by Sean Kennedy
Trish shook her head. “I was stupid.”
“There must be more to it than that.”
“No, it was stupidity. And selfishness. I guess it just seemed too hard. I was starting a new life and wanted a clean slate.”
“So I was a dirty slate.” Figures.
“No!” Trish protested. “You were far better than me. And I’m not just saying that as some bullshit excuse now. You were sweet, you were funny, you were the best. I was just a bitch.”
But Emma could see everything now. Trish had been young, she had new, exciting opportunities, and she took them. It was what Micah and Kyle had done; maybe their getting back together would be a mistake. Sometimes history should remain exactly that. So Emma told Trish that. About history, not about Micah and Kyle.
“You think we can move past this, then?”
Emma didn’t know why she did it. She knew it was stupid even as she moved up to Trish and gently cupped her chin. But it felt right in the moment. Trish didn’t move away, but leaned in as their lips touched. It was a chaste kiss, sweet even, and it didn’t last long. When Emma pulled away, Trish asked, “What was that for?”
“The goodbye kiss we never had two years ago.” She then offered Trish her hand. “And this is for the new, cleaner slate.”
She understood now and shook Emma’s hand. “Okay.”
Could it really be this easy? Was it just that Emma had now come to a certain set of realisations and could finally plaster over the chip on her shoulder? Maybe she would change her mind again tomorrow, but for now it just seemed a lot easier.
A knock sounded on the door. Emma wasn’t even thinking about how this situation might have looked: Trish barefoot and holding on to her bra, her hair mussed from the pillow she had been lying on when Emma first entered the room. She was high on the endorphins that came from finally releasing something she didn’t even know she had been holding on to, and Emma assumed it would probably just be Alya, and once she told her the story it would be obvious there wasn’t anything awry going on.
It wasn’t Alya.
Jess had a big smile on her face, which disintegrated as soon as she saw Trish.
“It’s not what you think,” Emma said, even though she had the taste of Trish’s lips still on her own.
But Jess didn’t say anything. She just turned and fled.
IT WAS a pure soap opera moment. Emma was frozen there, struck by the sheer camp of the whole scene, watching Jess disappear into the darkness.
“Go after her, you idiot!” Trish urged her.
Emma shook herself together and headed out the door, only to collide with Alya, who was in the process of saying, “I could’ve sworn I just saw Jess—” She looked over Emma’s shoulder and took in the presence of Trish, and the dishevelled state she was in. “Oh.”
It was just that one single word, fraught with meaning, which let Emma know how bad it would have all appeared to Jess. But she didn’t have time to assure Alya of anything or calm her obvious suspicions.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Emma yelled over her shoulder, leaving Trish to deal with Alya and the recriminations she was sure would follow.
As Emma tried to find Jess, the more obvious questions began to occur to her. Why was she here? How did she get here? How did she know which room was Emma’s, in order to surprise her? Why did people have to do elaborate surprises anyway? They always led to trouble, even if there was nothing troublesome to get upset about. Having your ex in your bedroom with mussed-up hair, holding her bra in one hand and her shoes in the other could have looked bad… but all Emma could think was if Jess had turned up a few minutes earlier she would have found Trish naked and proud before her. That would have looked a tiny bit worse.
Emma could now see her beneath the sickly amber glow of a streetlight, at the other end of the motel car park. She called Jess’s name, but she blatantly ignored her. There was no way she couldn’t have heard Emma, as the area was as dead as a doornail and sound tended to travel through a quiet night.
By the time Emma got to her she was seated in a car Emma had never seen before, and the door was closing.
Emma managed to wedge her foot in and cried out in pain. Jess whirled around, not having noticed what she was doing.
“You idiot! You could injure your foot!”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you would slam it in a door!”
“I didn’t think you were going to stick your foot in it!”
“That should show you how much I don’t want you to leave.” Emma pulled her foot out, wincing as she placed it gingerly on the ground but holding on to the door by its handle so Jess wouldn’t be able to close it.
Which she tried to anyway.
They both grappled with it between them. “I’m a professional athlete!” Emma yelled. “My muscles will always beat yours!”
Jess gritted her teeth and with a sudden burst of energy yanked the door out of Emma’s hands. As it slammed shut, she lost her balance as she had been taken by surprise, and fell onto her arse. Emma gave her second cry of pain for the evening.
The door flew open again, and Jess jumped out. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” Emma said, thinking this would make her stay.
“At least that’s something.” Jess jumped back in the car, slamming the door and locking it before Emma could attempt to get to her feet.
Emma called her name and rapped on the window, but Jess ignored her as she tried to start the car. The engine protested against the cold night and refused to kick in.
“Is this even your car?” Emma yelled against the glass. “I hope you’re not stealing it. It’ll be hard to take without a screwdriver, at least.”
“Fuck you, Emma!” Jess didn’t even look at her. “Don’t try to make this into a joke!”
