Scout must sense a change in me. She one-arm cuddles me to her and I take it. I wouldn’t dare ask for comfort but given to me like this I relish it. I cuddle around her mid-section and dig my head in.
Into her top, I say, “She wasn’t raped at ten by her mum’s lovely boyfriend. She’s never subconsciously or consciously stuffed up all her relationships for fear of the guys getting her alone and raping her.”
I push back and look at Scout. “She wasn’t allowed to be so depressed to want to end it all. She had no right. I was the dirty slut. I was the fuck up. The bitch.
“She couldn’t have helped it, even if she could have known right afterward. She didn’t know he would do it to me.” I punch the backrest behind me. Feels good. “In fact, I wish I could unleash on her about how much she’s violated the rules. She was not allowed to leave me after I finally connected with her properly.”
That last line turns my muddled thoughts into sense. I’m not mad at Mum one bit. Rather I’m mad at me, wholly. What a crap daughter I am. I went on to Aunty Nicole about Mum needing help when I didn’t see the signs of depression, didn’t realise how Mum would take that news infinitely worse than another person would. I blocked the signs, too.
Blocking.
I suppose I’m so good at blocking I don’t see that I’m like everyone else. I think shit about people who pretend to be happy and such. I’ve made myself believe my issues are okay and I’m fine. But really, I’m still like an explosive. No ignition, no troubles, no worries. But bring me the right fuel and I could explode.
After I explain more details to Scout about Mum, I feel more indebted about how much she’s helped.
“I just don’t know how I can thank or repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Um, Kalli?” Her voice is hesitant. “Maybe we’ll be even after this.”
“Not a chance. What happened?”
She plays with her cropped hair, scratching mindlessly while her mind seems a million miles away. “I swear to you. I swear the boys were asleep and all. But I just missed her. Fuck, and I know it sounds bad, but I was getting lonely. I hadn’t seen Steph in ages and I can’t bring her home …”
Scout stays silent, so I say, “You invited her here.”
“Yes! Ack, don’t hate me. It was the middle of the night, and the boys will never know.”
“I’m glad you are human after all. Now I do feel less shitty about you being so great to me.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Scout, ‘course you were lonely. As long as I don’t get surprised when I look in my bed, I’m thrilled. You shouldn’t hide your relationship with Steph.”
“Well, maybe one day soon.”
Scout determines I’m fine and sane, and she leaves me to unwind and get back to things here. The moment she leaves, I drop the boys off for their half-day at preschool. When I am home, I start Googling and dialling. After, I open up my savings account, and Mum’s. Thanks to my teaching, I earn much more than my friends. Between Mum and I, we have enough to get her started in a treatment facility. I’ll need a huge amount to keep us going, and that won’t explain how I can pay the bills, but I’ve realised my priorities.
One, university doesn’t matter if it’s going to take me somewhere I’d hate to be.
Two, my violin does matter. It would be amazing if I could earn enough money to help Mum doing something I love.
Maybe I can scrape together enough now I’m getting my life on track.
• • •
Nate visits us when Mum’s back.
He comes over with a plastic sheet thingy, filled with truck and car moulds. He brings out an easy recipe to make melted chocolate, which both he and Mum help to scoop in the moulds. After we let them set in the fridge and all three of us wash up and put the utensils back away, the boys watch TV in the living room further down.
At one point Mum seems to slide off, seemingly not hearing me talk, and instead wiping down the edges of the grooves in the mould. Later, though, she looks directly into my eyes with a full smile that tells me she’s back. The attempted suicide and initial treatment have planted her feet on the ground, but there are some odd moments and I worry for her still.
After, Mum kisses Nate on the cheek, says thanks, and takes the boys to play at the end of the house.
Nate stands behind the bench, fingertips perched on the surface, assessing me. I take him in, wondering how the hell to say thank you for including Mum and giving her free love, equal to the power her therapy with her psychologist has to change her way of thinking. He didn’t once make her feel she looked like she needed help.
Stepping to the edge, I rest my hands on it, crossed over at my elbows. Biting my lip, I risk looking at Nate.
His lips are parted, and the eye contact is firm, unmistakable. He swallows, and it’s a deep, sexy swallow that I can’t help but fawn over. He leans over, and just as I think he’ll kiss me, he whispers, low and deep, “Where are they?”
Taken out of the moment, I blink back surprise. “Who?”
“Your mum, and the twins.”
I can’t help but stare at his lips, still parted, and at his throat, swallowing again. “They aren’t coming back.”
Nate grins and grabs me under my arms, pulls me over the kitchen bench without straining much, just his neck blood vessels bulging under his skin, as he pulls me over.
I pull my knees forward and spread them out, meeting Nate around his hips. I hook my feet around under his ass.
With his hands on my shoulders, he kisses my collarbones and then settles his hands down my length at my waist. In his grasp my chest heaves, and I stare at him panting and breathless. What the hell am I going to be like when we actually do stuff again?
