by Ben Karwan
I smile. ‘It’s been pretty great.’
‘To think this whole trip started because I wanted to see Nessie. That ended really well.’
‘Oh irony, wherefore art thou so heartless,’ I say.
Elliot laughs. ‘I think it’s safe to say this trip went much better than I thought it would.’
We don’t talk for a while. With Elliot, even silence is comfortable.
I stay behind the wheel for three hours before we make a quick pit stop on the side of the Hume Highway and switch drivers. Elliot drives until we get to Albury and Vincent becomes thirsty. Elliot fills the fuel tank and I walk around to stretch my legs for a bit. Five and a half hours in a car is hard work.
A Subway store is adjacent to the petrol station, so we eat subs for lunch before returning to the car. Elliot gets back behind the wheel.
We cross the Murray River and I reach my fingertips forward so that they’re wedged between the windscreen and the dashboard. ‘First in Victoria!’ I shout.
‘What are you, nine years old?’ asks Elliot.
‘Eight and a half,’ I say.
‘My mistake.’
As we drive along, I just take in the scenery. ‘Country Victoria really is gorgeous,’ I say. ‘I just love it – though I couldn’t live out here.’
‘What else do you love?’
‘Huh?’
‘It’s an interesting question. List five things you truly love.’
‘Oh uh … well, my family would be on the list. My mum, too, even though she pisses me off. Uh, books … writing … What’s that, three? Um … being sarcastic – four. And you. I love being your friend.’
He smiles. ‘Five more.’
‘Jeez! Um … my phone, Teddy and Sophie, my computer and food.’
‘And another five?’
Every time I list five things, Elliot asks for five more. It’s getting extremely hard to think of things. ‘Are you making a point of some sort?’ I ask.
‘I saw a comedian do this on the internet,’ he says. ‘He was wondering how many things you’d list before you got to yourself.’
‘I –’ But I don’t know what to say. ‘I do love myself, I guess.’
‘You guess? I think it’s a bit sad that you’d list your phone and books before you’d list yourself – and you can’t even be certain of it.’
He’s right, I guess. (See? I’m still guessing things.) I do love myself. It’s just one of those things that’s sometimes hard to admit.
‘Jen?’
‘Hmmm?’ I lift my head up from where it’s resting on the window.
‘Can you promise me something?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘This past week I’ve felt like you were you the entire time. Please don’t change that when we get back. Be the Jen you want to be.’
‘I promise,’ I say, and rest my head back on the window to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-two
Elliot wakes me up as we turn into our street. I blink a few times and sit up straight. He pulls Vincent into his driveway and I stumble out.
‘You want to come in for a bit, or was a week of Elliot Time too much?’ he asks.
‘As tempting as that is, I think I just need to go and rest. Nine hours in a car really takes it out of a person.’
He laughs. ‘I’m sure I’ll be sleeping in about ten minutes.’ He hugs me. ‘I really did have a fantastic time, which was in no small part thanks to you.’
‘So did I. I think it was the best thing we’ve ever done.’
‘Annual road trip?’ he suggests, pulling away.
I laugh. ‘We’ll see.’
Neither of us notices the car pull up in front of his house until we hear the voice.
‘Elliot?’ It’s Nessie. She clicks the button on her keys and her car locks.
‘Uh … Hi Anna,’ says Elliot.
‘Listen, can we talk?’ she says, fluttering her eyelashes and looking at her feet.
‘I guess …’
‘I’ll just … yeah,’ I say, deciding to give them some privacy. It’s either going to end in them getting back together or in an argument. Either way, I don’t particularly want to be here to see it. I get my bag from Vincent’s back seat and walk the fifteen metres to my house.
Nobody’s home. I check the living room, expecting to see Aaron on the PlayStation, but he isn’t there, nor outside, nor in his bedroom. It’s seven thirty, so either they’ve all gone out for dinner, or my parents are working late and Aaron is with his friends.
