Blake’s dad? I remember him from the engagement party. Just like his son, he must be a sexy beast to his contemporaries.
“Anyway, we got to talking and we’re watching a film on Saturday.”
“You have a date?” I ask and Heather actually blushes. Meanwhile, she’s weighing a kiwi fruit in each hand like she’s testing Mr Barker for prostate cancer, making me turn beet red.
“Do you think it’s a date?” she asks me with a barely contained smile.
“Is it just you two going?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a date,” I confirm with a happy grin for my friend.
The shy smile on Heather’s face tells me this is going to be different from her other dates, and I actually hug her. It’s weird. I’ve never been much of a hugger but there’s something about Heather McAllister that just makes that gesture seem normal. She returns the gesture warmly, like she really needed it and appreciated the gesture. And to my surprise, it felt good for me, too.
“Do you have anything to wear?” I ask, trying to hide my discomfort at my show of affection.
We’ve culled the dowdy crap from her wardrobe, and replaced them with new outfits that suit the dramatic, slick bob she’s now rocking. But that was May, it’s now July—totally different seasons, and I need to make sure Heather doesn’t throw on something warm and shapeless for winter.
“It’s just dinner and a movie—nothing fancy.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do you like him?”
“Pete’s a nice man.”
“Just ‘nice’?”
She blushes but doesn’t elaborate. I need to lend her my copy of Sex and the City. Though on second thoughts, I’m not sure I want her to share that much. It’s bad enough when Jillie recounts her usual weekend and gives me a blow by blow—pun totally intended.
When we reach Heather’s house, we unload the vegetables on the small wooden table in the middle of her kitchen. We’re about to cook an early dinner. Today’s all about learning to put together another new dish for me. Earlier, I helped Heather box up Mr McAllister’s things for donation. Only one box of his things, kept for his sons, remains in the house. The rest I’ve stacked in the garage, ready for a trip to a charity shop.
I couldn’t help but check whether Keats’ car was in the driveway when we first arrived. I don’t want him to be a third wheel to my time with his mother. Yet, there was a pang in my chest when I realised he’s not here.
Every time Terry the terrier barks, I look up and half-hope, half-dread it’s Keats coming home. I specifically chose today to hang out with Heather because Thursday night is his swimming night. I’ve made lame excuses to cancel my scheduled driving lessons with him since we got back from the resort. I’ve even screened his calls. I’m surprising myself with how strong I’m being.
If only I can stop missing him.
***
“Hey, Mom, do I have any clean going out underwe—?” Keats abruptly stops when he opens up his mother’s bedroom door and sees me standing behind her doing her hair. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes flick over to his mother’s reflection on her vanity mirror, then back at me, then my hands which are currently running a straightening iron through her hair.
“Jess’s helping tart me up.” Heather giggles when her son winces at the word “tart”. “And your good underwear is in the clean clothes basket, pet. I just haven’t had the chance to sort them and put them away yet.”
Colour spreads through Keats’ cheeks, and I have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from chuckling.
“Um, thanks, Mom.” He shifts his attention to me like I’m pimping out his mother. “So, why are you ‘helping’ Mom?”
I could hear the quotation marks in his voice.
“I have a date. Well, Jess thinks it’s a date. I think Pete just wants to see the new James Bond film with someone.”
“Pete? As in Pete Barker? Blake’s dad? You’re going on a date with Mr Barker?” Keats’ voice gets higher and higher pitched with each question like his throat is being wrung tighter and tighter till I almost expected him to pass out if he had just two more queries to make.
“Yes, dear.”
“But, but…what about Aunty Ana?”
“She died six years ago, pet.”
Keats rests his fists on his hips like he’s about to deliver the argument-ending response. “Well, it hasn’t even been a year since Dad…”
“Your father divorced me four years ago to be with his childhood sweetheart, Keats,” Heather interrupts him. I almost clap and cheer. “I think it’s time I moved on. Don’t you?”
“Well…” That’s as far as Keats gets in terms of actual words. He backs out of the doorway without another intelligible utterance.