When he speaks, I have to pull myself back here. I get carried away with Nate’s scent. It’s light and woody, but mostly something unique that makes him, him. He looks from my chest to my lips and up to my eyes, and says, “Let’s go out. Now. I want to take you somewhere.”
As soon as he slides me off the bench leaving me to change while he waits in his car, I run around my room like a headless chicken. I dart to my wardrobe and start picking clothes to no avail. I need hours to put something amazing together, and then some space to decide if it’s a stupid choice, but I don’t have that. My hair will have to stay. I blow-dried it straight yesterday anyway.
I hop in the shower to wash my body only, and then come back to my closet with a gown wrapped around me. I grab my skinny jeans since if I need to stay warm, they’re the sexiest way to go on a date yet still retain heat. I put on my suede boots and wrap the straps around them, knotting it just behind my knee to hold the material up. I layer up with a low-cut tank top and a slouchy top.
I’m touching up my blush when Nate texts, and asks if I’m ready. I go speak to Mum and the boys, telling them we’re leaving. She touches my elbow and says thanks, with a faint smile showing through her expression.
We arrive at Pancake Parlour. The date’s looking up even more so from my view as I enter the mid-50s style diner. Maple syrup and chocolate and buttery smells are thick in the air. It’s the type of place I come to and feel more at place wearing jeans than a tight dress. Smiles are given freely, from both waitresses and customers alike.
Our table is a wall booth, the seats curled around the table leaving only the pathway side open. We slide in on opposite sides.
“Can I get you guys drinks to start?”
Nate and I lock eyes and I bite my lip, trying to hold in a chuckle.
Nate answers for us saying, “Yeah, vanilla chai lattes, if you have them please. Two.”
“Sure thing.” The waitress collects the drinks menu and leaves.
The thing about these restaurants is they are always busy, yet with separate booths I can’t stop looking at parts of Nate—never his eyes—and wonder how I can feel so exposed in this crowd.
My heart thrums in my ears, and it’s distracting trying not to wiggle my fingers in them or slap the s
ide of my head to make the heavy rhythm stop. I snatch up my gaze to Nate’s eyes to see him looking at his forearms crossed on the table. And I stare. What the hell do I say? That was one hot almost kiss before. I like being control, yet Nate pulled me over that bench like I was an empty sack. Then he seduced me in a way so hot, I’m still wondering how I didn’t ignite.
I know we’d never be here even trying to sort out a relationship if it weren’t for my epic stuff up, but I wish it didn’t happen right now. I could see how we’d otherwise be here, laughing over our vanilla chai lattes. I’d be giving Nate shit for admitting he likes it, and he’d respond like, Yeah? Go on. I’ll get you back later, and we’d end up leading to his stupid habit of calling the vibrato I do on my violin vibration, to sexual vibrations, which would end in us having a happy end to the night.
Thanks to me, though, I’m wondering how to even start a conversation with him about us. Together.
“I can see you, you know,” Nate says, starting as a whisper and ending in a firm tone, looking at me.
“Oh.” I duck my head and start looking through my handbag, which is stupid. I stop. “Well …”
“I like it.”
Still with my eyes diverted, I bite my lip, but my stupid little girl grin escapes anyway. He’s looking. There’s no hiding how happy I am that I know he likes that.
“Good.”
“Good,” he replies.
I nod. “Cool.” God, how stupid. Say something! “So, thanks for coming this afternoon. Mum’s been talking with me and therapy has been good, apparently, she says, but you made her feel normal and I think it helped her not being ‘that’ person with the problems.”
He smiles, then hmms to himself, probably thinking it over. “I just wanted to see you guys, make everything happy for once. It’s been so hard.”
“You did more for us than you realise. I love the twins, but I didn’t see until recently how much I still love my mum. I really can’t thank you enough for that little thing you did, because it was so big for me. She’s always felt different.”
I pause then, my throat too tight to talk and my cheeks heat up at the thought. Am I about to lose it? Here? I probably am so I finish off everything I have to say by nodding to the table, pressing my lips into a thin line and trying to make the hot flush dissipate.
“Kall?”
I lift my chin, my head feeling heavy. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
My chin drops. It happens too fast to hide it with another action. I gulp. Gulp, gulp, like a fish.
He sweeps a pensive glance over me. He says, “You are wild and crazy and fun and sexy and beautiful, right down to your soul, but you’re also helpless. Only, you don’t say it. You just help your friends, and give your hard-earned money to your family. You are a party animal, but looking after your loved ones will always come first, given the choice. And you don’t realise that you can speak to me without sounding wrong or bad. Because you’re like family, Kall Bell, and like you, you’re my first priority.”
“But … I hurt you so bad.”
“You’re human, Kall. You bottle it up and keep stuffing all your own problems down until it blows. It blew up that night. I’ve been thinking about everything, and you’re just as confused as I am about why it happened. I think I have a solution.”
I smile. A real smile that I let Nate see and feel. “How?”
“Come to me. I want to know. Everything you need to say or do. Just please don’t push me away again, because I’d rather be here for all the ugly and painful inside you, than pretend what we have is nothing, because that is pure torture.”