I empty my bag onto my bed and begin sorting through the mess. Dirty clothes are launched over my shoulder into the hallway, toiletries tossed to the left, keepsakes to the right. I put the toiletries in the bathroom and dump my clothes in the washing machine.
I return to my bedroom to find a home for all my new belongings. All of the stupid key chains, flags and other minuscule money-wasters wind up in my desk drawer. I put the stuffed kitten at the head of my bed. My bookshelf begs for the missing books to be returned, so I slot them back into the appropriate places.
A door slams shut downstairs, so I head down to see who it is and find Aaron kicking his shoes off.
‘Hey.’
He jumps about a metre before his eyes find me descending the staircase. ‘Oh Jen. You’re back!’
‘Yeah, I got back literally five minutes ago. Did you miss me?’
He says ‘no’ but his smile tells me otherwise. ‘Where did you go? What did you do?’
In the kitchen, I tell him a summarised version of the story, focusing on Movie World, the pranks and Next to Normal, as I reckon he’d find those most interesting.
‘Oh yeah, Dad said you “made a friend”. She’s got a weird name, hasn’t she?’
‘Yeah, Marjolijn. And it’s not weird, it’s Dutch.’
‘You’re so obsessed with political correctness. It’s a weird name here.’
I sigh. ‘Anyway, she was really good in the musical. She’s really nice, too.’ I keep talking about Marjolijn while Aaron taps away on his phone.
‘Is this her?’ he says, and holds up his phone. He’s searched YouTube and found a bootleg recording of the Dutch production of Wicked, with Marjolijn singing the song she sang right before I interrupted her performance in Byron Bay. ‘She can sing,’ Aaron says.
True enough. She sounds amazing but the recording doesn’t capture the fullness and power of her live vocals.
‘So you’re friends with her?’
‘Well, not really. We hung out a few times and I have her phone number, but “friends” is a bit of a stretch.’
He asks me a few more questions about where we stayed and what we did until Dad gets home around eight-thirty.
‘Princess! You’re home!’ Unlike Aaron, Dad isn’t afraid to admit he missed me. He gives me a huge hug. ‘How was your trip? Did you have fun?’
So I tell the story again, though Dad’s interest is in everything. I run upstairs and bring down the stuffed kitten Elliot bought me to show him. He clasps his hand to his chest and says, ‘Okay, somebody call your mother. I’m dying. This is too cute.’
‘Jesus, Dad,’ I say.
‘Do not take the Lord’s name in vein,’ he says in an uncanny imitation of my mother. I purse my lips to avoid laughing. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t say that, should I?’
Mum arrives home fifteen minutes after Dad, with Chinese food. ‘Hi honey, can you help me with – oh hi Jen. I didn’t know you were coming back today.’
‘Hi Mum. I got back just before.’
‘Oh. Did you have a good time?’
I mumble a quick ‘yes’ as she sweeps past me into the kitchen.
‘I didn’t get you any food. I didn’t know you’d be here. But that’s okay, we can all share some of ours.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say. ‘Thank you, though.’ I’m not particularly hungry anyway, so I eat a bowl of cereal while the others eat Chinese and Mum questions me on the trip. It’s all going very smoothly until she spo
ts my chest.
‘What’s that around your neck?’
I look down and see the necklace. ‘It’s a kitten with a treble clef. Isn’t it cute? Elliot bought it for me.’ I hope a high-pitched, positive tone will prevent the lecture.
‘Where’s your crucifix?’
‘I, uh …’ My heart beats heavily. ‘… I lost it.’
Her eyes widen in horror. ‘You lost it? So you replaced it with … that?’
‘Can we talk about this later?’ I ask.
‘No, we can talk about this now,’ she snaps.
I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘Can we at least do it in private?’ Aaron looks uncomfortable.
I chew on my thumbnail for a moment and stand up. Mum follows me into the living room.
‘Care to explain yourself?’ she says, arms folded.