“Gosh,” Heather says to me with a sigh of relief. “I’m enjoying this empowerment stuff. A woman in her fifties should be more able to stand up for herself. I used to, you know? I was backpacking around America by myself when I met Jeff. But he wanted to look after me, and I let him…until I was convinced I was incapable of looking after myself again.”
“All right if Jess and I come with you, Mom?”
We both look up and find Keats poking his head back in the doorway.
“I’m sure Pete won’t mind,” Heather says at the same time I almost accidentally give myself third degree burns with the straightening iron.
Did Keats just ask his mother if we could double date with her? If I were a less desperate person, I’d think of my new friend first and the fact she’s going on her first date in almost thirty years with a real contender.
“Great. You’re free tonight, right, Jess?” Keats asks, walking over to his mother’s bed and sitting at the foot of it.
His presumption makes me stew. I almost tell him I’m busy but that would mean I miss out on hanging out with him…and his mother. Oh, God. I’ve sunk to a new low of desperation. Dating by proxy. Worse—non-dating. This is so not going to be a date, just like all those times Keats came by my flat and had dinner with me.
It’s so much easier to stay strong when he’s out of sight.
But wait, I could actually be doing something good here for my new friend. I can distract her overprotective son from cock-blocking her first potential, serious, post-divorce boyfriend.
“Great,” Keats says without waiting for a response. My inner turmoil obviously took too long for him. “What time are we leaving?”
“Pete’s coming to pick me up at four. We’re having dinner at the Yatala pie shop before the movie.”
He doesn’t even bat an eye at the “retiree-appropriate” meal time.
“Fantastic. I’m starving.”
I raise a brow at him but he just meets my gaze with a smug grin that has my knees wobbly. Seeing him sitting on a bed doesn’t make it much of a stretch to picture him on mine.
“Mr Barker still has that four-wheel drive, right? We can all fit in,” Keats says in a too-casual tone.
“Maybe you and Jess should take your car,” Heather suggests, finally catching on to her son’s less than altruistic interest in the night out.
“Parking would be hell.”
“Nonsense. There’s always space at the drive-in. Besides, you wouldn’t want to watch the movie from the backseat.” Heather suddenly looks from her son, to me and back again.
Keats’ grin wavers. “The drive-in? It’s winter.”
“We’ll bring blankets.” Heather flashes an encouraging smile at her son. “This is so exciting. A double date.”
“This isn’t a date,” Keats quickly clarifies.
“This isn’t a date,” I repeat a little more haltingly a second later, the words not rolling off my tongue as smoothly as I want. “Actually, I’m kinda busy tonight. You three go ahead.”
Oh, my God. I do have some pride.
The two McAllisters look at me, separately imploring me with their eyes to come. I guess Heather doesn’t like the idea of having her son completely cramp her style after
all. And Keats…well, I’m not sure why he wants me to go. I’ve already served as an excuse for him to tag along.
I return my attention to my new friend. Her big blue eyes look at me expectantly before she lowers them as if too afraid to ask for help.
“I guess I can…cancel my, um, date.” I’m disappointed with how unconvincing that lie sounded. For someone who’s been bullshitting to save herself all her life, I seem to be losing my touch.
“Oh, Jess, I didn’t know you had a date,” Heather says at the same time her son pipes in with, “You have a date tonight?” The incredulity in Keats’ voice strengthens my resolve to keep the lie going.
“Yes. It’s a Saturday night. Don’t you?” I throw back to him.
“I’m not looking.”
Of course. He’s already found his brother’s fiancée.
“Guess your guy’s a bit of a loser if you’re cancelling on him.”
“Actually, he’s amazing.” And totally fictitious. “You’re right. I shouldn’t cancel on Neil. I mean, it’s so hard to find a guy without issues.” Oh, God. I can’t believe I’ve just name-dropped my fictional booty call guy again.
“He can come along, if you like,” Heather suggests. Wow. She really doesn’t want to get stuck at the drive-in with her grown son.