I take his hand over the table and lace my fingers through his. All I’m seeing is Nate. It’s only when the waitress drops off our coffees do I remember we’re at Pancake Parlour with all this noise that hasn’t existed for these last ten minutes.
I was trying too hard to force a conversation before. And now, it’s natural.
“I don’t want you to think I’m afraid,” I say. “Of you, or anything in life.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“I was afraid of myself before, my fears, never you. You’ve always made me feel safe, appreciated, and now … so much more.”
“I had bad news planned to say if you wanted to leave me again,” Nate says, dropping his chin.
“How did you think it’d turn out?”
He looks up, and squeezes my hand as he says, “Like this.”
“But I haven’t really answered you yet.”
“You did. You just can’t see what I see.”
When he turns over his fingers and mine, I can’t pull away. The only way I can unweave myself from him is if he or an external force separates me. A thought comes to mind and without thinking, I say, “You own part of me now.”
He turns my hand over in his palm. Squeezes. “You too.”
24
With Mum in therapy, I’m looking after the twins this afternoon. They have emptied out their storage bucket of blocks. They are mostly strewn over the rug, the best ones in a pile between them as they start building a structure. Knowing they’re busy, I sit my laptop in my lap and catch up on social media and emails.
And wow.
In the craziness of my recent life, it seems the internet stops for no nineteen-year-old. Facebook has 99+ notifications, I have countless tweets and messages, and a tonne of emails.
I start scrolling through the emails. There’s this, that. Spam, subscription newsletters, deals and such. Some from real people.
Then I see the two emails from Geoffrey at Summertym Entertainment.
The first one reads:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Interest in meeting regarding Saturday concert
Hi Kallisto,
I wanted to congratulate you, on behalf of myself and the acquisitions team at Summertym Entertainment. I love discovering new talent and, after seeing both your performances on Saturday (the Bach piece and your original composition), I would love to organise a meeting to discuss your interest in potential involvement with us in the future.
While Summertym Entertainment records many pop and R&B artists, in the last five years we’ve expanded focus to our Feel It label which solely records artists such as stage performers like yourself. We’re looking to bring a modern, conversational edge, and your young image and deeply moving talent is exactly what our director wants.
My telephone is attached under my signatory, so please do call if you want. Otherwise, I’m available by email.
Looking forward to discussing further!
Regards, Geoffrey
My mouth is suddenly dry, but grabbing a drink is far from my mind. I blink and my screen is still there.
Not trusting myself, since my senses are on alert, buzzing, I have to read through the email again. This wouldn’t be a prank, right? Why would someone go to the effort of creating such a realistic email address and type so formally, have every detail perfect? Spam is always written in broken English.
OMG, this might be real.
Sitting on the couch, reading from my laptop, the computer bounces in my lap wildly as my legs jitter. Looking back to my screen, it’s still there. Really there. This guy is serious. Then, as it sinks in, my hands start shaking and I wonder.
What if he signs me? What if I get a single or an album?
And then—
I scroll to the top of the email and check the date. He sent it the Monday after the performance: eleven days ago.
I missed the best opportunity of my life.
During my aftermath of panic, I realise I still have his second email to go through. If I lost my mind reading his first email, I’m a bundle of dread seeing the second one. I can’t think of a worse outcome than him extremely excited to sign me—me! a nobody!—to him politely withdrawing his offer because of my MIA stance.
I have to read it, though, so I go on:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Fwd: Interest in meeting regarding Saturday concert
Kallisto, I wondered why I haven’t heard back from you all week. Then I thought: you had no idea I was at the concert, I’ve never emailed you before, and you must have been wary of receiving a strange email. I’m forwarding my original email below just in case you didn’t see it.
I spoke to the lead organiser for the night and he had great things to say about you, not just about this year’s concert, but about your previous involvement and your history playing the violin. Your story intrigued me and so I Googled you, which brought me to the contact form on your blog/site.
I won’t pester you again, but I’ve also attached two documents about Summertym Entertainment and Feel It. In any case, please call or email me so we can chat if you’re still interested.
Geoffrey.
In my panic I do the only thing I can. I turn to the twins and ask for their opinion.
“So cool, Kalli!” Seth cries. “Are you famous?”
“Not yet,” I say. “It might never even turn into music on the radio and at the shops.”
Tristan sticks his head in front of Seth and taps my thigh as I sit on my feet. “But why?”
“Well, it’s lots of hard work, for one. There are lots of people like me trying to make their music sound good and sell. Maybe this Geoffrey man and I might not agree. Lots of reasons. But most of all, it’s lots of work. I could be on a ‘tour’ which means I go on a special holiday around the world to play and talk about my songs. I might not get home until really late some nights and I could be away for days, all the time for meetings and to record playing the violin.”
“We don’t care!” Seth says on behalf of them both. “Mummy is getting medicine to feel better, and your friend can stay here if you need to play violin.”
Being Kalli Page 17