I wadded up a Kleenex and tossed it at a wastebasket on the other side of the room. It teetered for a moment on the rim, then skittered to the floor. Exhaling in exasperation, I fell back against the pillows. Even gravity was conspiring against me.
I dragged myself up from the bed and threw the tissue ball away. As I stumbled back across the room, more tears blurred my sight. I felt weak, lonely, and incomplete. Truly how Emily Fitch should likely be Naomi Campbell-less.
It was an Emily I didn’t want to identify, didn’t want to dwell on. I cautioned myself not to think about it. I tried to push it from my mind, but the hollowness wouldn’t leave me. How could my life be so full and suddenly feel so empty, I wondered.
“You can do this, Emily,” I told myself. I walked up to the mirror and stared morosely at my tear-swollen face. “It gets better. Pull yourself together.” I lifted my chin and stood for a moment, letting my words dangle in the air. Then I burst into terrible tears all over again. Sia’s music didn’t make the situation any lighter.
♫ When I look up from my pillow, I dream you are there with me. Though you are far away, I know you’ll always be near to me ♫
I cranked the volume all the way up, letting the music consume me. Despite the summer heat, I realised I was quivering. I crawled back into bed and burrowed under the blankets.
♫ I go to sleep and imagine that you’re there with me . . . ♫
I pulled the covers up to my chin. I missed Naomi so much, it was like a fist in my gut. I want my girlfriend, I thought. I want her now.
♫ I look around me and feel you are ever so close to me. Each tear that flows from my eye brings back memories of you to me. ♫
Wearily I closed my aching eyes. For a second I considered calling Cassie, but thought better. For a while, I only fiddled with the heart pendant of the necklace that Naomi gave me.
♫ I go to sleep and imagine that you’re there with me . . . ♫
I reached under my pillow and took the blue piece of paper—now all creased and blotched with tear drops—and stared at it again. And as had happened every time I look at it, my eyes brimmed with tears. I didn’t need to read it again; I already had every letter, every word, every punctuation mark committed to my memory. I traced her loopy letters with a fingertip and instantly thought of the blonde’s magical fingers. My yearning intensified a thousand-fold.
I don't think I can stand needing you so much and knowing you're not here, she wrote.
Oh, how absolutely right you are, Naomi, I thought glumly. I’m dying right now with this severe sort of longing and sadness. I rolled over to my side and wrapped my arms around me, curling up against the pain. My tears went on flowing silently.
“I go to sleep and imagine that you’re there with me,” Sia continued to wallow in misery with me. “I go to sleeee-eee—”
The door suddenly swung open. “Fuck’s sake, Emz!” Katie burst out. “If I hear this eerie, depressing song one more time, I swear to Judas I’m going to smash those speakers with my massive Louboutin platform pump!”
I only took a deep breath and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Then I numbly stared at my raging bitch of a sister.
Katie rushed to my desk and turned the music player off which made me sit up in protest. “You’ve had this song on repeat for fucking weeks! What is wrong with you?”
I didn’t answer, just woefully fiddled with the blankets.
“C’mon, get up,” my older twin commanded sharply, pulling the covers off me. “Brooke’s inviting us for lunch at her dad’s hotel. We’re going.”
“I’ll have to pass,” I said, sniffling. “I don’t feel like going out.”
“C’mon, Emz!” she prodded, now grinning. “We’ll have, like, free spa treatments and pedicures and face wax and oil massaging after.”
“That sounds lovely, Kates,” I said tonelessly. “But still not up for it.”
“You’re such a loser, you know that? Live a little, Emily,” she said with disgust. Then she giggled. Her ability to quickly jump from one mood to another somewhat astounds me. “Anyway, I had a fabulous time last night,” she enthused. “Liz and I went over to Brooke’s mansion and we did prank calls to a few rooms of the all-boys dorm where Brooke’s brother Theo’s staying. So we sort of hung out on the line with these really cute lacrosse players. I mean, they sounded like really cute lacrosse players.”
