by Kylie Kaden
Abbi looked over to him with a rush of emotion and thought to herself, This is what real love is. Not the first flush of lust, the roses or the rings. It’s the daily togetherness, the uniting of common priorities that bonds one life to another like nothing else. It was the first moment in twelve days that made her forget what she was dealing with. That made Abbi feel like getting back to normality was possible. That with Will, she could get through anything. And they had to; they had Eadie to think of.
Will was more involved than most dads. She’d never complain. He was the hold-your-hair-while-you-vomit kind of dad she never had. But she still thought that even the best fathers couldn’t know how motherhood changed women from the core. She thought of Mothers’ Day promotions, all pastel pinks and warm slippers. Were they implying motherhood made you soft? She grew Eadie inside her. She pushed her into this world, nursed her every three hours, day and night, for months. It was like ripping your heart out and watching it walk around. One thing was for sure – that vulnerability weakened you, because from the moment they arrived, the most important thing in life was no longer yourself.
Abbi attempted to smooth the frizz from her hair with various products she had never quite figured out how to apply, bunching the long, multi-tonal lengths into a knot high on her head before focusing on what to wear – popping in and out of the bathroom from their walk-in wardrobe for Will to appraise potential outfits. ‘This one okay?’ She tugged at the zip on an old, pre-pregnancy work dress that wouldn’t quite do up. She clenched her almost non-existent abdominal muscles, which didn’t help at all with the zip. Perhaps this is how motherhood softens you.
He frowned. ‘A little … ambitious.’
Abbi assessed her outfit. ‘As in, too corporate looking?’
‘As in, you won’t get it zipped.’ Diplomacy had never been Will’s forte. No chin hair or extra kilo went unnoticed.
‘Will! Couldn’t you lie? Just a little?’
‘I could, but if I did that enough times my word would mean nothing.’ He smiled.
She scowled. ‘I’m already feeling … suburban. And now we’re about to have dinner with Miss Perfect-Hair-Career-Woman. I could do with some back-up.’
‘You have a career.’
‘I have a job.’
‘There’s no difference. It’s all in how you look at it. And you travel – you went to Haiti, after a man, I believe,’ he said, smirking.
‘And barely travelled again.’ She persisted with the zip. ‘Or fit my clothes,’ she grunted.
Will joined the ends and yanked. She felt winded, but the dress was secure. Her boobs weren’t going anywhere. ‘Sounds like your issue, not hers. Where’s all this sudden life envy coming from? You forget your primrose oil this week, hon?’
Abbi’s eyes narrowed. She could hardly prickle and prove him right but the temptation was too great. ‘Excuse me?’
She wondered if she was, in fact, being harsh. Her mind trudged back to distant days that seemed insignificant at the time: hopping between elastics with eight-year-old Hannah, her rah-rah skirt tucked into her knickers; gas-bagging about boy bands by torchlight in a tent; summers of never-ending Monopoly; barefoot and dodging burning bitumen in hand-me-down board shorts, along with all the expectations she had of life back then. She hadn’t realised those everyday moments were core memories until she’d called them to mind again. A drink with Hannah would be a good distraction from other things – and perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to keep an eye on Blake, who had a tendency to talk after a few beers.
Whether she liked it or not, Hannah was part of the bricks of her childhood – a faded old t-shirt you no longer wore but couldn’t throw out, hiding at the back of the closet. She could at least try her on again. See if she still fit.
Nothing else did.
* * *
Pastel-coloured bunting looped through freshly painted posts at the seaside burger-and-beers establishment where they’d planned to meet Hannah and Blake for dinner. The Tavern had survived many facelifts and had recently succumbed to the latest rustic trend, with tabletops made of recycled saw-marked doors and glasses fashioned from jam jars. The furniture was industrial, the floors polished concrete, and the young waiters wore dungarees and poorly disguised embarrassment. The overalls paired with ochre sun-kissed faces reminded Abbi of Oompa Loompas. A few huddled around the corner booth begrudgingly singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a blushing birthday girl towered by her cake.
