Taking the Plunge

by J. B. Reynolds

  Evan looked down at her. “Well, no,” he said, his tone softening, “I guess I wasn’t. But I was just having fun. I don’t want you to fall in love with me.”

  The tears came and she wiped them away with a sodden glove. “And why not? You’re a nice guy, unlike Lawrence. Why can’t I be in love? I deserve it.”

  “That’s not the point! You were married. You can’t just fall in love with the next guy that comes along after you separate — that’s crazy. Besides, how do you even know I’m a nice guy? If you really knew me, you’d think different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He lowered his head, turning away. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Look, I’m sorry… please don’t cry.” He reached down to her again. “Come on. We need to get out of here before someone else mows us down.”

  She slapped his hand away and pushed herself awkwardly to her feet. Shifting her weight, she began sliding down the hill. “See you at the car.”

  “Kate, don’t. Wait for me.”

  She ignored him and carried on down the mountain, alone.

  When she got back to the car after returning her board and boots to the rental shop, Evan was waiting for her. She avoided his gaze, opening the boot so he could put his gear inside. Without speaking, they climbed in and she started the engine.

  They were halfway down the mountain before Evan broke the suffocating silence.

  “I’m sorry, Kate, but I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “You know. Keep seeing you. Carry on a relationship. I… I don’t… I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  “Neither am I. I just got carried away, is all. We’ve had a good time so far, haven’t we?”

  Evan nodded. “Yeah, we have.”

  “So why end it?”

  “Because I don’t believe you. I think you are looking for something serious. You’ve got a house and a kid. You’ve got responsibilities. The only thing I have to worry about is... me.”

  “That’s a pretty selfish attitude.”

  Evan shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He turned away and looked out the window, saying nothing more. Kate gripped the steering wheel tighter as the road narrowed to squeeze around a promontory of rock, the drop-off sheer and jagged to the switchback below.

  “I’m not asking you to take care of Corbin and me,” she said. “I can do that myself. I just… I like your company.”

  “I like yours too.”

  “Then why stop? I’m sorry I said I love you. I take it back. I don’t love you at all. Actually, you’re kind of a jerk.”

  Evan laughed, and she was pleased she had lightened the mood, but then he turned back to her, his expression sombre.

  “I just don’t want any sort of commitment, Kate. I’m not ready for that.”

  “So don’t commit. Let’s just have fun.”

  Evan gave a sad sigh. “I don’t think I can. Not anymore.”

  Kate shook her head and clutched the steering wheel till her knuckles turned white. Why are men such arseholes? Her stomach churning, she was reminded of the early days of her pregnancy with Corbin, retching over a bucket at the side of the bed. She’d been angry then too, angry with Lawrence for doing that to her body. That time, however, the anger was mixed with the joy of knowing that at the end of it all there’d be a beautiful baby to hold and cherish.

  They continued in silence to the bottom of the mountain. Approaching Evan’s car, Kate said, “So… what now? I just drop you here and that’s it? We go our separate ways and never see each other again?”

  Evan shrugged. “I guess.”

  She wanted to slap him then. No, not slap him — that wouldn’t hurt enough. She wanted to close her fist and punch him, right in the nose. She imagined doing it, imagined the crack and his eyes watering and the blood flowing, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

  She stopped beside his car. He got out, grabbed his snowboard and backpack from the boot and leaned in the passenger door.

  “Goodbye, Kate. Thanks for… for everything.”

  Wow. How can you be so cold? Out loud, she said, “Goodbye, Evan.”

  Kate watched him transfer his gear into his car, climb in and drive off. Instead of his face, she punched the steering wheel, again and again, until her knuckles hurt too much to continue. She slammed the horn instead, the sound echoing through the valley, a keening wail to replace the one she felt inside but was too tired to let out.

  NINETEEN

  When Evan walked in the door, Yumiko was rolling out dough on the kitchen bench and listening to Beth Orton. She turned and gave him a sweet smile. “Hey babe, how’s it going?”

