This Is Now

by Maggie Gilbert

  ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  Michelle ate the other half of her cookie and polished off the last of her coffee. I put my cup down on the counter and got up, going over to take her empty.

  ‘You look like that barely touched the sides,’ I said.

  ‘Haven’t had one since breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll make you another one.’ I moved to go past her, but she caught my wrist.

  ‘Is it serious? Or are you just having some fun?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly. She peered up at me.

  ‘When you broke it off with Jay, was it to go out with this guy?’

  I shook my head. ‘I only met him after.’

  ‘How’d you meet him?’

  I hesitated, wondering if I should lie, but I badly needed to talk to someone. Michelle was usually that someone, but it had been a lot easier when I was going out with her brother and we were into the whole sister act.

  ‘Anna. He’s her younger brother.’

  Michelle stared. ‘You’re shitting me.’

  ‘Nope,’ I said, and waited to see what she’d say.

  Not for the first — or it turned out, the last — time, Michelle surprised the hell out of me. She planted her hands on her apron-wrapped hips and cackled with laughter.

  Before I could give into hysterics and join her (I was worried if I started I might never stop), I made a strategic retreat out the back and got the coffee going. I made another for me too; after dropping a bomb like that on Michelle, I knew I was in for a long conversation about just how I’d ended up going out with my ex-boyfriends’ current sort-of-girlfriend’s brother. It was just so Home and Away I could hardly believe it myself, so I had no idea how I was going to explain it all to Michelle.

  That, it turned out, was surprisingly easy, because whenever I got stuck or started to ramble, Michelle would ask me a question to get me back on track. When I finally stumbled my way to the end, bringing her up to date with the gift he’d brought back from Melbourne, she reached over and put her hand on my head, turning it away from her. I felt her fingers experimentally tweaking the clip — Sebastien’s clip — in my hair, to make sure it was securely fastened, no doubt. Professional interest I supposed.

  She couldn’t help herself, just like I always looked at houses and buildings critically, imagining what could have been done different or better. Like Michelle’s salon; it had an awkward dogleg between the front of the salon and the out-back area that served absolutely no purpose and made the front of the salon area look small. Not to mention that you couldn’t see through to the front, so any time Michelle had to go back to the bathroom she had to lock the front door if nobody was there or trust her clients not to do anything nasty or just plain stupid while she was gone.

  ‘Have you actually taken that off yet?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, flushing. I had taken it off when I went to bed but mainly because I was worried I’d crush it or something. And I’d put it on my bedside table, so I could see it. Not that I’d admit that to Michelle, especially not how I’d gone to sleep staring at it and had actually woken in the night and reached out to make sure it was still there. That I hadn’t dreamed it.

  ‘So what did you have planned for the expo this time?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Well, it’s lucky your guy doesn’t mind you bald.’

  I gaped at her. She couldn’t be serious.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘Exaggerating. I was thinking a Mohawk, actually, so I’d only be shaving the sides. And the hawk itself I thought I’d do in blue and red, alternating stripes.’

  ‘Oh,’ I managed. I gulped down my coffee and set it beside the earlier cup, only noticing just then that I never had drunk that first one. I grabbed it too and threw it down, stone cold and all.

  Michelle snorted, then snuffled, then flat out laughed.

  ‘I wish I’d had a camera. Your face.’

  ‘Bitch,’ I said faintly, heart thudding. I ran my fingers through my hair, shaken at how horrified I’d been to hear her describe doing that to my hair. Six months ago I’d have probably suggested adding more colours to the hawk to make it a rainbow crest.

  I tugged my hair over my shoulder and looked at the fading red, felt the weight of the lengths, tried to imagine what it must feel like to Sebastien. I couldn’t imagine, though, and I realised that’s how he’d felt trying to picture me with natural hair. It had been so long I had trouble picturing it myself. I touched the clip, running my fingers over the pattern of vines and leaves, and sighed.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ Michelle said.

