went into the bedroom and shut the door.
Adam answered quickly.
“I didn't like how we left it,” he said.
“Neither did I.”
“Can I come over?”
“Not now. June's here.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I need to say this before we meet,” Mary continued. “I'm seeing Nina tomorrow. On my own. I won't bring back a list of what she said for you to approve.”
“Approve isn't—”
“You wanted to know what was being said. You told me to cancel when I didn't offer that.”
She could hear him breathing. She waited rather than making the sentence nicer.
“If we carry on,” she said, “I need to be able to have that conversation and still come home to you being pleased to see me. Not have to earn it back.”
“I am pleased to see you.”
“Usually. I need usually to include when I do something you don't like.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“And the date?” he asked.
“I'm willing to lose it.”
“Okay.”
She couldn't tell what the word meant yet. She didn't ask him to repeat it more convincingly.
“We can speak after tomorrow,” she said.
“All right.”
When the call ended, she stayed on the bed for a minute. She wanted to ring back and tell him she loved him. He knew that already. It wasn't the thing she'd needed to say today.
In the living room, June had put all the books into piles that made sense to June. Mary returned a cookbook to the wrong pile on purpose.
“That's fiction,” June said.
“You've never seen me follow a recipe.”
They lifted the shelf into place. It sat level. Mary let go slowly, expecting something to fall. Nothing did.
June checked the time, apologised for leaving the dust and went to her next obligation. Mary put the books away herself. The flat looked more like hers when she finished.
She put the drill back in its case and went to fetch the vacuum.