“I’m not trying to make a joke,” Emma said, even though she had just made one in a weak attempt to defuse the situation. How the hell would anything defuse this? “I’m in too much pain to make this a joke. But what you saw in that room, well, it’s not what it looks like either.”
“How fucking stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Emma said, “but in this situation, you’re wrong.”
Oh, that was the wrong thing to say! Jess stared her down with a Medusa glare and tried starting the car again. The engine whirred but wouldn’t click over.
“I think you might need to call the NRMA for a jumpstart,” Emma told her.
“Just leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone in the cold. Whose car is this anyway?”
“It’s Delia’s. She let me borrow it for a night.”
“Did she tell you how unreliable it was?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to go away?”
“Maybe this is fate’s way of making you listen to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, then. Please tell me the compelling story behind you being caught in a motel room with your ex, and her looking like she had just stumbled out of bed.”
“Did I look like I had stumbled out of bed?”
“You look drunk.”
“Well, I am a little bit drunk,” Emma admitted. “But that happened at the local with five witnesses from my team who will swear Trish wasn’t with us.”
“I’m still waiting for your story. I mean, excuse.”
“The truth is, Trish had just stumbled out of my bed.”
“I knew it.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t in it with her. Look, can you wind down your window a little for me so I don’t have to keep yelling?”
She grudgingly cracked it a bit so Emma could at least press her lips through. “I thought you were concerned with my well-being in the cold?”
“You could let me in the car.”
“Don’t think so. So, what, you just came home from the pub and Trish happened to be lying in your bed waiting for you, somehow having managed to break in without someone calling the cops?�
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“Well, yeah, that’s pretty much it. Except I don’t think the security is that great here, and it probably didn’t take her that much effort to get in my room.”
“Remember what I said about not making this a joke?”
“I can’t help it! Humour is my defence mechanism!”
“What would you think if you found me in that situation with Trish?”
“I’d be upset—”
“And would you think it looked like we just fucked?”
“I’d like to think I’d trust you if you said it was all a big misunderstanding.”
“Oh, really?” Jess did not believe her. “The problem is, we haven’t known each other long enough, have we? Even a couple who have been married for years might have trust issues after seeing that.”
“I have never lied to you,” Emma said, hoping she would believe her. “Not once. If you can only believe in one thing I say, believe in that.”
“That’s a convenient loophole.”
Emma shrugged. “It is what it is. Doesn’t make it false.”
Romantic stories always teach us that the protagonist who has been wronged, or done the wrong, has to suffer before they get their happy ending. The protagonist must also do impossible tasks to prove their love, often some silly physical act that will endear them to their estranged lover and ultimately make things right again.
Those protagonists have never been standing in light clothing in the full breeze of a Canberra winter’s night. If Emma stayed out there much longer she would have hypothermia. And romantic protagonist she might be, but she wasn’t going to risk hypothermia. If she were Jack Dawson in the North Atlantic Ocean after the Titanic had gone down, she wouldn’t be playing the gentleman and insisting Rose stay alone on that piece of broken piano out of the water. She would be insisting she shift over and make some damn room.
Emma wasn’t getting an answer out of Jess. So she nodded at her and walked away.
“Hey!”
Emma looked back; Jess had rolled down the window and was hanging out over the frame.
“Get in the car.”
“You mean it?” Emma asked dumbly. Her head felt so over the place it wouldn’t have surprised her if a giant purple cow just happened to amble past.
Which it did.
Jess and Emma stared dumbfounded as it stopped and turned to face them.
“Mooooo!” it cried, in a very human voice.
“Do you speak English?” Emma asked, reading the sash hanging from its neck: Come To Cresswell’s Bakery! Best lamingtons north of Parliament House!
It nodded its head enthusiastically, until it fell off. Emma realised it was what it had to do to unmask itself, as it had no arms. The face beneath was flushed, whether from the heat of the costume or lack of oxygen, she didn’t know.
“Hey, you’re one of the girls from the pub!”
“Yes, and you’re one of the boys from the pub!” Emma had actually danced with him. He was funny and self-effacing, and if she had been into country boys she’d probably have been smitten (emphasis on the boy angle).
“Is the bakery still open?” Jess asked. “Those lamingtons sound good.”
The arse of the cow started to wriggle, and the guy in front laughed. “That tickles!”
Suddenly a head emerged, looking even more flushed. “Dude, you shouldn’t have had that lentil burger for dinner.”
It was another guy Emma had danced with. He turned to look at Jess. “We’re just on our way there now. It’s the start of our shift.”
Was it really that late in the night? Or early in the morning? Emma looked at her watch. Yes, yes it was.
“Come over in a couple of hours. We’ll let you in and have some.”
“Maybe. My, uh”—Emma looked pointedly at Jess—“girlfriend really seems to have a thing for lamingtons.”
Jess grinned at her and rolled her eyes. But she didn’t refute the status once again bestowed upon her.
“Oh, cool, we’re really down with the gays,” said the head of the cow.
“Yeah, our bosses are gay,” said the arse. “We even have one of those rainbow stickers on the window and everything.”