I just looked at Katie, not caving into a smile. Did she really think that blurting out the stupid little events in her life would interest me right now? And who the fuck was Liz? My twin was infuriatingly cheerful. Sometimes I wanted to blast at her with a meteor of white-hot fury.
“Fuck’s sake. Aren’t you gonna cheer up?” she snapped.
Still not smiling, I moved to sit on the edge of my bed. I let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed my eyes.
“Okay, this one should probably work.” Katie opened the door then stretched out her hands. “Ta-da!” A sharp, delighted woof sounded. Oz suddenly zipped into the room toward me, feet whipping on the hardwood floors. He put his two front paws on my shin, and wagged his tail.
I carried the puppy to my lap, still unsmiling.
“Chrissakes, Emily! Stop being such a pissy bitch, will you?”
“I miss her, Kates,” I simply said with real suffering, as I mindlessly stroked Oz’s fur.
“Then what the fuck are you doing just crying there in bed?” She picked up my phone from my desk and threw it at me. “Go ring her, stupid!” Then she turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.
The door closed loudly behind her. I stared at it. I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Turning on my side, I stared at the wall. I hugged Oz. It was just too easy to tell myself to call my girlfriend up—to look for her name and press that Call button. But it was a totally different case when I would actually do it. I was scared. I was scared of how I would be greatly overwhelmed with all the tangled emotions and how I would react to all of them as soon as I hear Naomi’s familiar voice on the other end of the line. It was just terrifying.
When I’d finally plucked up the courage after a few minutes, I scrolled down my contact list and my tummy did a back flip as soon as I found Naomi’s name. I pressed Call.
Naomi answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Ems.” Her voice was pleasantly surprised. And it was her usual sweet tone that greeted me—the sound I had missed so terribly. I beat back the tiny tears that threatened to fall again.
“Hey, babe,” I said huskily, surprised that I had sounded so calm. “What are you thinking of?”
“You,” she replied sweetly. “And this essay I have to write,” she added with a dull tone. “I have to differentiate liberal and mercantilist theories of international political economy and consider which approach is most apparent in the contemporary world. Like anyone cares.” She made a sound of disgust. “Actually, I was going to call you only to feel better. You just beat me to it.”
“I don’t think you can rely on me for some cheering up right now, Naomes,” I told her. “I’m probably more miserable than you are. I’ve been crying all night.”
“Me, too,” Naomi confessed. “But I have to get off my arse and move on with my life if I don’t want to get drowned in research papers and fucking project meetings.”
“You’re that busy now?”
“Well, the second semester started as soon as I got back. I missed the O-Week activities but, really, who gives a fuck about that?”
That made me laugh. “You’re such a rebel.”
“I’m just anti-bullshit,” she admitted, which made me laugh even harder.
“So what kept you guys busy when I left?” I asked.
“Oh, God, thankfully, Freddie left us his beer bong and shisha. We put them to good use for a few days. Also, we spent a considerable amount of time just wallowing in the kitchen and on the rooftop. It’s nice, you know, I have people to exchange roles with. Effy’s a good bartender and Sarah’s a good cook.”
That brought a smile to my face. “Yea, well, Effy’s always got that air of ‘Let me hear your shit and let’s drink to that.’ And I do remember Sarah’s kimchi. It was really good,” I said. “Anyway, Sarah posted on my Facebook wall, saying she wanted the takoyaki pan. I told her I left it in Yoshida’s office but she said it wasn’t there when she looked for it.”
“Well, you know Yoshida-san. He has a vault and the things he’d like to keep in there, no one would really know,” she said, sending me into a new fit of chuckles. “And, oh, we did it.”
“Did what?” I asked.
“We finished the jigsaw puzzle.”
“Really?” I said, truly delighted.
“Yep,” she said. “But Sarah told me that as soon as Panda left, Yoshida-san removed the puzzle from the lounge table and it fucking fell apart again. That fucking misog.”
“Actually, that’s good for the new dormers. They have something to keep them busy.”
