by Jenna Cox
But I felt guilty for even thinking that. It had still been a nasty accident. And I had been driving. Even though it was the other guy’s fault, the other guy who had run the red light, I felt responsible. We had only been on that street because she was going to buy me a new phone.
And the car had hit her side, not mine. I knew I didn’t need to feel responsible for that, but I did.
So if she wanted her silk robe and an expensive coffee, well, I’d do that and stop thinking like an ungrateful brat.
I checked my phone now — my old one, since obviously we never got to the shop to get the new one. There was nothing at all wrong with this one. I’d never dropped it in a toilet or smashed the screen on a night out like Izzy had with hers. And even she had kept that one, just with tape over it to hold the cracked part of the glass together. Her parents made her wait until her contract ran out before they’d get her a new one. To teach her to be more responsible, she’d informed me, with a dramatic roll of her eyes.
There was a message from Izzy on my phone now. Asking how I was doing, if everything was okay, did I need anything? And it was only then that I remembered that it had been Izzy who answered the phone call from the hospital. In the frenzy, I was thinking it had been me, almost creating the memory of an urgent sounding nurse on the other end.
“For God’s sake, Izzy. Way to give me a heart attack,” I muttered to myself and laughed — drawing a quizzical glance from a well suited man passing me on the street — then I punched in a short reply to her message telling her everything was fine. I’d tell her about it when I got home.
I took my mum her coffee, then left her to it, telling her I’d visit her tomorrow, either at the hospital or at home depending on where she was by then.
“Don’t worry yourself, darling. Your father will be home tomorrow morning, and Ellie will be at home. You should be focusing on your classes. Lord knows, we’re paying enough for them,” she had said. “And speaking of money, do you have enough? Do you need some new clothes?”
I had stammered to justify my appearance, to assure her I wasn’t normally so mismatched. And then I’d walked out with a weird mix of feelings swirling in my gut, none of which I could name.
I thought of Brendan then. And the events that had been interrupted by the false alarm. And it was only when I took my phone out to text him that I realised I couldn’t — I didn’t even know whether he lived on campus or somewhere else, let alone have a number to call him on. So I texted Izzy instead.
Break out the vodka.
But this was Izzy, and she knew what my mum was like. She probably already had.
*-*-*
Izzy had the vodka out and had already started without me. Her eyes were bright and wide when I walked into the kitchen.
I plonked myself down on a stool at the bench with her and she pushed a glass with the clear alcohol already in the bottom. I picked up the orange juice and watched it swirl into my glass as I poured in silence.
Then I took a gulp and sighed.
“So what happened?” Izzy breathed. She was staring at me. And then I laughed.
“Shit, Izzy, nothing happened.” I laughed again at her screwed up face.
“Fuck. I thought your mum was, like, dead or something.” Izzy breathed out dramatically, dropping her head back in relief. Then she reached over and slapped my arm. “You could have told me. I was worried sick.”
“I sent you a message.”
“Oh. My phone went flat and I plugged it in, in your room ‘coz I can’t find my charger.”
“Of course,” I said, then I frowned. “Anyway, you’re the one who took the bloody phone call and made me worried sick.”
Izzy stretched her mouth into a kind of contrite grin and retreated behind her glass to sip more vodka.
“What exactly did they say on the phone, Iz?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Just the general gist — why did you think it was urgent?”
“Well, why would they be calling you to come in if it wasn’t?” she protested, thunking her glass a little too heavily on to the bench. Juice and vodka splashed out in little droplets.
“Because I asked them to. When I was in earlier, she was in X-rays and stuff, so I went home and they said they call me when she was back in her room.”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.”
I gulped the rest of my drink and started pouring another one, shaking my head. And then I started laughing. Izzy giggled uncertainly.
And then I laughed harder and had to put the orange juice bottle down.
And by the time Justin walked into the kitchen to investigate the commotion, both of us were clutching our stomachs, and gasping for air while tears streamed down our faces.
We tried to sober up when he looked at us, but when he raised his eyebrows it just set us off harder.
“What’s the gas, girls?”
“Huh?” Izzy said, and then relapsed into spasming laughter.
“What have I missed?”
“We thought… Kat’s mum… was dead,” Izzy gasped.
Justin’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “Alright…”
“But she’s… not,” I assured him, trying to catch my breath. “She’s just a spoilt bitch.”
We were off again. Izzy fell off her stool and we cackled like insane hyenas while Justin started cooking some rice and shaking his head, tutting.
Finally I stumbled off the stool and made it to the table in a little alcove beside the kitchen. I flopped down onto my back with a deep sigh, stretching out on the cushioned bench. Little spasms kept floating to the surface, but I was calmer now. I wasn’t even sure what I had found so funny. It was just the ridiculousness of it all. Of the whole situation. My mum. The accident. Brendan.
And suddenly, without warning, I wasn’t laughing anymore, I was crying.
“Oh, Kat. What’s wrong?”
Justin poked his head around the kitchen cupboards. “Drunk?”