“That’s great,” Emma said, trying not to laugh. She could see Jess was doing the same. At least cows were all for equality, it seemed.
“See ya, ladies!” they cried in unison, assembling themselves back into the costume.
The purple cow left them as calmly as it had appeared.
“I like this town,” Jess said. “And now you’ve promised us lamingtons.”
“So you’re going to come back inside?”
“Is Trish going to make another appearance?”
“I don’t think so. I think she knows for sure now we’re never going to be a thing. To tell you the truth, I don’t think it was ever about me. She wants her American girl back. She’s just confusing me with her and thinking she’d get the same thing with me if we got back together.”
“You really are honest, aren’t you?”
“I always try to be.”
“I suppose I better hear the full story.” Jess opened the car door and slammed it behind her. “And perhaps you better have someone naked in your bed who actually is your girlfriend.”
That sounded good to Emma.
Jess linked her arm through Emma’s as they started walking back. “Wow, you’re really cold.”
“I’m fucking freezing.”
She laughed. “Superheroes and secret identities, naked ex-girlfriends, cheating best friends, boys who are cows… life is never going to be boring with you, is it?”
“I promise it’s usually not this bad. Really.”
Emma’s room was empty and the door slightly ajar. She sighed with relief that Alya and Trish were nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t know.” Jess kicked off her shoes and looked like she was making herself comfortable as she lay on the bed, which either Alya or Trish had thoughtfully remade. “I kind of like it.”
Maybe it all wasn’t so bad in the long run.
Epilogue
September 2016
SO, DESPITE all the drama, things turned out pretty okay.
The next time everyone was all together in the same place was Melbourne, a month later, for the launch of the queer edition of Sports Illustrated. Being back home was like being smothered against a maternal bosom of brick that had the purest soul beneath it. Emma missed Melbourne, especially when all her friends were here to celebrate with her and Micah.
But what had been going on in the meantime?
Trish got back with her American girlfriend. Like Emma had told Jess, she really believed that Trish chasing after her was just rebounding when all along she actually wanted to be reunited with her temporary ex. Emma promised Trish she would never bring up the night at the motel again, and Trish was relieved. It might have stymied her ability to win back Kelsey if that had gotten out. Of course, Alya and Jess had to be convinced to keep quiet, but they didn’t really care one way or another, so it was just as easy for them to stay silent than not.
It seemed Kyle had been keeping his distance from Emma after his initial bout of trying to phone her, which was probably wise. She still hadn’t entirely forgiven him for screwing Micah around, no matter what the circumstances. Emma kept calm when Micah sang Kyle’s praises over the phone, making him out to be the Best Boyfriend Ever, while hoping that time would prove her wrong. Because no matter what, she wanted Micah to be happy. And Kyle seemed to be his happy.
As a lowly intern, Jess hadn’t been given an invite to the event, but she attended as Emma’s plus one. Her supervisors seemed to give a double take at seeing her there, but Jess acted like her presence was a natural thing and managed to make herself known to possible future connections within the business. While she was doing that, Emma went to find Micah. It was still half an hour until the unveiling of the cover, and she wanted to get him alone and see if she could ferret out a little more truth about him and Kyle.
&n
bsp; Pure joy raced through her when she saw him talking with Will Deanes. Emma had been afraid Will would be a no-show, as the documentary screening had seemed to take a lot out of him, and this seemed like it could be another potential blow to him to see his friends “succeeding” yet again in their chosen sport. But here he was, and the wheelchair wasn’t. He was now supported—although shakily—by crutches. She hoped he wasn’t overdoing it, as it could be a long night.
But Emma stopped as she realised how he was looking at Micah.
He was looking at Micah like Micah looked at Kyle. He was drinking in every inch of Micah, laughing when he did, leaning in closely, letting Micah support him. It was, to quote David and Bacharach, the look of love. And Emma’s smile dropped. When had this happened? They had started off as enemies, and with a history too long to think about now. They had started slowly becoming friends, and Emma knew Micah had become a lot closer to Will after his accident. Will had really needed friends then, and Micah showed a side of himself Emma had never really seen before. And a side Will had never seen either. Obviously it had awakened something within him.
No, maybe she was misreading it all. Micah was so besotted with Kyle that Will would never get a look-in, and Emma couldn’t have Will vulnerable again when he was just starting to truly become himself.
But she had no control over boys and their hearts. And other parts. As Micah turned his back, distracted by someone passing behind him, Will continued to watch him, and his smile dropped to become one of a pained grimace. As awful as it felt, Emma hoped it was because he was overexerting himself and not because it was Kyle who had appeared and was now kissing Micah.
This was her time to jump in. She called Will’s name and was glad to see him smile again, even if it was just a front. They hugged awkwardly through the crutches, and he seemed happy with her suggestion to find a quiet corner and sit down.
Micah was still wrapped up in Kyle, and they were on the verge of becoming a spectacle.
“So that’s back on again,” Will said. His tone was flat, in what Emma could only guess was an attempt to sound neutral.