Everything Between Us

by Harper Bliss

  I cock my head. “I really don’t. Only what I pick up from working at the Pink Bean.”

  “Well, yes. That’s what I mean. The silent bystanders are always the ones who know most.” She folds her lips into a smile. “It’s not easy, you know. Just coming back to Australia like that. Part of me feels like a coward for leaving the States now, when the country needs voices like mine the most. But the last election truly gutted me. And I’d been toying with the idea of coming back. I never saw myself staying in the US and growing old there. It’s just not the place for it. But when you go away for more than ten years, people have moved on. Most of the people I was friends with before don’t even live in Sydney anymore, apart from Sheryl.” She gives a small shake of the head. “We were such good pals back in the day. The kind that can always just pick up where we left off. She’s the reason I moved to this neighborhood.” She suddenly scoots up. “How rude of me. I haven’t even offered you anything to drink. Please, allow me to serve you this time.”

  I smile up at her. “Just some water, please?”

  “Water? Are you kidding? I know we have to keep our urges in check around Sheryl, but come on, let’s have something stronger.”

  “Just the one then. I’m driving.”

  “We’ll get you an Uber if things get out of hand.” Caitlin opens what looks like an authentic seventies sideboard to reveal an extensive booze collection.

  Uber. She must be kidding. The only reason I even have a credit card, with the tiniest credit limit I could get, is for extreme emergencies. Getting home after a bender isn’t one. Besides, it’s Friday afternoon. Caitlin might be on a sabbatical, but I most certainly am not.

  As she pours amber liquid into a glass, I push the amount of work I have to the back of my brain. Having the job at the Pink Bean is a godsend, but it does eat into my time. I take a deep breath and think of this as necessary research, though I know very well I’m only fooling myself. This is a pure fan girl moment. I allow myself to enjoy it, and relax my hunched-up shoulders a little.

  Caitlin hands me a glass and her eyes linger on mine for a split second. I promptly forget all about my other work.

  “When did you get back from the US?” I vow to push my insecurities aside and enjoy the moment. For someone with as many hang-ups as I have, that means having a normal conversation. I’m also curious. I want to know everything about Caitlin James that her Wikipedia page doesn’t mention.

  “Just a few weeks ago. I got lucky with this place. It had been on the market for a while and it came with some furniture I actually like.”

  “It’s really nice.” I let my gaze wander around again. I think of my and Eva’s dingy flat, now often even more unkempt because of Declan being there half the time. He probably spends more hours there than I do.

  “So, body positivity, huh,” Caitlin says after a sip of her drink. I haven’t tasted it yet but the bitter smell of whiskey wafts up my nose and makes me feel queasy. I haven’t had lunch yet. “It’s a big movement in the States, but not so much yet here, to my knowledge. If you need introductions to anyone in the US for an interview, I can help.”

  “That’s very nice of you.” I bring my lips to the edge of the glass and tip it back gently. The liquor stings my throat and makes me cough. Caitlin doesn’t seem to have the same problem. She sits there all cool and casual, one long leg slung over the other, leaning back in the sofa as though she’s about to be photographed for the back of one of her books.

  “I was in your shoes a long time ago, so I’m happy to help. Though back in the days when Sheryl and I were PhD students, body positivity wasn’t much of a subject yet, let alone part of a movement.”

  “Different times have different things to fight for.” I put the glass down because the smell is starting to make me sick.

  “Are you? Fighting for something, I mean?”

  “Aren’t all of us in the Gender Studies department? We’re a small group, but we all have strong beliefs.” I think of the long talks, deep into the night, Eva and I used to have before Declan came onto the scene.

  Caitlin gives a small smile. “Do you know what I did my thesis on?” She slants her head back a little, exposing a pale neck. “God, it seems so long ago.”

  “Of course I do. Polyamory and non-monogamy in a historical and religious context.”

  “Have you read it?” Her eyes are back on me.

  “I’ve read most of the dissertations written for the Gender Studies department in the past twenty years.”

