He shakes his head. ‘Water would be great. Thank you.’
I run the tap so it gets cold, reach for two glasses, fill one and pass it to him. He downs it, so I refill it. Again, it’s gone before I’ve even managed to start on mine.
God, he even drinks well. How can someone drink well?
It’s his hands. He has really good hands.
‘Bea?’
I jolt back into reality. ‘Huh?’
‘You OK?’
‘Yes. Sorry, I’m just so tired.’ And confused. Very confused.
‘I’ll go.’
‘Oh no, you don’t have to.’ Even as I say it, I think he does need to go.
He puts the glass down. ‘Do you want to grab a quick dinner?’
Faced with the potential of him actually staying, all of a sudden I feel the need to get him out of my apartment as quickly as possible. I put down my glass and stand up straight.
‘On second thoughts, I am actually really tired. You’ve been great, but all I can handle right now is my pyjamas. I don’t have the energy to go back outside into the world.’
‘You sure?’
No. ‘Yes. Please, I can’t be around people for any more of the day.’
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’m not “people”.’
Shit.
‘Peter, I—’
‘Bea, it’s OK.’ He looks down at the floor. ‘You’ve had a really long day and I get it.’ Then he looks back up at me. ‘But I’m not just people, I’m one of your best friends. I’m always here for you, and I’m not going to stop being here, even if you get grumpy or snap at me because you’ve had enough of me for the day.’
‘No, that’s not it, I could never have enough of you.’ Shit. What was that? ‘I mean …’ Yes, Bea, what do you mean? ‘I mean … thank you. Not many people would have come to help today, and not only did you help, but you were also really great at it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to pay you back.’
‘Bea, you don’t need to pay me back. I was happy to help.’ His smile eventually reaches his eyes. ‘So let me know whenever you need another pair of hands.’
He turns to go, and suddenly, although I told him to leave, I wish he was staying.
‘Peter, I really do owe you one. If you ever want to cash it in.’
CHAPTER 25
Penny once told me that she admired how I always brought my whole self to work. If I’m in a bad mood, I show it. If I can’t be bothered to wear office clothes, I don’t. If I want to buy at least one oat-milk latte a day, I will.
And so it feels totally OK to put in a maximum of 20 per cent effort the day after the independent art fair. I have other more important things on my mind, like new ideas for cards, finding and eating all the food I can to replenish my energy reserves, and dissecting the dream I had last night.
As dreams go, it started innocently enough, but then it ramped up quite quickly. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a sex dream, and I’m not too sure how I feel about it, but as with every dream, some details were kinda hazy and some were not. On the hazy side were things like the location – I’m not too confident where my dream was taking place. Part of me thinks it was in a beach hut because I remember seeing a large umbrella and possibly a walking dolphin, but I could be wrong about that. But on the decidedly not hazy side were things like the person. My co-star was Peter. I remember being just as shocked about this revelation in my dream as I am in real life.
And what was even more shocking was that he was good. As in, eyebrows-up good.
There was one particular moment when he came up behind me and—
Nope. I need to stop thinking about Dream Peter. I can’t risk confusing him with Real Peter. Imagine if I jump his bones next time I see him.
My thoughts are interrupted by a squawk.
Penny walks towards me and I ask her, simply with a raise of the brow, what is going on.
‘Someone has Joan’s mug.’
I double-check my mug – I am safe. My mug is one of the mass-produced, off-white versions.
As my reverie has already been disturbed, I head for the loo. Not meaning to be dramatic, but I have become approximately 95 per cent snot overnight. And because I’m a keen advocate of office etiquette, snot-snorting is only acceptable in the closed confines of the loo.
It’s cruel, I know, but there’s a part of me that’s excited to see what Joan is going to do to the person who has her mug. There’s not much by way of entertainment here for me, though I’m sure it’ll traumatize the assistants. Come to think of it, I’d better add it to the agenda for our next session – what if one of them gets PTSD on my watch?