There he was. With her. Abbi’s throat tightened, and she wondered if part of her unease during the lead-up to dinner wasn’t about Hannah at all. Did her nerves stem from the dread of having to pretend she was fine for another few hours, the realisation that her role in Blake’s life had become redundant since Hannah returned, or simply having to see Blake, in public, with Will as a witness? She had got used to playing one part at home and another with Blake, but trying to be two things at once was destined to fail. Whatever the cause, Abbi needed a drink.
‘The infamous Hannah,’ Will said, offering his hand. ‘Nice to finally meet the woman I’ve heard so much about.’ Their handshake lingered, eyes sparking, and Abbi wondered exactly how nice it was. Hannah blushed. Abbi hoped it was from realising Will knew she’d been rubbish to Blake in the past, not because of an attraction to her husband. She wished he’d worn the mustard shirt that made him look a tad jaundiced, just to tone down his appeal a little.
Was a hug greeting in order? Abbi was unsure which mode to be in: the protective sister to Blake, the childhood friend Hannah always out-styled or the woman who missed her first best friend. Hannah made the decision for them, approaching with open arms, and the women bumped noses like nervous Tinder dates.
As Will and Hannah wandered into the dining area, retro booths along every wall, Blake pulled Abbi back for a moment, his smile morphing to a tight-lipped grimace once the others were out of view. ‘This is bullshit, Abs – out socialising like everything’s hunky-dory. You sure you’re up for this charade?’
She was. She was sick of hiding at home, living a lie. Distracting herself by getting on with life was the best cover she could think of. ‘Act normal, right?’ Abbi shrugged him away, along with his insinuation that she was the weak link. She could smell smoke on his breath, and knew she was the reason he’d started again. ‘And now who’s the one mentioning it?’
Hannah caught the end of their exchange. ‘Mentioning what?’
‘Um … the …’ Blake mumbled, waving his hand in a circle like his brain was a cog powered by the movement.
Abbi attempted to save his fumble. ‘Blake was just saying that, um …’
Hannah glared at them like they were having some sort of mutual stroke.
Blake gestured to the pool table in the corner. ‘That I always thrash Abbi at snooker.’
Hannah looked surprised. ‘You guys play?’ Abbi sighed at the hint of American accent in her friend’s voice, an audible sign of her worldliness. ‘You used to hate snooker,’ Hannah continued, clearly affronted that she didn’t know something about Blake that Abbi was privy to.
Blake narrowed his eyes at Abbi. ‘I still do. But Abbi’s good at roping me into doing stuff I don’t want a bar of.’ His glare was direct, and she felt a sting.
The glare was not lost on Hannah.
Will stood beside them, blank faced, but Abbi knew what he was thinking: What’s going on?
Abbi tried to think of something to change the subject, but couldn’t get past her own stupidity. Why had she put on lipstick and smiles and forced conversation when she was dying inside? All she wanted was to shut the world out, after what they’d done together. After betraying her husband. She was kidding herself to think she could live this way. Duplicity wasn’t her thing. Abbi had friends who could have affairs, live double lives without guilt, but she didn’t have the skillset. Why risk it all coming out?
Blake yanked at his collar, the busy zigzag pattern on his shirt skewing.
‘Nice shirt.’ Abbi raised her eyebrows.
‘New?’ She wanted to say that pattern could cause a seizure, but she knew Will would poke his elbow into her ribs. She wasn’t sure why she felt such anger towards Blake – he wasn’t the one who started this, which only expanded her guilt.
‘Is it hot in here? Maybe I’m coming down with something.’ Blake glanced at Hannah, all concerned. ‘Feel my forehead. Do I have a temp?’
Hannah felt his face and told him he was fine, less like a new couple than an old married one.
‘Had a meningitis case last week, Blake. Better be careful,’ Will joked, playing into Blake’s new bout of health worries.
‘Don’t encourage him.’ Abbi rolled her eyes.
A golden-skinned teen with dreadlocks poking from his cap greeted them with a scripted welcome and they took their seats at a corner booth – one couple a side. So perfectly neat and cordial.
‘Maybe I’m just thirsty. I’ll order a jug then, shall I? Coming, mate?’ Blake thumped Will on the back and the blokes sauntered off to the bar, Will shadowing Blake’s smaller frame. Left alone with Hannah, Abbi realised that Will and Blake’s friendship was the same as theirs: circumstantial.
