Being Kalli(45)

We sit, watching the boys and waiting for this silence between us to end.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say after a while.

“Sure, Kalli. What’s up?”

“Was it hard? Stopping, I mean? Not just that, but was it hard missing out with Betsy, or spending your weekend at home instead?”

“Life’s too short to be sad. We had a great day today, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”

Mum looks away, but I notice she bites her lips and pulls her hands under the table. She needs to hide them from me? Just like that, I go from feeling on top of the world to having that feeling turn dark and overwhelming in a flash.

“You’re so serious. I want to make my family happy. Didn’t you have fun today?”

“Equals parts embarrassment and fun, yeah,” I agree.

“When did we stop having fun like this?”

I eat the last of my chips, carrying out the moment as long as I can, unnoticed. “Oh, I don’t know.” It’s the most respectful answer. What I’ve always thought was age ten, and the times before and after you were with Chester. Chester was the only good man in your life.

“For me, I’ll always regret losing contact with the first boyfriend I moved in with. But it put a rift between you and I, so it was for the best, in the end.”

She can’t be serious. He was a monster; didn’t He ever fuck her like he fucked me?

Mum leans in, lowers her voice while the twins are poking at their ice cream and licking their fingers. “Chester and I were always too different. It was sweet, though. It’s just a shame. But the kids … well, with you guys, we’ve had a great day.”

I don’t answer, just pull out my phone because I can pull off being a typical rude teenager. That’s normal and easy. And I have to can this topic right here and now.

“You okay?”

I slowly put down my phone, pretend to look at something important for as long as possible before snatching up her gaze. “Sure, why?”

“Ah, nothing.”





19




It’s the first time Nate has initiated a text to me since my Donovan fuck up. We haven’t spoken since he came here that day. I’ve texted with little silly emotes but that didn’t say much, and he didn’t send anything back.

Now, as I stare at my phone with his message, I forget my toast is cooling and I’m hungry. Funny how in a moment my body can send signals to my head—groaning stomach that actually feels like something sharp is turning over inside me, images of food rolling around in my thoughts, and then change them to my gut clenching at the thought of both reading and ignoring the text. The anticipation is a box of sustenance, and inside it could actually be anything. Sitting here about to read it is almost too enticing, but eventually I open the text:

Nate: Meet me at the café?

Kalli: Now? Yup, leaving. What’s up?

Nate: You’ll see.

You’ll see. Two words that have sent my head in a spin. The house is moving for a moment or two until I blink rapidly and focus on my cooling toast.

I let out my hair, spray more perfume on for good measure, and touch up my light makeup. I change my T-shirt for a tight, low-cut tank. I don’t have pride to protect, so I might as well use what I’ve got.

When I arrive, I spot Nate with one of his arms curled around the back of the couch that he is pressed hard against. He has two vanilla chai lattes and I focus on my straight, yet content face. This doesn’t mean he’s happy with me. Don’t be overbearing.

I leave a respectable gap and wedge my handbag on my other side. I place my hands in my lap. Then, realising I look like a British royal or a VIP, I loosen my grip and fumble, something to do with my hands.

Nate pulls out the photo book I did for him. He flicks right to the last few pages, which doesn’t make sense because I haven’t added any photos that far down.

But he has.

The open page has me arched back on the piano, closely resembling Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys in that amazing scene, except I’m in my lace underwear in the fields. The image has a misty tone to it, with the colours paired down, the background blurred and some effect to draw attention to me modelling.

I look …

“Tell me this story,” Nate says.

“Nate.”

I hang my head. The others were special, funny, even mundane, but perfect because Nate took the shot or was in them, and they had a memorable story behind them for both of us. This one just reminds me of the beginning of The Mess and the past comes crashing back like an unexpected recoil slapped to my chest.

I fight the urge to splutter. Since it’s an imagined sensation, not a literal one, I focus on pushing it away to somewhere I can’t think of right now, and it works.