“Yeah. Let’s meet this ‘Neil’,” Keats says, a smile playing on his lips as he says another thing in quotation marks.
“I’m not sure he’d be free to come with us this early—I wasn’t meeting him till later.” Quietly to Keats, “Neil has a life.” Then back to my regular volume, “Why don’t you just let your mother and Pete go on their date on their own?”
The smile leaves Keats’ face while he silently mouths, “You have to come.” Out loud, he says, “Mom doesn’t mind. It’ll be a fun night out. Like a double date.” He flashes his mother a grin that she reciprocates, like she’s pleased that her son’s finally “admitting” there’s something going on between us.
***
“Thanks for coming, Hay-gen.” Keats says as soon as I slip into the bucket seat next to him.
“I’m not doing this for you. I’m going for Heather.” I click my seatbelt into place and look out my window as an epiphany hits me.
This is kind of like the romantic version of my friendship with Isabella. Keats is my “boyfrenemy” who isn’t even my boyfriend. I like him, but I don’t like him. It’s probably better for me to let him go, but it’ll leave a huge hole in my life that I’m not prepared to put there yet.
“That’s right. This whole dating my dad’s friend is your fault,” Keats says totally not getting or just plain ignoring the I-don’t-want-to-talk vibe I thought I was successfully radiating.
Can’t he see I’m still sore that he has no intention of ever kissing me again? I study his profile on my periphery. His eyes stay looking ahead at Pete Barker’s big white Pajero. Through the rear window, its owner and Heather are visibly chatting away in the front seat.
I scoff. “She’s happy. Aren’t you happy for your mum?” I pull down the hem of my dress which in the low sports car seat is in danger of revealing the cellulite that refuse to leave my upper thighs. I touch the dark dash. I miss driving this baby. I should stop punishing myself for his stupidity and get back to learning to drive. He owes me.
“This is a separate issue. Mr Barker and Dad used to play golf together. Mrs Barker and my mother were best friends. And what if Mr Barker’s just using Mom as a rebound woman?”
“You honestly believe that? Pete seems like a good guy.”
He huffs but doesn’t reply. I know he knows I’m right.
“Last night I found out that Mom’s been checking out this dating-slash-porn website on my computer—Miss Piggy or something.”
I stiffen in my seat, suddenly tense. “Miz Peggy,” I correct him automatically.
“That’s not your doing, too, is it? It’s pretty sick shit with these dancing penises and sex toys.”
I’m torn between the urge to throttle him for maligning my baby, and denying all and any association to my website. “Heather’s a grown woman, Keats. Maybe she’s lonely. What are you doing checking out your mother’s search history anyway?”
“I started typing ‘Melbourne’. It popped up as an option on the address line as soon as I typed in the ‘m’.”
“You’re nosey.”
He scoffs. “If I was nosey, I would’ve started this conversation asking you about Neil. Which I haven’t. Till now. Well?”
“You wanna date him?” I ask with a healthy dose of sarcasm. What I really want him to ask me is for another kiss.
“Look, you can tell me. I thought we’ve become buddies in the last few months.” Keats’ cheeky, boyish grin is infectious.
“We’re ‘buddies’?” This is the second time he’s friend-zoned me.
“Aren’t we? I don’t know. I haven’t really had female friends since I was five.”
“You haven’t had female friends?” I seem to be repeating a lot of what he’s saying. “You were surrounded by girls in high school.”
“None of whom were my friend.”
“What were they then?”
“Girlfriends, ex-girlfriends…friends with benefits, and the girls who wanted me but I wasn’t interested.”
“All of them?”
He thinks about it, pursing his lips before saying, “Yep.”
“What about Isabella? You can’t tell me she wasn’t your friend in high school.”
“She wasn’t. She was my parents’ friends’ kid, and my brother’s friend. Plus, she was kinda butch.”
He’s right, but I still feign offense on behalf of my friend.
“Look, I was too stupid to go for someone as smart and together as Isabella. And now that I know what it’s like to have that kind of connection with a woman, I’m not sure I can go back to what used to catch my eye.”
