I’m tired by the time we get out and find Mum waiting outside near the reception, and lethargic by the time we get home. I bathe every bit of chlorine out of the twins’ skin and hair, and get them to nap so they won’t become snarky and overtired.
The problem is when I am all ready to relax I am overtired. Sleep won’t come to me, and doing anything more than walking or thinking is difficult.
I suppose that’s how I end up in the basement with Mum. She pulls out a cigarette, and then tosses the last one she has left in the pack to me. Spent and nothing else to do. She’s lounging back, inspecting her cigarette, sucking deep, then blowing out “O” rings.
“I’m glad,” I tell her. I point at her cigarette.
She just shrugs.
It could be way worse, I think.
“Please take a compliment? I’m sorry I snapped at the pool. It was a wonderful idea and both of them ended up loving it,” I say. “I am proud we’re just having a regular smoke down here.” I pull my own cigarette from my lips and watch the smoke curl out, disappearing somewhere in the air. “God, this is calming.”
“What does it feel like?” Mum asks.
I hold up my cigarette in question, my features all screwed up in confusion.
“No, no,” she takes a drag, her smoke escaping her lips like a hurried crowd dispersing. “Calm. What does it feel like?”
“Smoking isn’t calming for you?”
She stares at her cigarette then puffs on it quickly, like it’ll blow out if she doesn’t get to it this second. Mum and I haven’t had a heart-to-heart in ages. Months? God, this is so weird. She looks so …
I think of a word to describe how she looks. The way her fingers tremble and she has to try a second time to slip the cigarette in. The way her gaze scatters across the ratty sofas we’re on and to the old baby toys in the corner, then over to another few cardboard boxes with some old things from her and Chester’s relationship.
It’s just hard accepting Mum looks depressed and sad, like this, at all, ever. Mum is fun.
She snaps up to look at me. She says, “I’m trying to slow down, but it’s all so God damn sad. There’s too much to think about, too much that’s not done, too much I can’t do.”
She points her cigarette at me, which is smoking away between her two fingers. “Doesn’t it get sad?”
I gulp without realising I’ve done it, feeling in the spotlight, like Mum can feed from my obvious discomfort. I find myself asking, in a voice that’s incredibly slow and cautious, “What?”
“Doesn’t being so normal and here—” She taps her head as she says here. “—frighten you?”
“Um,” I start, knocking off some of the ash about to fall from my cigarette into the tray.
“You know what, I’m going to grab another outside with fresh air.”
Just like that this day becomes worse. Because I realise there are no nicotine cigarettes left in this house—only the pack that she gave me before, sitting in my lap.
Rather than jumping to a stand and running after her, I lay back in my spot, content with doing nothing. Things are going to happen.
And I can’t do a thing to stop it.
11
On Saturday I leave early to swing by Aunty Nicole’s birthday before the Hoes and Bros party. These days, I only come to hers for special occasions. She’s naturally pretty, the type where you can see through the makeup and know she’d be just as pretty without it. What my mum used to be like before years of drug abuse and alcohol benders.
I park three houses down because the driveway and next-door on either side are taken up by family and friends’ cars. Half-dressed for tonight, half for today in a tight tank top, skinny jeans, and red stilettos, my heels make for a wobbly, long walk. I see the fancy brands and stickers on the back windows of cars that I don’t know who belong to, and wonder how we got to a place where all these people who must be important to my mum’s sister are strangers to me. By the time I stride up the driveway, slinking past the cars lined there, I’m forcing myself to put on a brave face. No matter what, I know I could have done more to get Mum and Aunty Nicole speaking again.
And I will.
I’m sick of secrets.
Though there’s noise coming from inside, Aunty Nicole hears me walk up the front stairs and swings the door open, which bounces off the stop.
“Niiic!” I squeal, hands settled around her hip.
She pulls me close, drops her chin into the crook of my neck, and we embrace without words getting in the way.
“Hm, Kalli.” She looks me up and down. “If I weren’t your Aunty, or a female …”