“And here I thought you were such a nice girl.” “Well, it depends on the type of sex,” Mick said, straight-faced. Men expect you to go out, text them, talk, have sex, and it’s all the time. I start to feel claustrophobic in a relationship. I like not having to answer to somebody every day. “I start going stir-crazy if I don’t get enough time by myself,” she explained, smiling reluctantly. She threw a crumpled ball of paper in his direction, falling short by about six feet. The discovery that he was as big a prat as the rest of his gender broke the embarrassed constraint. “I just prefer intimacy, you know, in moderation,” she went on, a bit desperately. Remember when you were too shy to speak to him? Maybe you should revisit that. “I tend to prefer the former in practice, myself.” “Look, I’m all for sex and romance in theory.” She forced herself to put it down and immediately started playing with her reading glasses instead. Sophy had started up a nervous tic with her pencil against the parchment board.
“You don’t really do relationships,” Mick repeated. It was probably a damning indictment on her character that she wanted to ask him about his parents just so they could both retreat into a safe, sulky silence. “I don’t really do relationships,” she said eventually, managing to pull off an impressive blend of inanity and pretension. It was intensely irritating to suddenly feel defensive about her very full, very meaningful life. No, she wasn’t, by choice and because it made her happier. Mick took another swing at her self-esteem by looking taken aback.
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