  “Good grief. That’s dedication.”

  I tilt my head sideways. “I think it’s normal.”

  Caitlin scrunches her lips together and nods. “You’re a serious one. I like that.” A hint of a smile again. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do once you have your fancy degree that no corporation will take seriously?” She holds up her hands. “Hey, I should know.”

  “It would be great to teach.” Of course, I’ve thought about it, but options are limited. If only I’d had the common sense to get an MBA. I’d most likely have a high-paying job in a bank somewhere by now; and my parents and I would never have to worry about having enough money for Bea’s care. But I followed my heart when I decided what to study. I’d rather work in the Pink Bean four hours a day and follow my passion than worry about other people’s money all day long.

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Caitlin shifts in her seat, drinks more whiskey. “It used to be, but over the years, it all has become much more politicized. Grant money has gotten tighter. People in general—even the students—have become much more uptight.”

  I wonder if I’m included in Caitlin’s definition of uptight people in general. “It’s early days for me. I have at least three more years to go.”

  Caitlin nods. “Enjoy them. I never realized it then, but those years before I got my PhD were magical.”

  “Do I detect some nostalgia in your tone?”

  “Maybe.” She circles a fingertip over the rim of her glass. “I wonder if that’s the true reason I invited you here. It’s like a glimpse into my past.”

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now you’re back in the motherland?”

  “Give me a break. I’ve only just returned home.” She chuckles and the sound of it loosens something in me. I reach for my glass of whiskey. “I might write another book and do some guest lectures. Sheryl and I have been talking about me doing one at Sydney Uni. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be allowed on television if ever a women’s issue comes up.”

  “So basically do here what you’ve been doing in the States?”

  She juts out her bottom lip. “Yeah. We’re all creatures of habit, after all.”

  This makes me think of my own habits—and how I’m breaking them today. Mornings are for earning money. Afternoons for research and all the tasks that come with being a Teaching Assistant. It has been like that for two years now. Drinking whiskey in a beautiful, interesting woman’s penthouse in the middle of the day is very much not part of my routine. Teaching the graveyard tutorial on Gender and Media on Friday afternoons at three, however, is. I’ll need to have some lunch before I teach and stop by home. Traffic will be hell to get to Camperdown. I don’t want to—I’d like to sit here and chat with Caitlin all afternoon—but I need to get going.

  “Thank you very much for inviting me into your home.” I push myself out of the sofa, trying to do it as elegantly as possible. “I’m teaching this afternoon so I need to get a move on.”

  “Of course.” Caitlin rises in one fluent, graceful motion. “You’re always welcome here.” She puts her glass down and walks me to the door. “Don’t forget your book.”

  I stand by the front door awkwardly, unsure of how to appropriately thank her for the gift.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at Micky’s.” Caitlin brings her hands to my shoulders, touching them lightly, and pecks me on both cheeks.

  Chapter Five

  When I work at the Pink Bean, I usual
ly wear jeans and a T-shirt. I can’t possibly show up at Micky’s wearing what is essentially my work uniform. I wonder what Caitlin’s outfit will be. Will she glam it up? There’s no doubt in my mind about what Sheryl will be wearing. The same clothes she always does: faded jeans, button-down shirt and if she’s feeling frivolous, a vest.

  I’ve been invited to Kristin and Sheryl’s for dinner before, but that was entirely different to tonight’s event. I’m of half a mind to ask Declan if I can borrow his bike so I can have a drink and relax a little more, but it’s a half hour journey to Darlinghurst and I don’t want to arrive all sweaty.

  I heave a sigh. I feel like a child going to a grown-up’s party.

  “Can I go as your date?” Eva asked me this morning. “I’m so jealous.”

  “Are you jealous of my nerves as well?”

  “Relax. It’s going to be great.”

  “Micky only invited me because she felt sorry for me. And I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Why so negative?” Eva’s voice was stern. “Caitlin will be there, remember?” Eva could hardly offer me a swanky item from her wardrobe to borrow.