  I looked at her. ‘After all that crap about a striped Mohawk?’

  ‘No, serious. You’ve always trusted me with your hair before.’

  ‘It didn’t matter before,’ I said, and snapped my mouth shut. That had come out of nowhere; I hadn’t even had the thought before the words had just fallen out of my mouth.

  ‘But it does now?’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’ I ran my hand over my hairclip, though why I thought the answer was there, I had no idea.

  ‘How about we start with a shampoo and a scalp massage?’ Michelle said. She put her hands up and gently took the clip out of my hair, handing it to me. ‘You hang onto that and I’ll do something fantastic with your hair. I promise.’

  ‘No shaving or football streaks,’ I said.

  ‘Cross my heart.’ Michelle grinned, and putting her hands on my shoulders, steered me to the basins.

  ‘You will hope to die if you ruin my hair,’ I threatened.

  ‘Trust me,’ Michelle said.

  ‘God help me.’ But I did trust her, and I sat at the basin and closed my eyes, feeling the vibrations through my legs and butt as she started up the massage chair, and once again put myself in her hands.

  Chapter 19

  Tuesday, the next day, was cheap night at the movies and Sebastien and I had made plans to go. I’d swapped a shift with Simone and Sebastien was picking me up from class, and as I waited I jiggled from one foot to the other, party to keep warm, and partly out of anxiety. I wondered what he’d make of my hair. I was having such a major insecurity attack I’d almost pulled a beanie on over the top, but I’d look like a total idiot at TAFE if I did that. But even though I was braving the exposure, it didn’t automatically make me any braver about it.

  When I saw Sebastien’s car pull in from the street I practically stopped breathing. I pushed my shaking hands into my jacket pockets (the parka with the fur lined hood had been further reduced, and this time I’d given in to temptation) and wished I could hide my shaking knees as easily.

  Sebastien pulled up beside me and stopped the car jerkily. He sat there and pulled a big eyed surprised face, then pointed at me, to his hair and then back at me again.

  Heat stole up my face, and I shrugged, wondering if I should just pick up my bag and start walking away.

  The car engine switched off and Sebastien’s door opened. He got slowly out of the car, and shut the door gently, coming over to me.

  ‘Wow,’ he said.

  ‘You hate it.’ I said, crushed.

  ‘Not at all. Just, wow. I didn’t know you were thinking of going blonde.’

  ‘I am blonde.’ And it had taken Michelle hours of careful stripping to get the dye out. She’d sent me off with new conditioner and strict instructions to avoid blow-drying or straightening for at least a week, and then to use a bit of bicarb in my shampoo to get the last of the residue out of the lengths.

  ‘I can see that.’ Sebastien reached out and touched the hair hanging forward over my shoulder, which was, as he’d said, blonde.

  ‘No, I mean I am blonde. Born this way. Well, actually, that isn’t true, I was born without any hair at all, but it was blonde when it grew…’

  ‘I get the picture,’ Sebastien said. He studied me searchingly, and I held my breath. After the hours I’d sat while Michelle stripped the colour slowly and
carefully from my hair to minimise the damage to it, I would kill him if he didn’t like it. It was what he’d said that had got me thinking about the colour in the first place, and somehow Michelle had picked that thought right out of my mind before I’d even realised I wanted to go back to my natural colour.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous,’ he said, and I let the breath I’d been holding put in a rush.

  Sebastien put both hands in my hair, running it over his fingers like water from a tap. ‘I mean, you were beautiful before, but your hair was so loud it kind of took the attention away from you. Now, wow, look at you.’

  I stood there, with tingles and sparks running all over my body from him caressing my hair, and still my knees shook. I felt exposed, naked in some way, although I couldn’t explain why I felt that way. I hadn’t expected to feel like this. Like I had no skin.

  ‘So you like it.’