  “Good. You? I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t stay angry at you forever. And it is pizza night.”

  He smiled at that. “I’m glad you’re here.” He hung his jacket on the wall and approached her, placing his hands on her hips and pecking her on the cheek.

  “You been boarding? I thought it was your day off?” she asked.

  “It was. Brin went home sick so they asked me to come in.”

  “Oh, okay.” She sprinkled flour onto the dough and rolled it out, following the compass points so the dough formed a rough circle. Peeling the circle off the bench, she laid it on the pizza pan, then cut around the overlapping edges. She took another lump of dough, sprinkled it with flour and began rolling again. “I thought we could do one Hawaiian and one with salami and olives. Sound okay?”

  “No anchovies?”

  “You can shove your anchovies up your arse. I don’t know how you can stand those things.”

  He laughed and watched her work the dough, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. He was glad she was home but had no desire to return to the subject of their recent conflict, and he could still feel the taste of Kate on his lips. He’d stopped for a few beers on his way home, hoping they’d make him feel better. They hadn’t, and he’d sat staring at the bottom of his fourth pint glass, not wanting to return to a cold, empty house, wishing Yumiko would be there. His wish had been granted, but now he felt dirty and ashamed, knowing he didn’t deserve it.

  He lifted up the collar of his jumper and sniffed. If guilt smelled like stale sweat, then he was sure-as-hell guilty. “I’m just gonna take a shower, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure, babe. I’m all good here.”

  In their bedroom, he pulled off his boots and slipped out of his snow-pants, dropping them onto a tattered armchair in the corner of the room. As he did so, something white slipped off the armchair onto the floor. Reaching down to retrieve it, he saw it was an envelope, addressed to Yumiko from the Department of Immigration. The envelope was sliced open and he removed the letter within and unfolded it.

  It was short and to the point. Yumiko’s application to extend her working visa had been declined.

  “Shit,” he whispered.

  “You all right in there?” Yumiko called.

  “Yeah.” He quickly folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. “Just stubbed my toe on the leg of the bed again.” He slipped the letter beneath the pile of clothes on the armchair.

  “Man, I hate that bed. We really should get a new one.”

  “Yep, we should.” Not much point if you’re going back to Canada. He headed into the bathroom in his underwear. Yumiko gave a short wolf whistle as he passed.

  “Looking good, babe.”

  “Thanks.” In the bathroom, he turned the shower on, as hot as it would go. Stepping in, he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh, long and slow, as the steaming water rushed over him.

  Twenty minutes later he still wasn’t any clearer on what his next step should be. The door rattled and Yumiko’s voice came from the other side.

  “You staying in there forever? The pizzas’ll be ready soon.”

  “I’m just finishing up.”

  Evan turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He wrapped a towel around his waist, then bit his l
ip and opened the door.

  Yumiko was cleaning flour off the kitchen bench. “Feel better?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I bought a bottle of shiraz. Want a glass?”

  “Ahh… sure,” he said, heading to their room to get dressed.

  When he returned, she pushed a glass across the counter towards him. “Here you go.”

  He closed his fingers around the stem while Yumiko raised hers and swirled the red liquid around. She looked at him, her expression serious, then said, “Cheers. Here’s to pizza and alcohol.”

  Evan blinked and clinked his glass against hers. “To pizza and alcohol,” he repeated, taking a sip, at a loss for what else to add. She flashed him a smile and went back to cleaning up.

  She’d been so angry with him yesterday morning. Only yesterday? It seems so much longer. Why the change? The letter was dated 13th August, almost two weeks ago. Why hadn’t she told him about it?

  He took another sip of wine and closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. She was here and she was making dinner. That was the important thing — the thing he needed to focus on. He couldn’t risk fucking that up. He opened his eyes again. “Soo…” he said, tentatively, “how’s Noemie?”