“So, the orange girl at Vantage Point was a brain surgeon?”
“That was me being an idiot. But since you and I started this deal, I’m back on track. I can almost feel my personal growth. I’ve got a female friend and it’s all thanks to keeping away from all attractive women—the kind that used to turn my head.”
I flinch, and shift in my seat to look out his window, chin on my fist. I can’t believe I keep thinking I don’t care, but then he says something like that and it’s like I got dumped without the fun part first.
“Fuck, he drives slowly. Would it be rude if I beeped at Mr Barker? He’s going twenty below the speed limit.”
I shrug, unable to feign interest in chitchat.
“Hay-gen? Aw, shit. Have I pissed you off?”
“No.”
“Am I missing something here? You sound pissed.”
I try to bite down my annoyance. But it doesn’t stay down. “I’m assuming you don’t mean I sound drunk.” Usually, I find his little Americanisms cute, or downright charming. Right now I want to hit him with an Australian English dictionary. A thick one.
“See, pissed off. What the fuck? We were having a nice conversation and now you’re all pissy. Is this woman friend territory?”
“No. This is you’re an insensitive arsehole territory. You just essentially called me ugly. How do you expect me to react?”
“What are you talking about?”
“‘Keeping away from ‘attractive women’?” I quote, mocking his deeper voice. “And now you have a ‘female friend’? Smooth Keats. How did you ever get so many girlfriends when your foot’s in your mouth half the time? Oh right, you only used to date bimbos who probably only half-understood you.”
“Are you done?”
“For now.” I could say more but I’d probably need to follow what I say next with a dramatic exit out of his car, but we’re in the middle of a highway and it’s a long walk back to a bus stop.
“Okay. Well, can I just say, I did not mean you’re unattractive. I meant, I’m looking for more than just looks in a relationship now. You’re very pret
ty. And don’t roll your eyes,” he says without turning his attention away from the road. “I mean it.”
“How do you—?”
“Because every time I pay you any sort of compliment, you do that. You rolled them, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I admit grudgingly, at the same time kind of pleased he’s noticed things about me. And does he really think I’m pretty? I hate myself for needing his approval, but I do. The fact that he sees me as attractive just makes me feel ten times sexier than a five-kilo weight loss. Still, I can’t believe him. “My eyes have a very good, built-in bullshit-radar.”
“Are you fishing for a compliment?”
I turn to face him. “I’m challenging your claims that you find me at all attractive.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Hay-gen.”
“Tell me one thing you find appealing.”
“I’ll tell you two. Your hair, and your boobs. Or is that three…?”
The heart behind said boobs stops. Did he really just say that? Heat spreads through my cheeks faster than an atomic blast, and little, radioactive butterflies do pleasant, happy dancing in my stomach.
“Look, Hay-gen, the fact that we’re together a lot and I haven’t hit on you…much—that’s huge for me.”
“You’ve hit on me?”
“Hm? Oh, no. I guess not. Not really. Believe me, you’ll feel the force when I do.” He chuckles after saying this, and I join him, instantly lifting the mood in the car. “So, if you’ve been seeing this Neil guy, where does that leave Byron?”
“Huh?” Shit. I keep forgetting I’m supposed to be in love with his brother. “Well, this little plan of yours to break up the happy couple isn’t really going anywhere, is it? And unlike you, I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket.”
“Yeah. I thought I’d get somewhere while Isabella was here last month but I didn’t get a chance to be alone with her.”
No, you got a chance to be alone with me, instead. All of a sudden, the little butterflies that were fluttering in my stomach just moments before start dying.
“But you know, I’ve got a plan,” Keats says, tone determined. “Something’s come up unexpectedly at work. Someone from the in-house counsel is going on maternity leave in the next few weeks, and no one thinks she’s coming back. I’m going to suggest to Isabella to apply for the job. Ms Wilsborough loves her, so she’d be a shoe-in for the role. And this way, Isabella doesn’t have to wait two years to resettle in Australia for good. She can be here as soon as the end of this month.”
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