  ‘I love it,’ he said, and I felt his fingers curl around the back of my neck as he pulled me close and kissed me. I slid my arms around his waist, digging my fingers into the broad hard muscle of his back — footballers could learn a thing or two about condition from classical musicians — and leaned into that kiss with the eagerness of relief.

  Sebastien’s hand slid down my back, pressed in against the back of my hip, and dropped lower to cup my backside. Surprised, I rose on tip toe, and his kiss grew hungrier. My stomach leaping in response, I fumbled my hands under his untucked shirt, and as he thrust his tongue into my mouth he grabbed my butt more firmly.

  Wow, wow, wow, my brain stuttered, before thoughts broke up completely. We’d kissed a fair bit before, but this level of enthusiasm from him was a step up entirely, and my head seemed to be floating away.

  A raucous wolf-whistle sounded across the car park, and we broke apart, guilty and gasping, but he kept his hands on me, and I stayed pressed up against him. I could feel just how into it he’d been.

  ‘Get a room, Carter, you slut,’ some guy yelled, and Sebastien’s head whipped around so fast he probably gave himself whiplash. I grabbed hold of his shirt almost as quickly and anchored him to the spot before he could go tearing off after that arsehole with the big mouth. I could feel Sebastien’s urge to do it, in the way his muscles tensed, and his feet shifted, almost tangling with mine. My face burned and my stomach was churning now not with delight at being in Sebastien’s arms, but in sick fury at how long mistakes could follow you around. I couldn’t take the stupidity of twice trusting the wrong guy in high school back as easily as I’d had the colour stripped from my hair. Damn it. Didn’t anybody else ever fuck up, for Christ’s sakes?

  ‘Don’t, Sebastien. He’s just some idiot looking for a fight.’

  ‘Happy to give him one,’ he said, and I realised he was literally rigid with anger.

  ‘I’m not. Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘I can’t let that guy say that about you, Jess.’

  ‘Yes you can. I’m not going to let you ruin your career by breaking your hands on his stupid face. Now get in the car. Please. Please.’

  He looked down at me.

  ‘I’m not much of a boyfriend if I don’t stick up for you.’

  ‘I’m impressed that you wanted to. So, tick that box, OK? Please, can we go? Don’t make it any worse than it is.’ I looked up at him, and allowed myself to give him a begging kind of look, tugging on his jacket. ‘Please, let’s just go.’ I wanted to cry. Why was it that every time we seemed to be taking that step forward, together, something happened to throw us off course?

  Even when Sebastien calmed down enough to do what I wanted, and got in the car, I still felt queasy with anxiety. I felt like I was wobbling at the edge of a cliff, struggling against some great force that I couldn’t see, or name, or know. As I did up my seat belt and curled into myself, defensive and wounded, I wondered if Sebastien could possibly let that comment go, or if he was going to start asking me the inevitable questions.

  When Sebastien turned out onto the street, remarkably calmly for someone who was gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled fists, I knew that I really needed to tell him what that had been about, in case what he imagined was even worse than the truth. And that thought itself was enough to make my stomach hurt, and a slow steady throb start up in the front of my skull.

  I so wasn’t ready to have that conversation. I was afraid he’d think I was a total slut because I’d had sex so young, I was afraid he’d believe what that arsehole in the car park had said, or that he would have heard of my supposed reputation and just never realised it was me. I was most afraid that he’d think the original arsehole was no arsehole, and that I might finally find out that Sebastien wasn’t my dream guy, after all.

  We drove to Sebastien’s in silence. Parked the car in the garage in silence. Went into the house, still without speaking. Sebastien hung his keys up in the usual spot and headed for the kitchen, and I followed him numbly, wondering of he was ever going to talk to me again.

  ‘Coffee?’ he said finally, and I was so startled and relieved I almost burst into tears.

  ‘Yes please,’ I said, even though caffeine was about the last thing I needed. Not to mention that Sebastien made really terrible coffee.

  He stopped and looked at me, pausing with a mug in his hand.