A salty sea breeze blew through the panoramic windows as the seagulls battled for abandoned chips left on the rusty picnic tables outside. Specks of rain dotted the boardwalk – the start of the big wet everyone was talking about. The humidity was stifling and Abbi felt the thickness of the air weigh her down.
‘It’s weird, being back, seeing you all grown up and married,’ Hannah said. ‘And to a doctor – you’ve done well.’
‘He’s a good egg.’ But not because of his occupation. Why was she so interested in talking about Will? Abbi pulled at her too-small dress – it was too muggy for autumn – and spun the spoon on the table under her finger like a child. She scanned the bar for Will. The owner hadn’t remodelled that part yet, and it still had the remnants of the Tropicana theme from last tourist season – the backdrop a tacky macaw sipping a cocktail.
Blake had ducked over to the ATM, and Abbi noticed Hannah was staring over towards Will. What are you looking at?
‘He’s got this guarded, sort of sexy thing going on, your Will. Kind of mysterious and Colin-Firth-like.’ Hannah’s eyes narrowed like she was imagining some lewd scene.
Abbi laughed out loud in a childish blurt, releasing the pressure she felt inside. She thought of Will with Mr Darcy sideburns, and felt her body relax a notch. She’d always liked Colin Firth (till he got skinny).
‘Whereas Blake,’ Hannah continued, ‘he’s more your Hugh Grant, really. The lovable labrador.’
‘Well, he’s as loyal as one. How many years has he been tyre-kicking, waiting for you to come to your senses?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘He went out with Lucy Forster for a bit, while I was away, didn’t he? Then there’s all those visiting city cops. Think he did more than tyre-kick.’
Abbi sensed Hannah taking her in, just as she had done with her husband. She knew she’d aged – her cheeks a little doughy, like her stomach. But she felt no older on the inside, like she was still waiting to grow up. Hannah had known her best when she was young and playing the role of daughter, not mother. But Hannah didn’t seem older – just better groomed, and with that awareness thirty-something women have of finally knowing what styles suited their shape. She couldn’t believe how great her old friend looked. She couldn’t believe she was now back in Blake’s arms. ‘So, ah, how is living back home again? Must feel weird.’ For a grown woman.
Hannah kinked her head to one side in thought. Abbi had forgotten her habit of evaluating each and every emotion. Abbi didn’t have time for that. Since meeting Will, she’d learned the fine line between mindful self-awareness and self-absorbed twat. Hannah’s glossy long layers fell forward against her face as her gaze dropped. ‘Ah … I’ve been at Blake’s, actually, the last couple of nights since I got back.’
Abbi had assumed as much, but it still irked her. An urge to hide Blake from Hannah’s cheating, abandoning mitts reared inside. Flashbacks sprang to mind of him sucking face with pimple-faced Hannah at the drive-in as she slumped in the front seat, catching her sneaking into his bedroom at seventeen, her auburn hair a swirl of red on his pillow the next morning, sprang to mind. ‘And how’s that working out?’
Hannah must have sensed her concern for Blake, ‘It’s different this time.’
It wasn’t Abbi’s heart that this woman had trashed, but it felt as though it was. When it came to her and Blake, Abbi had always felt like the stronger of the two. She’d protected him from bullies in the school yard, from the savage foster kids that preyed on his scrawniness, and now that he was the one keeping their secret, she felt even more committed to the cause. ‘You hurt him, Hans.’
‘Don’t you think I know that? I don’t plan on doing it again.’
‘Did you plan to last time?’ The words snuck out, a glimpse of her old self. Were they reverting to their teenaged selves?
Hannah pressed her hands to her cheeks and sincerity filled her eyes. ‘I know how this looks, but I had no expectation of Blake forgiving me, Abs. And besides, it was Molly I came back for. And Dad. I didn’t want her making me the excuse not to go off to uni. She’s so clever, you know?’ Abbi almost detected a sense of pride in Hannah’s comment. ‘And I missed you and Blake.’ Hannah reached her hand across the table. Abbi didn’t take it. She knew it was the polite thing to do – the proverbial olive branch was being offered, and all she had to do was accept –but her arm had frozen by her side. ‘You were such a big part of my life.’ Hannah’s hand lay there, open for the taking. It lay right there. Seconds ticked by, before Hannah admitted defeat and swiftly retracted her hand, crossed her arms and looked away.