Joan’s waiting for me at my desk. If she asks me to send an all-company email regarding her mug, I might lose it.
Instead she smiles.
‘Can I get you a fresh glass of water?’
Kind Joan looks odd, somewhat manic. It does not suit her.
‘Oh, no, but thank you.’
‘I ask –’ she really spits out the ‘k’ – ‘because you are using my mug as your water glass.’
I look down at my water glass.
‘This … glass is your mug?’
‘It is a specially designed mug with two layers of glass for a superior taste and hot-beverage drinking experience. I spent a lot of time researching the perfect mug.’
It’s definitely a glass.
‘I’m so sorry. It looks like a glass to me, but of course, have it back.’ I gesture to the glass, and as I do, I drop my tissue.
Her whole face flushes red.
‘Are you ill? You are ill! Why would you use someone else’s mug, their special mug, when you’re ill?’
I’m in for it now, and the awkwardness of the situation and the bright office lights are making me need to sneeze.
Please don’t sneeze. I shake my head from side to side, trying to knock back the urge. ‘Oh no, I feel fine, but I’ve been talking all weekend, which makes me sound like I have a cold.’
My eyes start to water. Please don’t sneeze.
‘Hmm.’
She stomps away with her ‘mug’, as I sneeze as quietly as is humanly possible into my sleeve. But fair play to Joan; a minute later she stomps back with a fresh glass of water.
She plonks it down and gives me another insincere smile. I can think of nothing that would make me sip from that glass. She definitely spat in it.
A few hours later I’m staring mindlessly at my nails. Some days fly by, and some days crawl at a glacial pace. Today is definitely the latter.
Which really isn’t helping distract me from Dream Peter. Maybe I should try to arrange to see Colin again? Our messaging has dried up since I cancelled on him last week in favour of fair prep.
Mia would love the mug incident. And now I do actually have some positive life updates for her.
Are you available for lunch?
I get there a bit early, and start fiddling with my bag, and my jacket, and my top, suddenly unsure of myself.
But then I see her walking towards me and I’m just happy to see her, and doubly happy that she’s smiling back at me. As soon as she comes within touching distance I hug her. Hard.
‘I’ve missed you.’ And then I don’t stop talking. ‘So much has happened and I’ve wanted to tell you everything but I felt weird and, wait … I’m so sorry.’ I don’t care that I am apologizing first. ‘I’m so sorry about not talking to you and kicking you out of my house. I’m sorry for being moody and not replying to your messages. I love you. You’re my best friend, and I hate it when things are even a little bit off between us. I don’t feel like myself.’
Mia’s hug back is equally firm.
‘Bea, oh my goodness. You’re not the one that needs to apologize. I’m the one who needs to apologize.’ She holds up a hand to stop me interrupting. ‘I should never have said those things about your cards, or about you. I love your cards, you know I love them. And I love you. You’re my best friend too. I should be
the one saying sorry.’
We breathe in sync for a while but eventually let go of each other. I think there are mini tears in both of our eyes.
She’s back, I’ve got her back. ‘Shall we get some food?’
As regular patrons of this particular salad bar, it takes us minimal time to help ourselves to each of our carefully curated salad choices. The only variance today is that I’ve gone for an extra helping of broccoli, in the hope it will make me healthy.
‘So, tell me – what’s been happening?’ I get the first question in so I can eat. I tuck in as soon as the question is out, aiming for the broccoli first. I should have put it closer to the top.
‘I’m pregnant.’
Not what I was expecting her to say.
I stop paying close attention to the broccoli and pull it out from the pile of salad much more quickly than I planned, spraying bits of quinoa everywhere in a glorious halo.
Speared broccoli still in hand, I can’t not talk. ‘Oh my God. This is amazing! You’re going to be such a good mum! I can’t wait till it’s old enough so I can give it margaritas. I wonder what the ickle bug is going to look like. I didn’t even realize you were trying to get pregnant. Are you happy? I can’t believe we’re going to have a baby. When are you due? Tell me everything. How are you doing?’