‘I misplaced the necklace. I really am sorry about that. But –’
‘Jennifer, that was a symbol for Jesus’s sacrifice. Losing it and then replacing it with that shows me you don’t care.’
I take a breath to keep myself calm. ‘It’s not that I don’t care,’ I say, ‘but that there are other things that I value more highly.’
‘Jesus teaches us –’
‘Mum, please. I’m not telling you this stuff to hurt you and I don’t really want to argue religion with you. If you want to be a Christian, I have no problems with that. What’s in the Bible could be true, or it might not be. I just don’t think there’s enough evidence for me to let this dictate my life.’
Mum sucks her lips into her mouth and for a moment I think she might cry. ‘Jesus teaches us how to be a good person.’
‘And I’ll still be a good person,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to turn into a raping, murdering child-abductor. I’ll still be me. But I’m going to live by my own values and do what I think is right because I think it’s right, not because some book told me to. I want to be a good person on my own terms. And, for me, that means wearing what I want to wear and doing what I want to do. I love you, Mum, but we’re different people. I don’t want to have to hide that anymore. I want to be me. This isn’t to hurt you or upset you – it’s just that I’ve realised I need to stop putting myself second and start doing what makes me happy.’
There’s a long pause. Her face is unreadable. An eternity later, she bows her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not going to stand here and tell you I approve, because I don’t. I believe the way to be a good person is through God. But what I want isn’t the same as what you want and that’s okay.’ She opens her arms and I hug her.
‘I actually have something else I need to tell you,’ I say, pulling back from the hug. I’m on a roll, so I may as well get it all out of the way now, especially since it seems to be going surprisingly well. ‘I changed my uni preferences. I don’t know if I’m going to get an offer or anything but if I do, it’ll probably be for an arts course.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s what I need to do to make myself happy. For the first time, I’m looking forward to studying and I’m excited for the future. I know you don’t think the earning potential is good enough but I’d much rather spend my life doing something I love and scraping by than earning six figures and hating every minute of it.’
She nods. ‘I understand.’
‘I really do love you, Mum. You know that, right?’
‘I know, Jennifer. I love you, too.’
I give her another hug. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.’
She pulls back from the hug and grips my arms. ‘You’re haven’t. I’m proud of you. I’m just trying to do what’s right. Whether I agree with your decisions and beliefs isn’t really the issue. Now go and finish your dinner.’
Dad knocks on my door later in the evening.
‘Mum told me about your discussion.’
I look up at him. ‘Is she mad?’
‘No,’ he says, plonking himself at the foot of my bed. ‘A little surprised, maybe, but she’s not mad. So you don’t believe in God?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully. ‘I guess the whole thing is possible but I don’t like the idea of living my life the way somebody else wants me to, even if that someone is an omnipotent powerhouse.’
‘That sounds very smart,’ he says.
‘Thanks. I guess I’m just sick of always putting myself second. From now on I’m going to focus on what will make me happy. It felt good to finally tell her.’ The little hammer that’s been pounding in my chest has stopped. It feels a little weird but in a really good way.
Dad kisses my forehead and heads for the door. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he says, turning back. ‘Also, you have a visitor.’ He nods at the window. I spin my head and see Elliot frozen in the tree. I turn back to Dad but the door is closed. I unclip the flyscreen and let Elliot in.
‘Use the freaking front door!’ I say for the umpteenth time.
‘It’s no fun.’
I shake my head and roll my eyes.
‘Whatever. How’d things go with Nessie? What’d she want?’
‘She wanted to apologise to me.’
‘Really?’
He sits cross-legged on my bed. ‘She said she just wasn’t expecting me to rock up halfway up the country, which is probably fair, and breaking up with me was just the shock talking. Her mum was trying to set her up with this guy and she felt pressured. Apparently they had this huge argument so they ended up coming back from their holiday early. She told me she didn’t mean to say I was smothering or clingy and she really likes me and asked if I’d still be her boyfriend.’
‘And?’ I prompt.