  “She’s good,” came the simple reply. “Sit down, hun, the pizzas are almost done.”

  He did as he was told and fell into the couch, slopping wine over the rim of the glass and onto his hand. He checked Yumiko wasn’t watching before licking it off.

  “Jamie’s good too,” she continued. “When he first moved in I figured he’d drive Noemie nuts, but they’ve actually become good friends. He’s less annoying when you get to know him better.”

  Evan wasn’t so sure about this. In the time he’d known him, Jamie had proved time and time again that beneath the brashness and exuberance of his public persona lay a man who always acted in his own self-interest. Like a used-car salesman, slick and silver-tongued, he’d talk you into something you thought you wanted, and it was only later you realised that you hadn’t wanted it at all, and that the only person who ever had was Jamie.

  “Well, I hope she’s careful. There’s only one person Jamie really cares about, and that’s himself.”

  “Oh, come on — he’s not as bad as that.”

  Evan shrugged. “Maybe. But you haven’t known him as long as I have.” Relieved that they had a neutral topic to discuss, he continued, “He must’ve tried to crack onto her?”

  “Yeah, but you know how blunt Noemie can be — she made it clear she’s not interested. Not that it prevents him from flirting shamelessly. It’s a joke between them now.”

  “Yeah, ‘cept he’s probably not joking.”

  Yumiko snorted and opened the oven door. “Ahh, there we go. Pizzas are done.” She removed both pans and dropped them onto the bench.

  “Need a hand?”

  “Nah. Just sit back and relax.” She cut and plated the pizza, then brought them to the coffee table in front of the couch. “Wanna watch some TV?”

  “Sure.”

  She turned the stereo off and the TV on, then sat on the couch and switched through the channels, settling on Home and Away. She turned to him, nibbling on her pizza, and said, “This is nice.”

  He looked at her. Her short black curls rested on the shoulders of a loose woollen sweater, and she was wearing her favourite necklace, a simple chain with a small silver statue of St Christopher hanging from it. The skin on her neck looked soft and pale, and he was struck with a sudden desire to take her in his arms and bite it, to have her squirm in ecstasy beneath his teeth, vampire and victim becoming one.

  “Yeah,” he said, taking another sip of wine, “it is.” He put his glass down and rested his hand on her leg. She didn’t move it.

  Yumiko took her last bite of pizza, leaving the crust uneaten, and lowered her plate to the floor. Shifting on the couch, she curled her legs into a foetal position and rested her head in Evan’s lap. He stroked her hair and, feeling guilty, thought about Kate. Part of him wanted to tell Yumiko about her, to come clean so he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt, but he knew that would be the end of their relationship, and in this moment, feeling the weight and warmth of her upon him, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want her to return to Canada, didn’t want her to leave him, didn’t want to be alone. He needed her beside him, and she needed him — needed him to love her and protect her — and he couldn’t let the immigration department get in the way of that.

  She pushed herself off his lap. “Better get these dishes done, I guess.”

  Evan stood to help her, but then checked himself. “No,” he said. “You know what? The dishes can wait.” He took her by the hand and led her to their bedroom, closing the door behind them.

  “Whatcha doing?” she whispered.

  “You’ll see.”

  He rummaged in a drawer and found some matches, lit the candle sitting on their dresser, blew out the match and moved to her, wrapping his arms around her. She tensed, but he lowered his head to her neck, brushing his lips against her skin.

  She sighed and relaxed, tilting her head to expose her neck further. He kissed it, lips lingering. She slipped her hand beneath the folds of his T-shirt, sliding her fingertips across the small of his back, her touch electric. He shivered, lowering her gently onto the bed, then lay on top of her, pressing his mouth against hers. She parted her lips to receive him.