  ‘You OK?’

  I nodded.

  Sebastien’s face changed, and he put the mug down on the countertop. ‘No you’re not,’ he said, and crossed the kitchen to come over to me. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself howling like a two-year old who’d dropped her ice-cream.

  ‘I’m such an idiot, Jess, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘What are you sorry for?’ I mumbled against his chest.

  ‘I was so pissed off by what that guy said and so busy being a macho dick about it I didn’t even think about how much it must have upset you.’

  My throat tightened so much I didn’t think I’d get words out, so I just hugged him tighter. Dream guy, oh yes he was, thank you God. I may not have done anything already to deserve a guy like this but I promise I’ll do something that good sometime, somehow.

  Sebastien kissed my face, stroked my hair back from my forehead, kissed me there. Mmm. I tilted my head back, and the next kiss landed by my eye. His hand cupped my face, and then his mouth found mine, and I threaded my fingers in the short hair that curled against the back of his neck, and he shuddered and pulled me closer.

  He pressed me backwards without breaking the kiss and his body pinned me against the counter, the edge of the marble top digging into my back, but it was worth it. Until he leaned in a bit harder, and I winced, almost yelping ‘ouch’ against his mouth. I tried to cover it, but he noticed.

  ‘Hurt you?’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m too short,’ I said, my lips tingling from tangling with his. I half turned to peer behind me. ‘The counter digs into my ah, hey!’ I squeaked, as he hoisted me up onto the counter. I ducked at the last moment to avoid braining myself on the edge of the cupboard and almost slid straight off again, but he caught me and stepped up close, hands on my hips to drag me right to the edge, and right up against him.

  ‘OK?’ he said, planting a nibbly little kiss on my lips.

  ‘I’m OK if you’re OK,’ I said, sliding my hand up over his collar bone, then around behind his neck.

  ‘Definitely OK.’

  He kissed me again, although it quickly moved beyond a kiss and became more like the last stop before sex.

  His hands were inside my shirt, under my bra, and my butt had the barest contact with the bench, his hips snugged hard up against mine. I got my hands up under his shirt, running them over the smooth hard muscle of his chest, fingers sliding through the strangeness of his chest hair, not a lot of it, but definitely there, definitely a guy here that I had my hands on. Sebastien’s hand grazed my belly, making me suck it in reflexively, and almost giggle, and then his hand glided past my hip and over the small of my back to di
p down into the back of my jeans where the waist gaped away from my skin. I gasped against his mouth, and dragged my palms across his belly, thrilled at how he quivered and jumped in response.

  Sebastien tilted my head back, lips and tongue exploring mine, and I let my hands slip lower, my fingers curling beneath the top of his jeans, and he sucked his stomach in, skittish. I dropped my hand down between us and ran my palm lightly across the front of his jeans. He groaned against my lips, and buried his hands in my hair, but when I touched him there again, he twitched away and released my mouth.

  ‘Better not,’ he said, his voice husky.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said, but kept my hands away from the danger zone, sliding my palms around and across his bare back.

  Sebastien rested his head against my shoulder for a moment, but then he drew away from me.

  ‘I mind,’ he said, and the leap my belly took that time was one of dismay.

  ‘What do you mean? Don’t you like it?’ Don’t you like me, was what I was wanting to ask, but was too scared.

  ‘Of course, but, it’s just. Not yet.’

  I didn’t say anything, just sat on the counter with my hands hanging loosely between my knees, where they’d landed when he stepped away. He’d half turned his back to me and I figured he was trying to hide his hard-on, but there wasn’t much point when I knew he’d been excited. I’d felt it. If his body was saying yes, why was he saying no?

  ‘Anna will be home soon,’ he said, but for once it didn’t immediately send me heading for the door.

  ‘You always say that.’

  ‘Maybe if we weren’t always here that wouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘How come we never go to your place? Are you embarrassed by me or something?’