“Speaking of which . . . is there something keeping you busy there?” Naomi asked with mock suspicion.
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “Someone’s keeping me busy, though.” I watched as Oz licked the back of my hand, and fought off a giggle.
“Someone,” she echoed hollowly. “Huh.”
“Yea, we do stuff together,” I filled in casually. “We jog every morning, we eat dinner, we even shower together sometimes, we sleep together every night . . .”
Her tone suddenly became humourless. “Is this supposed to make me feel jealous and hang up on you now? Don’t joke around, Emily. I’m driving 100 kilometres per hour on the freeway.”
I had a smug smirk on my face as though my girlfriend could see this across mobile phone wireless networks. “Nope,” I said. “My baby knows very well that I’m strictly a muff-diver, you know.”
“Baby?” she repeated in an icy tone. I could totally imagine Naomi’s smouldering eyes.
“Yep. Actually, my baby’s here,” I said, suppressing laughter. “Say hi to Naomi, babe.”
Oz barked and tapped his paw against the phone.
“Is that Oz?” Naomi asked, excitement now noticeable in her voice.
“Yep.”
“Oh, my God,” the blonde gushed. “He sounds so cute.”
“Oz would like to see you, you know,” I said. “When I showed him your picture, he was drooling madly. I had to close his mouth.”
“Like owner, like pet dog. You two are such perves,” Naomi said with good-natured disgust. “So have you found a summer job already?”
“Yep. Cassie’s aunt, Martha, has a new coffee shop and Cass and I will start next week.”
“Should be fun. It’s like coffee-making and circus with you there. I know how hopeless you are with multi-tasking, you know.”
I laughed. “I love how you insult me.”
“And I love how you take my insults,” she added.
I turned over and settled my head on the pillow. “I love you,” I said softly. “God, I’d give away my kingdom just to be able to kiss you now.”
“Me, too.” I could hear the same longing in her voice.
Letting out a gentle breath, I closed my eyes. “It’s nice just hearing your voice, you know. It’s relaxing.”
“It’s good we take the stress off each other, yea?”
“Uhm-hmm,” I agreed. “And while we’re on the subject of stress I have a confession to make. I was the one who left a bunch of Smiley stress balls in your drawer during April Fools’. I did it because I didn’t want you to transform into a grumpy ol’ Grams anymore.”
“Sneaky but noble,” Naomi said. “While we’re confessing, I may as well tell you that I broke into Yoshida-san’s office while he was cleaning the 2nd floor kitchen and stole the takoyaki pan. I’ve been hiding it under my bed back in Melbourne. I needed it to remind me of you.”
My mouth opened in shock for a few seconds before it curved into an appreciative smile. “Naomi Campbell, you’re sneakier than I am!”
She laughed. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
“Hey, Mum,” I greeted, after closing the front door behind me and hanging my car key on the wooden key rack attached next to the door.
Lately when I get home, I had observed that there were only two places where you could be greeted by my mum: (a) in her rose garden whilst she tends it; or (b) in front of her laptop whilst she fusses over something. Today, Mum was sitting on her usual spot at the triangular table, busily typing on her laptop. She was wearing her eyeglasses—meaning she was in a ‘working my arse off’ mode. For a while now, she had been writing the script for this low-budget short film to be shot here in Bristol.
I put one hand on her shoulder, gave her a quick peck on the cheek then leant forward to get a glimpse of what she’d written.
Mum looked up at me and smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. How did your meeting with your professor go?”
“It went well,” I replied, straightening up and leaning against the wall. “I mean, Professor Heatherton didn’t chuck me out or anything.”
“Good.” Mum clicked on her mouse and the printer beside her started working.
“But I told him that I wanted to change courses,” I mumbled.
“What?” she exclaimed over the noisy printer.
“He wasn’t upset at all,” I assured her. “He even helped me with the paperwork and gave me some helpful pieces of advice.”
