I nodded and took a sip of my wine, thinking it didn’t taste much better than the six-quid bottles we got from Londis. “You’re right. Maybe it’s that. I’m trying to work out if it’s that...” The waiter returned with some pudding menus. My eyes flicked along the menu, where they explained in calligraphy the precise life cycle of the poached pear—where it grew up, what boarding school it went to—and my finger pointed at the chocolate éclair. The waiter nodded. Ben didn’t even look, just asked if they had apple crumble. He nodded again, and was gone. “I think maybe I just want to focus on being a really good counselor at the moment,” I said, then sighed again. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to be like Stacy, that influencer, you know? Making money by talking about mental illness when I’m not an expert, at least not yet.”

Ben reached over and took my hands. “Well, whatever you decide to do, I’m so proud of you.” Our eyes locked and I loved him so much. Why didn’t he propose, right now? In this gorgeous restaurant we couldn’t quite afford? This was so good. We were so good. Weren’t we? Propose, then I could finally relax. And, as our lovely meal continued, I slowly soured it in my head. I got upset and grumpy each moment Ben didn’t drop to one knee. As it became clear, once more, it hadn’t occurred to him at all to pick me. Why not? Why not? Why not?

Later that night, we were drunk on the sofa, and I could tell Ben wanted to have sex with me. We lay with our legs sprawled over the sofa arm, his hand rubbing my arse through my dress, as we giggled into each other’s mouths. I half loved it when he wanted me like this, and half resented him for only wanting me like this, not wanting to commit in the way I needed.

“I love this dress,” he murmured.

He pulled it down, started kissing my boobs through my bra. “And I love this bra.”

I laughed, pushed his head so he could keep doing what he was doing. We tumbled about on the sofa, clothes pulled up or shed. Drunkenly getting Ben’s trouser leg stuck on his foot, and he hopped around to get it off. Then we collapsed onto each other again, our bodies beginning to merge. I pushed my insecurities from my mind and tried to make myself ready.

“Goddammit. I’m dying for a piss.” He pulled back from my mouth and pushed himself off the sofa. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll be back in a second.”

I laughed as Ben ran away, seeing his erection bulge through his pants.

“Stay just there,” he called back.

“I will.”