  “How could I possibly forget?” Ever since asking her to sign those books, Caitlin has occupied most of my thoughts.

  I pull the black and white polka dot dress from its hanger. I bought it at a thrift store for twenty dollars three years ago. It’s the most festive piece of clothing I own so it will have to do. I tie a black bow into my hair, apply some lipstick and head out of the door to Micky’s.

  When I ring the bell, Amber opens the door, reminding me again of how close friends they are.

  “It’s always the ones who have to travel the farthest who arrive first. I really appreciate that, Josephine,” she says, and kisses me on both cheeks.

  I hand her the cheap bottle of wine I’ve brought, hoping she’ll dispose of it discreetly before anyone sees it. It’s one of the reasons I arrived so early I had to sit in my car for ten minutes before ringing the bell.

  “It smells really good in here.” I follow Amber into the open plan living room.

  “Micky is currently wrestling with a mushroom risotto—”

  “I’m done fighting.” Wearing an apron, Micky comes to greet me. “And for your information, it would have been a seafood risotto if someone were not vegan.”

  “And I believed you were happy to have me back,” Amber says.

  Micky kisses me on the cheeks, ignoring Amber.

  “Lovely place,” I say, hoping Amber will hide the wine soon.

  “About time I invited you after all the time we’ve spent behind that counter together.”

  “I have taught you many a barista secret. That’s true.”

  Amber is rummaging around in the kitchen and, to my relief, the bottle of wine is out of sight before the bell rings again.

  “I’ll get it,” Amber shouts.

  While she’s opening the door, Micky says, “She won’t say it as such, but she’s a little overexcited about seeing Martha again.”

  “Ah.” I sit and think about Caitlin questioning Amber’s relationship status yesterday. I’m glad Professor Waltz is coming tonight.

  Martha, Robin, Kristin and Sheryl arrive and there’s a flurry of activity and pecks on the cheeks.

  “Hi, Josephine,” Martha says. “Don’t you live near uni? If I’d known you were coming, we could have hitched a ride together.” It makes me wonder who else doesn’t know I was coming.

  We all sit. Amber pours drinks, wine for most, apart from herself and Sheryl.

  “Of course, Caitlin is late,” Sheryl says.

  “Look who’s talking,” Kristin replies. “The number of hours of my life I’ve spent waiting for the two of you.”

  “But we’re worth the wait, aren’t we?” Sheryl, dressed exactly as I had predicted, pats Kristin on the knee.

  By the time Caitlin arrives, I’ve finished my first glass of wine, and I make a mental note to take it easy. Sheryl might be the most casual person, but she’s still my boss. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of any of these women.

  “Don’t you look nice,” Caitlin says, causing my cheeks to catch fire instantly, after kissing me hello. She ends up sitting next to me in the sofa and I try not to let my thigh bump into hers too much.

  “I know we’re not here to talk shop.” Sheryl turns herself toward the corner of the sofa where Caitlin and I are sitting. “But I’ve managed to convince Caitlin to do a guest lecture next week. Josephine, if you would be so kind as to make Professor James feel as welcome as possible. Give her the VIP treatment.”

  “Is there any other?” I turn to Caitlin. “You’re in good hands with me.”

  “Oh, I know.” She gives me an unsettling wink, then turns to Sheryl. “We’ve been getting to know each other better.” Her tone is so suggestive, my breath catches in my throat.

  “I’m in charge of entrees.” Amber gets up.

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Martha follows her into the kitchen.

  “Good to know the chemistry between those two is still through the roof,” Kristin says.

  “True, but Amber is still Amber. So…” Micky’s tone is musing.

  “We can hear you,” Amber shouts from the kitchen. She and Martha burst out into a giggle.

  When we sit down to eat, everyone seems to organically pair up, especially Amber and Martha, and I’m left sitting next to Caitlin. I’ve had two glasses of wine, the second one sipped slowly, and the mere thought of sitting next to her in such a configuration does something to my stomach. Which is good, because then I won’t eat too much. Not that I ever would in company.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” I say to Caitlin.