Mum paused and took off her glasses, a habit she had when she was about to start a discussion. “Are you sure about this, Emily?” she asked. “I thought you’re happy where you are. You were doing great with it.”
“I’m not anymore, okay?”
Mum pursed her lips in a displeased manner. “I don’t know what’s happening to you, Emily. Your life choices are starting to worry me.”
“Is this about Naomi again?” I asked, the irritation I tried so hard to bottle up crept back.
“I’m just saying you need to take a break or something,” Mum said for the gazillionth time this week. “Maybe do some soul-searching. Figure out what you really want in life.”
“I don’t need that. I already know what I want.”
The front door opened, revealing a haggard-looking Katie holding a bunch of paper bags with all sorts of fabric in it. “Oh, God,” she groaned as she clomped into the house. “If this is another one of those ‘Dating a girl is bad for your health’ dramas, I’m not having any of it. Neither is Emily. So just drop it, Mum.” She went straight upstairs into our room.
Mum straightened in her seat and held out a printed page to me. “Could you check this one quickly?” she asked. “You know how I am with the keyboard.”
With a sigh, I took the page and skimmed the dialogues. Recently I’ve been assigned as Mum’s human spell-check. I have no complaints though; give me something to read and you’ve successfully got my attention.
“It’s good, Mum. You just mixed up can’t to cunt here,” I said, pointing down something at paper and chuckling a bit.
Mum flushed a little. “Oh, yea, uhm, thanks, dear,” she said, taking the paper and hastily correcting the minor error with a pen. “How about this one?” She handed me another page.
Whilst I was reading it over, I saw peripherally that Mum was acting rather weird. “Are you and . . . that girl still together?” she asked tentatively. “Maybe this is why you’re losing focus? Maybe she’s stressing you out?”
“No, Mum. I’m not off course or anything. And her name is Naomi, not ‘that girl,’” I told her, chucking the page onto the table. “And, yes, she’s still very much my girlfriend. Fuck’s sake.”
Mum looked at me, her expression softer. “Let’s not argue, all right? I know it’s been a long day for both of us.” She then put her glasses back on and started typing again. “Now go get the sandwiches and the lemonade in the kitchen. Your brother is waiting for you in the living room.”
After a quick trip to the kitchen, I settled myself on the couch in front of the telly with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. I took a thirsty slurp of my lemonade.
“Time for our favourite summer movie, Emily,” James announced, as he popped a DVD into the player.
I only rolled my eyes, put down my glass on the small wooden table in front of us, and took a listless bite of my sandwich.
James scrambled onto the couch next to me and rested his smelly feet on my lap.
I slapped his feet away. “Ugh. Personal space, you little worm.”
He just smirked, put his feet up on the table, then reached for a sandwich from the tray.
No matter how unbelievably irritating my brother was, I still felt a surge of warmth for him. And as much as I hated to admit it, I did miss him. In some way, I really did. I chewed on a bit of ham and smiled. I’m going to enjoy this day stress-free, I decided. This had been our tradition and I did not plan on ruining it just because I feel miserable missing Naomi so much or my mother’s being a nasty old witch yet again or my brother’s acting like a repulsive little version of Cook or for whatever else reason.
“How do you do it with Naomi?” James suddenly spoke, as the pre-movie trailers played on the TV.
I only regarded him with a raised brow as I picked up my glass and took another sip of my drink.
“The lesbian sex, I mean,” he mumbled, making me cough up my lemonade.
“Shut up,” I said after a few deadly seconds of trying to clear my throat. I turned my gaze back to the TV screen and reached for another sandwich then took a quick, huge bite, praying that James would just drop it somehow. But the way his eager eyes twinkled suggested otherwise.
“Are you top or bottom?”
I almost choked on my sandwich. What the fuck?
“Do you use toys?” James kept on firing questions that for the life of me I wasn’t expecting to be asked. “How about scissoring? Gordon MacPherson told me about scissoring.” Oh, dear God.
“Shut up,” I ground out between my teeth, still not looking at him. Jesus, where does my brother get all these ideas? I deeply wondered, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as my hair now.