Perhaps I should have filtered those thoughts a touch.
She inhales and, in a calmer tone than I used, talks me through some of her feelings. ‘Well, to be honest it is a bit of a shock. We weren’t trying. Obviously I’m happy, I am …’ She slows down as she continues, ‘But it isn’t coming at the time I would choose to have a baby. I guess you can’t really control these things all the time, but I had thought we would be better at planning it in.’
‘So if you weren’t trying, what happened?’
‘I blame Mark. His cooking gave me such bad food poisoning that I couldn’t keep any food down for three days. It was so unpleasant. And it turns out when they say your protection against pregnancy may be affected if you miss a couple of pills, they’re not lying. We had sex once that month. Once! And from memory it wasn’t even that good.’ She eats a bite of her lunch, angrily chewing on some spinach leaves. She softens, just a touch. ‘I feel bad saying that. The sex was fine, but I’m angry and he’s pissing me off. Part of me wonders if he did it on purpose.’
‘He wouldn’t!’
‘No, rationally I know he wouldn’t. But – and this is horrible, so please don’t tell anyone – when I found out I was pregnant I was happy, but I was also pretty sad, and I still am.’ She has put down her fork and is gesturing slightly manically with her hands. She’s not typically a gesturer. ‘I want kids, I’ve always wanted kids, but kids weren’t in my plan for at least five years. We’ve had to cancel the honeymoon, I’m having horrible morning sickness, I feel fat, and I can’t return those ugly amphibious shoes I bought. I tried, but they’ll only give me store credit because I can’t find the receipt.’
‘So take the store credit?’
‘They only bloody sell amphibious shoes. And I’m not going to be going to the rainforest any time soon now, am I?’
‘Oh, Mia, that sucks. I’m not gonna lie to you. This is huge. A baby is huge. But it isn’t any more than you can handle. It might be more than your vagina can handle, but you are going to be a great mum. And Mark is going to be a great dad.’
Her shoulders slump. ‘What if my baby knows that not all of me wanted them at first? Do you think they can tell?’
For a moment, in the midst of Mia’s huge emotional crisis, I’m so glad to have her back. So glad that somehow the last few months feel like no time at all.
‘I don’t think they can tell.’ I give her my biggest thank-you-for-coming-back-to-me smile. ‘Besides, the fact you’re worrying about this tells me that you’re already on your way to becoming a good mum. From what I understand, the first thing on the job description is to worry.’
At this she smiles a small smile, enough for me to know that she is OK.
‘Ugh, I just wanted some time for me. And I know that’s selfish, but I feel like I’ve spent the last five years either working ridiculously long hours or planning a wedding, and neither of those things were really for me – both were for my family. And finally I feel like I have time for myself, the wedding is over and I’m in a good place at work, I have proved myself and am doing things I find interesting at last … and I don’t want to have a baby and mess that all up.’
‘Well, I don’t work in your company, so I don’t know what it will be like for you, and obviously everyone and everywhere is different, but I don’t think having a baby is as impactful on your career projection these days – I think companies have to be a lot more careful. At my company, people leave for maternity, but when they return they go straight back into the role they were doing before, if they want to. I think people are a lot more aware. Having a baby doesn’t make you a less important or less capable employee. If anything, it makes you more focused. And besides, everyone has shit going on outside work. And if they don’t, they should. Nobody wants to work with someone who only works.’ I genuinely hope what I’m saying proves to be true for Mia. But today is not necessarily about truth – it’s more about reassurance.
She makes a face. ‘When the other girl on my team told our partner in the firm that she was pregnant, his response was, and I quote, “Oh fuck.”’
Eek. ‘I think he needs to go on some kind of training.’
‘I don’t think it will help. What’s worse is that he’s seen to be one of the good ones – he’s even been nominated as an advocate for women returning to work. He says he knows what it’s like because he has two children of his own. He has no idea. He works away from home during the week and then plays golf half the weekend.’
