Beneath the Surface(41)

They broke from their hug. Kristin poured Sheryl a cup of coffee and they sat down for breakfast on a weekday morning for the first time in months.

“I could get used to this,” Sheryl said and started buttering a slice of toast, then applied a thin layer of Vegemite. Kristin had been born and bred in Australia, but Vegemite had never been a staple in the Park house, and still, after all the years of living with Sheryl, the smell of it made her nose curl up in mild disgust.

“I’ll still be going into the office for the next four weeks and do my job as usual,” she said, “but I know all hell won’t break loose if I don’t get to the office before everyone else. It wasn’t a huge epiphany, just a decision very long in the making. Sterling Wines hasn’t been the same since it was bought up. It took me long enough to realize how unhappy the job was making me, but now that I have, I have zero regrets.”

“So what’s the plan?” Sheryl leaned back, cradling a refilled coffee mug in her hands. “The reinvention of Kristin Park?”

“I honestly have no idea.” Not having a clue was a little scary. Her future a blank canvas. But it was also exciting and full of promise. “I’ve had enough of marketing for a while. I’ve had enough of corporations and overtime and younger colleagues whose sloppy work gets tolerated.”

Sheryl scrunched her lips together before saying, “No more sexy business suits for you?”

“I can still wear them around the house if it makes you happy?”

“It doesn’t matter what you wear around the house, babe, as long as you are in the house.”

“How schmaltzy,” Kristin said, even though she felt herself go a little warm on the inside.

Sheryl just shrugged and fixed her with a smile.

“I suppose I could become a domestic goddess,” Kristin said.

“Who am I to object to that?” Sheryl sipped from her coffee. “You can lick spoons like Nigella all day long. And keep making damn fine coffee like this.”

Kristin chuckled. “Like this, you mean?” She picked up the teaspoon from the jam jar and slid the tip of her tongue up and down the handle.

“Have you seen Nigella do it?” Sheryl held out her hand. “It’s more something like this.” Slowly, she dragged her tongue over the hollow of the spoon, sucked it into her mouth and made it come out with a loud smack.

Kristin laughed, then said, “Koreans are more gentle spoon lickers, I guess.”

They both broke out into more laughter. Then Kristin witnessed how Sheryl’s face went serious again.

“I’m truly sorry about yesterday.” She put her hand to her chest a little overdramatically. “I swear to you, I won’t come home like that ever again.”

“You had a bit too much. It’s no big deal.” Although it was a much bigger deal than Kristin was making of it, she didn’t want to make Sheryl feel even worse than she already did.

“I don’t go to the pub that much, but when I do go, time seems to slip away from me.” A silence. “Do you remember how I used to be able to just have one glass?” Sheryl shook her head. “I seem to have lost that special ability entirely.”

“You’ll get it back.” Kristin put her hand on Sheryl’s.

“I don’t want to be like him. It’s the very last thing I want.” Sheryl’s voice was low but determined.

Kristin instinctively knew who Sheryl meant, even though they hadn’t talked about her father in a very long time. “You’re nothing like him at all.”





Chapter Nineteen





“I really should stop drinking,” Sheryl said, as she poured herself and Kristin another glass of wine.

“Good start.” Kristin picked up her glass. She had been away from Sterling Wines long enough to not automatically think about her former job anymore every time she had a drink.

“You know what I mean.” Sheryl just stared at her glass.

“Not really.” After so many years together, Kristin guessed they had both picked up the habit of assuming they always knew what the other meant without having to spell it out. Perhaps on some level, this did happen, but Kristin failed to truly comprehend what Sheryl meant. Because she never pushed when it came to Sheryl drinking too much. It was an uncomfortable area to venture into, a topic so entangled with memories and scars, Kristin didn’t even know where to begin.

“I don’t want to become an alcoholic,” Sheryl said. Always the same phrase. Like a statement, a declaration of intent. Except the words were so hollow they didn’t mean anything to Kristin. Possibly because Sheryl only spoke them when she’d already had too much.