“I am, but she’s only had one,” Izzy said, and she wobbled towards me where I still lay on my back sniffling. I slid into a sitting position and she sat down next to me, wrapping herself around me tightly, making soothing, cooing noises. I almost laughed again. “Is it that guy that was here?” she asked.
“What? No,” I said vehemently. “I only just met him. Why would I be crying about him? It’s just everything. I think it’s just relief. Or something. I don’t know.”
The tears were already subsiding. I sniffled a bit more and wiped my face on the sleeve of my green sweater.
“Is this boxer-shorts guy we’re talking about?” Justin called from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Izzy called back, ignoring my shushing. She’d obviously filled him in.
“You can’t have just met him,” Justin protested, popping round from the kitchen and sinking into a seat. He leant across the table looking at me pointedly. “Surely he didn’t just show up at your door with no pants on, and you were like, ‘Hey, I’m up for it. Come in a get busy.’” He waggled his eyebrows. “Then again, this is you we’re talking about.”
“Hey,” I said scowling. Justin leant back and folded his arms over his chest with a smug grin. “I didn’t do that today,” I said. And then I couldn’t help smiling. “I did that two days ago.”
Both Izzy and Justin sat upright with howls. Justin grinned.“Katherine Jade Miller. You little—”
“Watch it. Should we bring up your laundry list?” I said, waggling a finger at him.
“Fair enough.”
“Where did you pick up this stray?” Izzy asked.
“Stray?”
Izzy opened her mouth like a fish, then looked confused, as if I wasn’t just repeating her own words back to her. She looked to Justin for support.
“You’ve got to admit, Kat, you have kind of a habit of picking up lost boys and bringing them home to play with for a while,” Justin said.
“What do you mean?” I could feel my face getting hot, and I wasn’t so sure I act
ually wanted to hear any further explanation. But I was asking anyway. “Like who?”
“Well, Harry, case in point.”
“He wasn’t a bad guy,” I protested.
“Didn’t you buy him a new phone within the first week of seeing him?”
“It wasn’t a whole new phone — just a new screen. His got smashed at football.”
“So he said,” Justin said dubiously. “And even if it did, isn’t that his responsibility?”
“My parents give me too much money anyway. Why shouldn’t I share it around?”
“Like a charity case?”
I grimaced. “Fine, fine. Get me another drink, Iz,” I said, sinking my head down onto my folded arms on the table top.
“So how did you meet this guy, Boxer-Shorts Man?” Justin asked. I just groaned and didn’t look up.
“I thought he was well fit,” Izzy piped in from the bench where she was pouring my drink, plus another one for herself. “I would have invited him in, if you hadn’t.” She giggled.
I sat up and gestured my arms in her direction, raising my eyebrows at Justin. “Hey? Why am I getting picked on? Why don’t we go through Izzy’s last few ‘boyfriends’. Or your most recent floozies, hey?”
Justin just laughed. “Tina wasn’t a floozie.”
“She was an actual stripper.”
“So? That doesn’t mean she slept around.”
I just shook my head and laughed at Justin’s self-satisfied grin. “Double-standards.”
“I never said don’t see these guys. I was just pointing out the facts. I like dating strippers. You like picking up strays.”
“And I like everyone,” Izzy slurred, raising her glass to cheers the air. “Oops.” Half of her drink sloshed onto the linoleum. I shook my head as she put her cup down and went to get a dishcloth from the sink.
“Brendan’s not a— well, I don’t know what he is. It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t even have his number or anything, so probably won’t ever see him again.”
“Aw, I liked him,” Izzy piped up, reentering and squatting to wipe at the spill. She was just smearing it around the floor.
“You barely even met him.”
“She saw enough,” Justin said. “You can tell a lot about a man by his boxer shorts, she tells me.”
“More like by what’s inside them,” Izzy said.
Justin and I rolled our eyes at each other and laughed. “You didn’t see inside his, Izzy.”
“I could guess.” She stood up holding the dripping cloth. “And you did, I bet.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.
“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s just forget about Brendan Holt and his boxer shorts, shall we? Where’s my drink, Izzy?”
“Oh, right.” She whirled around, a spray of fine juice and vodka droplets spinning from the dishcloth, heading back to the kitchen.
“Brendan Holt?” Justin said.
“Uh, yeah?”
“I know him. He’s in most of my physics and maths classes. Smart kid.”
“Huh.” I didn’t really know what to say. It felt weird to be finding things out about Brendan’s real life, that he had a connection to my roommate. I realised he hadn’t seemed real before, like an actual person. He’d just been a guy in my bedroom until then, like he just disappeared out of existence when he wasn’t in my life.
Justin was chewing on the inside of his cheek, watching me. “What?”
“Uh. I don’t know what I should say,” he said.
“About what? About Brendan? Why, what do you— actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” I said. “It’s not like we’re a thing. I’ve met him twice. Probably will never see him again.”
“Okay, but if—”
“Phone’s ringing,” Izzy said re-entering the alcove and plopping a drink in front of me.
“You and phones,” I muttered. “It’s not mine.”
“Mine,” Justin said, pulling it from his pocket. He frowned at the screen, then he hit the answer button. “Hello?”