‘I told her that I appreciated what she said – it can’t have been easy for her – but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get back together.’
‘Yeah?’ I’m glad he stuck to his guns. It would’ve been hard to see the hurt on her face. But sometimes hurt is inevitable.
‘Yeah. I told her I had this preconceived idea of a relationship and I had fallen in love with that. I wanted a stronger emotional connection than she did and I felt unappreciated with her lack of affection. She was right – we just aren’t compatible.’
‘I’m … uh … I don’t know what to say except that I’m happy your relationship is officially over.’
‘There’s no hard feelings. At least, not from me. She’s a great person. I’ll still be her friend if she wants, but we’re not a good couple. I don’t think we ever were.’
‘Speaking of telling people “no”,’ I say. ‘Guess what I said to Mum before?’
‘You kidding me right now?’
I shake my head, smiling, and fill him in on what happened.
‘And she just … accepted it?’
‘Pretty much. I focused on how I need to make myself happy and not do things just because she wants me to,’ I say, though the last part is surely incomprehensible because I speak through a yawn.
‘That sounds great,’ he says. ‘But you look exhausted. Go to sleep!’ He climbs out of my window and I don’t bother putting the flyscreen back. I just slide the glass shut and climb under the covers.
I hug the stuffed kitten to my chest.
It takes longer than usual to fall asleep, despite my exhaustion. But I’m glad to be home.
Chapter Twenty-three
The next morning I meet Sophie, Teddy, Christina and Elliot at the shopping centre. The beginnings of a beard have formed across Teddy’s jaw.
‘What?’ he says. ‘Christina thinks it’s sexy.’
Christina flushes and buries her face into his shoulder and three seconds later their tongues furiously attack each other.
‘Guys,’ says Sophie, ‘if you can’t hold yourselves together, you can leave.’
‘Sorry, babe,’ says Teddy. ‘Won’t happen again.’ This, of course, is a lie.
We get drinks from a coffee shop and gather around one of the tables. Christina is the centre of the conversation, as we don’t really know her particularly well. She works at an animal rescue cen
tre, looking after the dogs that are up for adoption – training them, walking them and feeding them.
‘We always try to find them good homes because we can’t sustain good lives for all the animals we’re looking after, but it’s always bittersweet when the dogs leave. I become so attached to my babies. It’s hard to say goodbye,’ she says. Personally, she owns three dogs: a labrador, a border collie and a kelpie.
I feel kind of bad while she’s talking. I’d chalked Christina up as a promiscuous, cheerleading bimbo, but the more I find out about her, the less accurate my initial impression seems to be.
‘What do you plan to do this year?’ Elliot asks her.
‘You mean, what will I be studying? Hopefully I get into vet medicine. My ATAR was right on the borderline, so we’ll find out next week, I guess.’ She shrugs.
My nerves about uni offers have been building, but for a very different reason than before. I have my heart set on arts now. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get an offer.
The waiter brings out our coffees.
‘Wow, he’s cute,’ says Christina. ‘Who here is single?’ Her eyes flicker between Sophie and me.
‘Nobody would be interested in an eighteen-year-old single mother of a twenty-one-month-old,’ says Sophie dismissively.
‘Oh don’t be so hard on yourself. Go for it,’ Christina says, but Sophie shakes her head and sips her drink. Christina lets out an exasperated groan. ‘What about you?’ she says, turning her attention to me.
‘Nah, not my type,’ I say. This is true because I don’t have a type. I mean, the guy’s cute and all, but I just have no desire to talk to him beyond ordering coffee.
‘Well, Teddy here,’ she says grasping his hand, ‘is just lucky I’m spoken for. Otherwise I’d be all up on that.’
Maybe she does have a bit in common with her boyfriend, after all.
‘If a handsome stud muffin like that isn’t your type, what is?’ she asks me.
I exhale, because I can’t really be bothered explaining it. ‘I don’t really have a type …’
Sophie smiles behind her coffee cup; she’s heard this rant before.