  “I wouldn’t call it stuck.” She gives me the widest smile I’ve seen on her. Something else shoots through me. Asking me up to her place yesterday. The offer to help with my thesis. The compliments she keeps paying me tonight. No. I push the thought away. It’s not possible. She’s just playing. Perhaps even testing me. Or trying to make Amber jealous, not that she would notice in a million years.

  A self-conscious stiffness descends on my limbs. I reach for my freshly refilled glass slowly in order not to knock anything over on the table.

  “A toast to Amber.” Sheryl raises her glass. “Good to have you back.”

  “This means you have to go back to yoga,” Robin says to Micky. “No more laziness for you.”

  “I really believed you were practicing for yourself these days and not just to do me a favor,” Amber says, a scolding note in her voice.

  “I tried to get her to try CrossFit, but to no avail.” Robin giggles.

  “I don’t have a death wish, thank you very much,” Micky says.

  “But you do like getting your hands all over your girlfriend’s CrossFitting abs,” Robin jokes.

  “I shan’t even try to deny that.”

  “I’ll go with you, Micky,” Sheryl says. “Now that I’m sober I seem to have so much extra time on my hands.”

  For a while, Sheryl was pretty out of it at work. I’d always known she liked a drink—who doesn’t?—but things got pretty ugly for a couple of months. I’m in awe of how she has sorted herself out.

  “Maybe we should all go,” Caitlin butts in.

  “I’ll give you a private group lesson. You can pay by becoming loyal members of the studio I plan to open soon,” Amber says.

  I tune out the conversation, because I don’t want to listen to their plans for communal exercise. There’s no way I will ever share a yoga studio with these seven living and breathing ads for fitness after forty, let alone squeeze myself into a locker room with them. I’ll work out the way I’ve been doing for the past ten years: alone. My ample breasts strapped into a bra that looks more like a piece of armor, which is probably the most expensive piece of clothing I own. Keeping my breasts in check while I run is one of the only luxuries I afford myself.

  I pray the conversation will flow toward the topic of Amber
’s studio, something I’ve heard mention of in the Pink Bean for a while. Her trip to India must have galvanized her plans. But Sheryl especially seems very keen on the idea of private yoga sessions for their group. Kristin encourages her, while Martha grumbles and Robin says she’s not a yoga person.

  “We don’t all have to go,” Robin says. “I for one think it’s most important to do the kind of exercise I love. It shouldn’t be a chore.”

  “Oh, this should be good.” Micky leans back and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “I’m not biting,” Amber says. “Robin is right. With yoga in particular it’s very important to come to the mat with the right intention. I’m not saying a challenge amongst friends isn’t as good a starting point as any, but I wouldn’t want anyone to feel forced.”

  “Let’s think about,” Caitlin says. “No need to make any decisions right now.”

  Sitting so close to me, I wonder if she can sense how uncomfortable the conversation is making me.

  “Your very own studio, heh?” I ask Amber. If no one else will steer the topic that way, I gladly will.

  “All I need is a bunch of money and a suitable space,” she says, on a sigh. “Piece of cake.”

  “You can do a crowdfunding campaign,” Robin says.

  “Or talk to some bankers I know,” Micky adds.

  “We should talk,” Sheryl says. “Not only do I have more time on my hands, our wine budget has shrunk as well.” She gives a self-conscious chuckle.

  I excuse myself to go to the bathroom while they continue their conversation about yoga. I check myself in the mirror and try to imagine what Caitlin saw when she said I looked nice. I squint, tilt my head, smile broadly, but for the life of me, I can’t see it.

  Chapter Six

  Sunday is the only day of the week I don’t go for a run, but I get up early all the same because I have to call Bea. I tried negotiating with her to call at a later time, but she wouldn’t budge. After I’ve spoken to her, I try to get back to sleep, but the dinner party rummages around in my mind.