“Gordon MacPherson says that sex between two girls is still very phallic,” he went on. “You just stick your finger in and sometimes your tongue and sometimes you use fake willies. Also, Gordon Mac—”
“I don’t give a fuck about what Gordon MacPherson says, okay?” I snapped. “And you shouldn’t be listening to him. God, how old is that little scum, anyway?”
“Gordon MacPherson is seven months older than me. And for your further information, he is included in the top 2% of our class. That means his wisdom is just as—”
“Good as my arse,” I finished for him. “Can we just watch the goddamn movie, please?” I glared at him before turning back to the telly. “For Pete’s sake,” I muttered then took another big bite of my sandwich. Sneaking a look at my brother sideways, I saw that his attention was already on the movie. I took that chance to send an S.O.S. text message to Naomi.
Thankfully James was quiet by the time the film actually started. Now his face was just bright with excitement.
Fucking hell. I chuckled to myself as the title hovered on the screen.
When Zoe’s name came out in the opening credits, I couldn’t help but laugh a little. And when 13-year old Zoe appeared before us in this silly scene with her fisherman father, I was laughing so hard. She looked exactly the same. But she was more freckly back then. And had unsightly little girl bangs.
James’s bright eyes were glued to the telly as he spoke, “When I found out that Zoe Hammond is your mate, I told Gordon MacPherson right away and he fucking went nuts. He fancies Megan too, you know. Last summer when we watched Frigo the Flying Penguin together, Gordon MacPherson said that Megan will one day grow mint tits and turns out he wasn’t wrong. I got a whole folder of bikini-clad Zoe Hammond images in my computer that I grabbed from your Facebook albums. And Gordon MacPherson and I would sometimes—”
“You were looking through my photos?” I asked, taken aback. “You’re not even my Facebook friend.”
“I was using Katie’s account. I know her password.”
“You’re a little creep, you know that?” I said, looking down at him with disgust.
“I had to find a way to see Zoe,” he said in defence. “She’s the love of my life, you know. Anyway, this is the most wicked part, I showed Gordon MacPherson the napkin where Zoe wrote her sweet message especially for me and he went fucking mental. He paid me 10 quid just to be able to smell it.”
I simply rolled my eyes and faced the telly again. Megan and her three friends were already on a small boat. I couldn’t help but notice how little change she’d gone through. Still a charmer. A badass charmer.
“Zoe’s obviously avoided the curse,” I said, under my breath.
“Curse?” James repeated blankly.
“Most of those cute telegenic kids end up going through an awkward phase that they just can’t come out of. Trolls for life, you know.”
James smirked. “Oh, you mean like Macaulay Culkin?” he said. “Zoe’s a non-troll, then. Fucking A.”
Megan’s shell necklace fell into the water. The four girls were now panicking. How come I was in love with this movie again? Watching it now, everything just seemed so absurd.
“So, can I add Zoe on Facebook?” James nudged me playfully with his elbow.
“I don’t know,” I said dully. “She’ll probably just ignore your request.”
“Well, then, can I just tell Chelsea that Zoe and I are hooking up?” he said, wriggling his brows. “Gordon MacPherson’s older brother says that the most effective way to get the girl is to make her jealous. He says you do that by showing interest in another girl or dating one of her girl friends. The girl will give in when she feels threatened, you know.”
“You’re pathetic, James.”
Suddenly he bowed his head, sighed, and shrugged, looking all downcast. “I just don’t know what else to do, is all.”
“What’s up with you and this girl Chelsea, anyway?” I asked, now genuinely concerned.
“It’s just weird.”
“What do you mean ‘weird’?”
“Chelsea’s a mind-fucking bitch,” he filled in.
“What?” That startled me. I couldn’t remember ever hearing ‘fuck’ and ‘bitch’ in the same sentence from my brother’s lips before. Yea, it had really been ten long months, I suddenly realised.
“It’s true. She messes with my head. And it’s fucking frustrating, you know. Sometimes I really want to know why she’s doing what she’s doing.”
