Plight(65)

"The notion that you could leave her."

I turned around. "What?"

"Her fear lies with abandonment."

Chris had all of sudden turned into a fully qualified psychologist. It was making my head hurt even more. I rubbed it, as if it were a gene's lamp. "How do you know all of this?"

"Because I'm her friend, her roommate, and I might have gone to the doctors with her a few times." He shrugged. "She was fucking waking me up and nearly making me crap my pants, all right? It was scary shit. So it was either sort it out or kick her out. I like Dani, and I'm not an A-grade arsehole, so we opted to sort that shit out."

"Hang on a minute, so what you're saying is that her doctor said the nightmares are triggered by her fear of being abandoned?"

"Yep. Because you, you fuck, keep abandoning her."

I glared at him but felt the pit of my stomach drop past my balls. "Fuck! So it is my fault?"

"Partly, yes, so fix it. I don't want to wake up in my own excrement, nor do I want to be making Chris' Magic Milo every few hours because she's moping around like a sad little puppy dog. Even Pugly is over it." Chris opened the door to leave but paused. "She loves you. You love her. So for fuck's sake, geek boy, fix this shit."




       
         
       
        
The sun burst through the open door and slammed into my face. I squinted and shielded my eyes, trying to process everything he'd said. She loves me. I'm not triggering the nightmares, but then I am triggering them because she's scared I'll leave her. She likes to drink a lot of Milo. Chris shits himself. Geek boy?

One thing was for certain; I wasn't going to abandon her. Ever.

I planned to do the opposite.

I planned to make our engagement official.





After the re-opening of the garden, our families went back to Mum's house for a celebratory dinner and drinks. It was such a relief to have successfully completed our project before the deadline. And to see the excited and impressed faces of everyone who visited during the day, made it all worth the effort.

"Jeanette! This potato salad  …  my word."

Mum smiled appreciatively at Helen. "It's good, huh? You can thank Danielle's roommate, Chris, for that. It's his recipe."

"Chris?" Laura piped in. "The hunky guy with guns bigger than the US army? I was meaning to ask about him. He looked familiar."

I avoided Elliot's heated stare, which was practically melting the leftover sunscreen from my face, and finished my mouthful before answering her. "Yeah, he plays for the Essendon Football Club."

"Reeeeeally? I figured he was an athlete  …  or model. Mm mm."

Laura's husband, John, raised his eyebrow, a playful grin creeping in at the corners of his mouth. He didn't say anything, though, instead blowing on a sausage and handing it to their one-year-old son.

Their son tossed it back.

"Samuel Coben, no! That's naughty," John scolded, picking up the sausage from his lap.

He placed it on a plate but it was immediately snatched up by Elliot and offered to Samuel again, the cheeky toddler taking it and shoving it into his mouth.

"Seriously?" John asked, glaring at Elliot.

Elliot shrugged but then held up his hand for a high-five from Samuel. "Give Uncle Lots some skin, buddy." Uncle Lots?

I couldn't help but smile. It was so damn cute, which was weird considering I'd never given much thought to having kids of my own. It wasn't that I was opposed to having them. I just wasn't inclined to have them either. They were happy, grumpy, indecisive gluttons - massive mindfucks. I mean, why would you want a sausage after it's been in someone's lap?

"So, Danielle, are you and Chris a thing?" Laura asked nonchalantly while grabbing the salad dressing.

"LAURA!" Helen forcefully placed down her glass, a look of warning on her face.

"What? It's a perfectly legitimate question." 

Her shit-eating grin and sideways smirks at Elliot indicated she was up to something, which wasn't out of the unusual for Laura. Stirring the pot was her forte, something she'd resorted to a lot when we were kids. Unfortunately, Elliot had always taken the bait.

"Define 'thing'?" I asked, metaphorically swimming around her hook.

"Is he your new fiancé?"

This time, Elliot was the one to slam something down, the abrupt, loud, clang setting a Mexican wave of startled jerks around the table  …  except for Samuel, who slammed his plastic spoon down animatedly, mimicking his uncle. No one reacted, so he did it again, and again, which made me laugh.