‘Well then, make sure you bring in the baby and hand it over to him when he/she/it is about to drop a load. Feed it spicy beans in the run-up.’ I give her arm what I hope is a loving squeeze. ‘Is Mark excited?’
She smiles a very genuine smile. She always has been easy to console.
‘That is the one great thing. Mark is over the moon. He would have had babies years ago if it was up to him. But I don’t know what it is – like I said, at the moment he’s really pissing me off. He’s trying not to, but that pisses me off even more. It’s probably the hormones, but honestly, everything he does is annoying me.
‘For example, last night he was cooking me dinner – a fancy fish-finger wrap with thick-cut chips.’ She gets her love of a fish-finger wrap from me; I used to make these for her when we lived together. ‘And as I was watching him, I couldn’t help but look at him and think, “No. I love you, but right now I find you so unattractive I don’t know why I ever let you touch me, let alone knock me up.” And he’s got this bloody obsession with bowls at the moment, those big bowls that they serve ramen in. And let me tell you, bowls are really hard to store. They take up a lot of room in our kitchen cupboards. I swear, every time he leaves the house he comes back with another bloody bowl. And he only ever buys one at a time. He says he’s testing them out, but it just means we’re now the owners of a really large collection of mismatching bowls. If he brings another one home I might whack him over the head with it.’
‘Do you hate him a bit? Have you told him?’
‘I’ve tried, but every time I start, I burst out crying. Anything will set me off. It doesn’t have to be a sad emotion. It can be any emotion. Too happy? I cry. Too funny? I cry. Too gassy? I cry. I haven’t cried for years and now I can’t stop.’
I didn’t know ‘gassy’ was an emotion, but I let it slide.
‘Well then, maybe try to remember that you won’t always hate him and this is merely a phase.’
‘Good God, I hope it is a phase, because right now I can’t even stand the smell of him. I had to sleep on the sofa last night because the scent of him was making me too nauseous to sleep.’
I can’t help but feel slightly sorry for Mark. He loves Mia so
much but now, because of the shock and uncontrollable hormones, he’s public enemy number one.
‘Anyway, distract me. How are you?’
‘Which do you want first, the funny work updates or the life updates?’
‘Let’s go funny first and then life.’
As I had suspected, Mia was the perfect audience for the Joan mug story, laughing at all the right moments. She was also the perfect audience for the life updates. We’re well past the allotted hour for lunch, but she didn’t want me to stop.
‘I’m so proud of you.’
I’ve only just finished telling her about Colin’s growling. I haven’t even reached the card progress yet.
‘Proud? I slept with the emergency boiler man.’
She nods and makes a face that says, ‘Yeah you did. And it was good.’
This next thing I need to say is going to be tricky. I go slow so I don’t mess it up.
‘There is something that I think you will be genuinely proud of though. I’ve been putting more work into my cards.’ I avoid her gaze. ‘The argument we had, or whatever we want to call it, well … I didn’t like it, but you were right. I haven’t been fighting for anything, I haven’t been trying hard to succeed … I have been hiding a bit.’
‘Oh, Bea, I didn’t—’
Now I look at her. ‘No, you were right. I’m sorry that I put you into a position where you had to kick my arse. But you did, and my arse is now a little more in gear.’
‘It is?’
I smile. ‘Yes. It is. Peter’s actually been helping me. So I now have a plan, and things to concentrate on, and last weekend me and my cards actually went to a real-life fair.’
‘Bea! That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come!’
‘Well, I didn’t know what to expect – it might have been a total flop.’
‘And was it?’
I think. ‘No, it wasn’t. I didn’t make much money, but I did learn some things. And actually, one thing I did learn was that my cards are pretty OK in comparison to the other cards out there.’
‘Eek! This is great! Can I come to the next one?’
Just Friends Page 13