Let me read for you! Skip introduction 3:20
It was Saturday lunchtime, and I was walking into a petrol-green Italian restaurant called Cecconi’s. I saw linen jackets. I saw people wearing sunglasses indoors. I saw bright orange salmon with champagne. With me was my best friend, Sausage, who was in town from America. Today she was officially meeting my boyfriend. I had been with Roman for almost a year, and they hadn’t yet had the chance to get to know each other.
We’ve all been there. We’ve met someone, and now we need our friend’s approval. ‘Do you think he’s ok?!’ We’d ask when they go to the bathroom. You hope your friends will be full of praise, otherwise life gets awkward. You want your friends to love your boyfriend…but not too much.
There have been a couple of times when I thought a man was going to be my next big thing, but then I brought him to meet my friends, and suddenly I noticed parts of him that I hadn’t seen before…
Did he always talk this much about his cryptocurrency? God, he’s not funny. I thought he was funny. Is it weird that he brought his mum to this? He really likes Gary Lineker. Why does he keep touching my thigh? STOP TOUCHING MY THIGH. Those are strange shoes.
I was quietly confident that Roman would be okay. He had survived the family and most of my friends so far…it was now just my bestie left…Sausage. *Thunderclap*
He was at the table when we arrived. And thankfully, he hadn’t taken the seat in the middle. (The importance of the seating arrangement for this situation should not be taken lightly). There wasn’t an awkward greetings scenario, where one goes one way, or someone kisses the wrong part of the face. Just a hug. Nice. We settled.
We ordered coffee. I ordered matcha with no milk. It arrived looking suspiciously milky. I asked the waitress if it had milk. She said it didn’t. Sausage and Roman both agreed that it definitely had milk. Roman asked on my behalf if we could get a matcha without milk. I got my matcha without milk. MEANWHILE, the conversation flowed pleasantly from work troubles to politics to making fun of me. (The art of bonding a partner with a friend, is to be the butt of jokes).
In other words, it was going very smoothly, unlike the time when I first met Roman’s friends….
Roman has many friends, who can be divided into categories: Home friends, University friends, first-job friends and second-job friends. These categories stay fiercely separate, like chemicals that could explode if mixed. (I personally think that if we mixed groups, then there would be less of a need for dating apps, but hey-ho).
I first met the second-job friends. They were the edgy ones. They worked in post-production, wore vintage denim jackets, accessories and listened to bands with funny names. We met in a pizza shed in Hackney to watch the final of the Women’s Euros.
There was a long table filled with unknown faces, some smiling, others not. I got a slice of pizza, a glass of rosé and sat at the end. I thought in my 30s I would be relaxed in these situations. It wasn’t my first rodeo after all. And yet, I felt quite wooden, like I had just come out of Lockdown and hadn’t socialised with people for a long time. There was an Australian girl; I spoke to her about Vegemite. I spoke to her boyfriend about his camping weekend. It was going ok…until Roman’s other friend, pretty and full of spirit, was talking to me about her night out.
‘I went to Soho House. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a member there, because it’s full of idiots!’ she said.
I drank some wine.
‘You have a Soho House membership, don’t you Mary?’ Roman said, with a jokey nudge.
I laughed very loudly. ‘Roman!’ I nudged back. Harder. I hated him.
The friend tried to wiggle herself out of it. ‘Well, obviously, I didn’t mean, like…’
‘No! It’s fine! Seriously! HAHAHA!’ I said and then explained myself. ‘I’m only a member of ONE house. The Farmhouse, because it’s nearby. I really only use the spa. Really. HAHAHA.’
(I cancelled my membership shortly after this conversation. They emailed me to let me know that they had decided I was allowed into their establishment for another year, and that the fee had increased. I didn’t like the tone, so I cancelled. No idiots here).
So, the Lionesses went on to win the Euros and the whole Hackney shed erupted.
‘Who wants a shot?’ One of Roman’s friends yelled.
‘YAAAAY!’ Everybody went. Everybody, except me. I should have said, ‘I don’t do spirits, only rosé and champagne.’ It would be over and done with. But I didn’t say a word.
A tray of Tequila floated over. After a countdown from three, they all took a shot. I sat and smiled like a lemon. I thought I had gotten away with it, but then someone shouted.
‘Hey, who hasn’t had their shot? There is still one left!’
The table looked at each other in a confused silence.
My little hand went up.
‘Me…’
And then the chant began. ‘SHOT! SHOT! SHOT! SHOT!’
I hadn’t had Tequila in 9 years. What went first? The salt? the shot? The lime? I had forgotten, and I was centre stage.
Roman was in my ear. ‘You don’t have to do it.’
But I did, or they will all think I’m a loser. Is there ever a time you feel more peer pressure than when you’re with your partner’s friends? I don’t think so.
I did some version of a Tequila shot. I got a cheer….which I hoped meant that I got all of their approvals.
I will never know for sure, nor will Roman. It’s only if a relationship breaks up when friends say how they really feel.
‘I did think it was weird she didn’t just say no to that shot during the finals of the Euros in 2025.’
Back in Cecconi’s – Sausage, Roman and I were paying the bill. We had got through the meal. There had been no long pauses or side-eyes, or confessions of secret memberships. At one point I even left them alone to go to the restroom, and when I came back, they weren’t sititng in an awkward silence. Good sign. As we left the restaurant/examination room, I was pretty certain my best friend approved of my boyfriend.
(But you can never be sure).
THE QUACK 