When she saw the look of hurt on her friend’s face, Abbi regretted not reaching out. She’d be treating this night, this conversation, as something she just had to ‘get through’. She saw Hannah’s concerns as trivial compared to what she was dealing with. But if she did survive her current ordeal, what sort of life would she be left with if she didn’t value the people around her? Her oldest friend?
Hannah was right. They had been inseparable, once. Hell-bent on going to Paris for their eighteenth, buying a flat together by twenty-one. They’d both weathered boyfriends, lost their mothers and broken promises since those days of young adulthood. Even the thought of these unfulfilled dreams felt like a failure. She knew it wasn’t, and she knew it was unfair of her, but every success Hannah had abroad had felt like a personal revenge, a mockery of Abbi’s simple, predictable life in the boring town she’d always found herself returning to.
Hannah was caught in the time trance as well, caught in a cloud of all things that had gone unsaid for years. ‘It felt so strange seeing your life play out online without me in it,’ Hannah said in her mongrel accent.
Abbi scoffed. She wasn’t ungrateful for her predictable suburban lifestyle, but she did have a fleeting urge to project an image of success, babble on about how Eadie was gifted in maths, that her husband won awards for his initiatives in Haiti, that she had a successful photojournalism career (that bit was partly true – she wrote human interest stories for the local rag for minimum wage. She was only expected to take photos because the budget couldn’t stretch to pay photographers, but she could leave out that part). But Abbi found she didn’t want to play that game. Friendship wasn’t meant to be a competition.
Nonetheless, she usually snarled at Hannah’s smug, passive– aggressive Facebook posts, which probably seemed harmless to everyone else. Her series of photos was as perfect as an advertising campaign. Hannah on horseback. Hannah skydiving. Hannah having affairs, adventures, frolicking childless in all that personal freedom and independence while Abbi was two steps behind a firecracker of a toddler, unable to wee on her own (or jump without peeing). While Hannah felt the spray of the Niagara Falls, Abbi scrubbed orange goop off a highchair. Hannah spent New Year’s Eves watching the ball drop in Times Square, Abbi would rarely make it till midnight
. It wasn’t a better, or worse existence, just a different one. She didn’t know what to say to plug the hollow the years had eroded. ‘A lot has happened, Hannah.’ Some of which you’ll never know.
Hannah’s eyes flailed around like an old woman at the markets whose cart had overturned, bok choy scattering on the footpath, onions rolling in the gutter. ‘I heard about your mum passing.’
‘Oh really? I didn’t think you had – given you never called.’
‘I’m so sorry about that. Gail was like a mother to me, too, and such a good friend to Mum.’ Hannah looked at the wall, tears glazing her eyes.
The grief hovered over both of them. Six years had passed. A six-year void of highs and lows Hannah knew nothing of and had made no attempt to discover. How many emails had Abbi written (about her grief, her pregnancy, her marriage) that went unanswered? Hannah Worthington had hurt Blake more than once, pillaged this town’s support when her own mother died, taken what she wanted, then abandoned her family. Did she expect to swan back in and have them all waiting for her?
Abbi allowed herself the burst of bitter thoughts but was careful to keep them inside. She sipped her wine, played it cool. She didn’t want Hannah to see her as the type they used to mock; that petty, needy girl who held grudges across continents, over years. She had a life now, even if it could crumble at any moment.
Abbi realised she should have expected this drama. Part of the reason she’d always tolerated Hannah’s theatrics was the rare moments when Hannah was herself; stripped bare, not the avatar Abbi saw on social media, the image Hannah curated to make her life appear bigger than it was.
Hannah and Molly’s mother had died in a car accident ten years ago – riding her bicycle to the local shop, she was hit head-on by the local dentist, who was drunk at the wheel. The tragedy had always allowed Abbi to excuse Hannah more than most. Perhaps now that they were both motherless, they could cut the crap and find common ground. Abbi’s gaze narrowed. ‘You know what it’s like to lose a mother. You could have written or …’