A few months into our relationship, my ex indicated to me that she had a crush on someone else.
“She doesn’t want to say this, and she isn’t going to mention it again, or act on it,” said Oxford (although his voice sounded a lot like the Seamstress’ own), “but… there is someone else.”
My eyes, already filled with tears, started to leak. As they rolled down my cheeks, he carried on.
“As for you,” he said to the Seamstress, “what do you think you are doing, hurting this beautiful boy? You don’t want to upset anyone, and Lady Pandorah would be very upset with you, so there.“
“Right,” I whispered through a veil of tears. “Thanks, Oxford.” And I curled up to cry as the Seamstress awkwardly – but sweetly – stroked the hair of the boy she hurt.
A few months after our relationship ended, I asked the question that I’d been aching to ask since that moment.
“You know how you said, a few months in, that you had a crush on someone else? Who was that?”
That didn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been no-one. She wouldn’t have said there was otherwise.
“No, I really need to know. It doesn’t matter who it was. Really.”
This time, there was a finality to her voice. The conversation ended, as they tend to do, and neither of us ever mentioned it again. In fact, I don’t think I have heard her voice since.
But I still wonder who it was. It can’t have really been no-one, or she wouldn’t have indicated otherwise.
It was more than a decade ago… but it still keeps me up at nights.