His eyes widened and he looked at me. I frowned.
“Hey, man. What’s—oh, shit. What—uh, yeah. She’s here.” Justin held the phone out to me. I just stared at it dumbly. He tilted it further towards me. “It’s for you.”
“What?” I screwed up my face. “Who is it?”
“Just take it. I’m sure he’ll explain.”
I looked at Izzy — who was just looking back and forth between Justin and me, bewildered — then back at the phone. Then I slowly took it.
“Hello?”
“Alright, Kat?”
I raised my eyebrows at Justin. “Brendan?”
“How are you doing? How’s your mum?”
“Uh. Fine. Yeah, fine. She’s going home tomorrow. It was a false alarm.”
“Oh, shit. That’s great. I’m glad everything’s okay.”
“Yeah. And thanks. Like, for driving me and everything.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
A pause.
“Um, so…” I started.
“Yeah, okay. I just wanted to check that you were okay. Could I talk to Justin again for a sec?”
“Uh, yeah…” I handed the phone back, then wrapped my hands around my drink, staring at him.
“Yeah?” I watched Justin’s face contort as he listened to whatever Brendan was saying. He kept glancing at me, and I was making what-the-hell faces at him.
“Shit. Okay, man. I’ll see what I can do. Be there ASAP.”
And then he hung up.
I waited. I splayed my palms out and stared at him, still waiting.
“Um… Brendan’s in jail.”
“What? What for?”
“Stealing a car.”
“Fuuuck,” Izzy slurred. And that said it all.
four
“YOU DON’T HAVE to come.”
“I’m already coming, Justin.”
“Yeah, but—”
“If I’m paying, I’m coming.”
I could see a tick in his jaw, but he didn’t say anything. He knew he couldn’t get together enough for the security payment so quickly without me.
I stared out the bus window. It was raining outside, drips of water criss-crossing the glass turning the lights from the street beyond into a blurred kaleidoscope.
“I thought you said he was a smart kid,” I murmured.
“I meant in science and maths. I said nothing about life.” I could feel him looking at me, but I stayed staring out the window. “Why are you helping?”
“I guess I’m not so smart in life, either,” I said. Then I laughed wryly and looked at him. “If it was anyone else, any other of your friends, you know I’d help you out. So just because it’s Brendan… I don’t know… should that make it more or less of an issue?” I shrugged. Then I lay my head down on Justin’s substantial shoulder. He shifted so he could put his arm around me, and he slowly rubbed my arm. The smell of him was comforting. I felt a lot of things deeply for Justin, like a brother.
Maybe that should have been a little weird, considering we had slept together on the second night we’d moved into our housing on campus. But it didn’t feel weird — and now I didn’t know what I’d do without him. We got along so well, but had quickly realised we weren’t each other’s types.
I wasn’t a stripper and he wasn’t enough of a fuck up. We’d actually joked once that if he became a drug dealer or stole a car, then maybe we’d have a chance. I laughed out loud remembering that, a sharp, harsh sound.
“What?” Justin said.
“What is wrong with me, Justin?”
“Nothing. I think you just try too hard to not be like your parents, to care about the people they despise.”
“Huh.”
“Maybe that shouldn’t filter so much into your love life, though.”
“I didn’t know he was a car thief.”
“Neither did I. Honestly, before this I was going to tell you, you could do worse.”
I laughed. Then sighed and sta
red back out the window.
“He stole it for me,” I murmured quietly.
“What?”
“When I got the phone call — or Izzy took the phone call — and I thought something terrible had happened, he offered to drive me to the hospital so I could get there quicker. I thought it was weird when he pulled up in a BMW like my dad and all his cronies drive, but I was just thinking about getting to my mum.”
“Oh my God. That’s, like, the most fucked up romantic shit I’ve ever heard.” Justin laughed like it was the joke of the year. I just blew out air with puffed cheeks.
“So it’s kinda my fault. Maybe that’s why I’m coming to help.”
“It’s not your fault. He could have just not offered to drive. Besides, pretty sure it’s actually Izzy’s fault.”
“Ha. Yeah.”
I tucked myself deeper under his arm and we rode in silence until our stop.
The fluorescent lighting in the police station was harsh and jarring after the dream-like blur of the rainy night outside, and I found myself standing dumbly while Justin did all the talking. We were invited to wait on stiff, plastic chairs along the wall. But when I looked at the only empty ones and the girl beside them stared at me through long dark hair with bloodshot eyes, like she was staring into my soul, I elected to stand. And I shuffled a little closer to Justin.
Then someone stumbled up to the desk near us, shouting incoherently. I wasn’t sure if it was his drunkenness or his thick Liverpudlian accent, but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. And neither could anyone else.
A baby started wailing and its teenage mother was jiggling it futilely. Someone finally escorted the shouting man into the back somewhere.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the cream of English society,” Justin murmured. I laughed nervously. Not because it was funny. Because it was all so un-funny that if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.
And because I had the vague, unsettling feeling that I wasn’t so far removed from anyone here. That perhaps all that kept me on this side of the desk was my parents’ money.