  They made love then, slow and soft, their bodies entwined like the roots of a tree, digging deep. He pushed the pangs of guilt and self-loathing that tugged at his consciousness away, out through his tingling skin and into the ether of the room, where they sizzled and spat before condensing and drifting away, like wisps of cloud. He felt solid and steadfast, and when he finally came it was like he had spat the weak, dirty little part of him out, lost and drowned within a sea of sperm.

  Along with the moist, hot afterglow of sex, lying back on the bed and finding beauty in the simple arrangement of the ceiling tiles, came the resolve to do what needed to be done.

  TWENTY

  Kate was sipping her cappuccino in the kitchen, staring absently at the vase of white roses on the dining table when the doorbell rang. She left Corbin eating his cereal and opened the door to a courier holding an enormous bouquet of pastel flowers.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s big.”

  “Yeah.” The man presented his scanner. “Lucky you. Got a secret admirer?”

  “I wish,” said Kate curtly. She signed the screen and took the bouquet, thanking the courier, then shut the door and returned to the kitchen.

  She laid the bouquet on the counter. “What do you think, bub?” she asked Corbin, her light tone belying the trepidation she felt. “Are these break-up flowers or make-up flowers?” Corbin just smiled at her, milk and cornflakes dribbling down his chin. A small black card was tucked beneath the silver ribbon encircling the base of the bouquet. She took it and unfolded it.

  Dearest Kate,

  I’m so sorry for everything. If I could turn back time, I would. I miss you so much.

  We need to talk. Please have dinner with me on Saturday night.

  Love, Lawrence.

  Her stomach lurched and she gripped the edge of the bench, feeling sick. The moment passed and she scrunched up the card and threw it at the wall. “Fuck you, Lawrence!” she screamed.

  Corbin looked up in surprise and waved his spoon at her. “Mummy?” he said, his brow wrinkling with concern.

  She went to him, wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed the top of his head, then ruffled his hair, running the fine threads between her fingers. “It’s okay, baby. Your father’s an arsehole, is all.” Under her breath, she said, “If he thinks I want to spend an evening listening to his bullshit then he’d better think again. I’ve got—”

  The sound of a car stopped her. Looking out the window, she saw Suzanne’s black Ford Explorer coming up the drive. “Oh, God, what does she want?” Moving to the door, she waited
for the bell to ring, then cleared her throat and swung it open. “Hello, Suzanne,” she said coolly.

  “Morning,” said Suzanne, beaming at her. “I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I’d drop by. You’re not busy are you? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  Like you did on Sunday? she thought, but didn’t say it. “No, not this time,” she said instead, her hand tightening on the door handle.

  Suzanne stood stiffly on the doorstep, hands clasped at her belly, her smile growing until it threatened to slide off her face.

  Kate didn’t move, blocking Suzanne’s way.

  The smile withered, deflating like a balloon. With a dramatic sigh, Suzanne said, “Look, Kate… I… ahh… I’m sorry. About Sunday. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I was just…” She paused, straightening her shoulders, pressing her lips together. “Please… can I come in?” She opened her palms in a gesture of placation.

  Kate looked at her, unblinking. She thought back to Sunday, to Suzanne’s expression when she opened the ranchslider, bug-eyed and slack-jawed. It was funny in retrospect. She’d done Suzanne a favour, really — given her something new to feel morally outraged about. Not that Suzanne would thank her for it, but such was the price of friendship — there was no point holding a grudge. “Sure,” she said, dropping her arm. “I was just having coffee. You want one?”

  She tipped the rich brown grounds into the portafilter and tamped them down, inhaling the aroma.

  On the other side of the counter, Suzanne pointed to the bouquet lying prone on the granite.

  “What gorgeous flowers,” she said breezily. “Who are they from? Your new friend — what’s his name, Ethan?”

  Frowning, Kate considered lying, but then she glanced at the vase of roses and the deceit seemed too sad. She exhaled slowly, already dreading where her answer would lead. “No,” she said. “Actually, they’re from Lawrence.”

  “Really? Well, there’s a surprise. And the roses?”