“I’ve been there. But I got my answers eventually, you know. Maybe she just has some personal issues,” I said, empathising with his situation. “Does she fancy you, though?”
“Well, she made me touch her boobs a couple of times already, and managed to sit through one of my taekwondo matches without falling asleep, and she acts like she's well into me. Sometimes. When she’s in a good mood,” he said with a sad lopsided smile. “Then last week I tried to touch her boobs again after telling her that I think I’m in love with her. Then she sort of went M.I.A. after that.” He sighed again. “It’s hard to know I just can’t have her . . . yet.”
My brother’s words reminded me so much of my conversation with Freddie on the rooftop during that long period of confusion and frustration caused by none other than Naomi Campbell.
“I love Barça. Man, they have like the best footballer on the planet—Lionel Messi,” Freddie said after a long drag on his cigarette.
“Me, too!” I said.
“Yet another thing we have in common,” Freddie said.
“Oh yea?” I said, taking a sip of my Mountain Dew. “What’s the first?”
“We both like people we can’t have,” he said, and before I could get wistful he added, “Yet.”
“Yet,” I repeated, like saying it will make a difference, and then I kept sipping.
“Yet,” I echoed, and smiled down at my brother. “I believe in ‘yet.’ So just hang on there, James. She’ll come to her senses eventually.” I patted him on the head.
“I really hope so, Emily,” he said, momentarily sad. Then rubbing his palms together excitedly, he moved closer to the TV with a wicked ear-to-ear grin, and licked his lips. “But right now let me find comfort by watching Megan in her swimming costume.”
It was a humid summer day in August. Today’s aberrant weather would probably set records. It had been pouring all morning. And that afternoon the clouds had rolled out, providing unexpected and welcome relief from the gloomy rain. However the sun and heat of the afternoon had definitely surpassed Bristol’s average high.
I was sweating buckets and itching for a cold shower as Cassie gave me a supposed-to-be-quick tour of her aunt’s coffee shop where we would be serving coffee for the rest of the summer. The shop had two floors and had a ‘summery’ feel all over the place. The walls were painted with Hawaiian prints. Retro surfboards were glued to the walls. A wicker cave chair was suspended from the ceiling by a chain. The first floor was crowded with people and Big Martha—as I call her—was fussing over something at the confectioner’s corner.
God, she’s a big, scary woman, I thought, as I followed Cassie upstairs to the second floor. The second floor was even more wonderful. Lanterns and lights shaped like stars—all shades of blue—covered the ceiling. Miniature palm trees stood.
“It’s amazing,” I said, walking around. I smiled at the old couple silently drinking their coffee in a corner booth. They smiled back.
“Check out the mug collection,” Cassie said. “It’s the best bit in this place.” She pointed me to a glass cabinet. Inside are rows of mismatching glasses from the sixties—hula girls, surfing guys, a set of shot glasses glued to Matchbox cars. “Wicked, innit?”
“Very cool,” I said, playing with one of the Matchbox shot glasses. Then I caught sight of the time on my watch. “Shit. I don’t have time to go home and change anymore. Is there a shower room here?” I asked.
Cassie grinned. “Yep. Downstairs. Next to the storage room.”
“Thank God, I have extra clothes in my car,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief. I let myself wander around the floor again, checking out the furniture and humming with the catchy Beach Boys music.
Cassie hoisted herself up onto the counter and watched me as I tried out the barstools and the striped beach chairs.
“How are you and Naomi?” Cassie asked, reaching back to pull her mass of sunkissed blond wavy locks into a ponytail. “Are you good?”
“We’re good,” I replied, smiling weakly. “I mean, it’s good that she’s busy with school and I will be kept busy by this café. And . . . that’s it. I still love her today as much as I did yesterday.”
“How very sweet,” she said, genuinely pleased. “So it isn’t so difficult then . . .”
“It is difficult,” I said. “Jesus, you have no idea.” I rubbed my forehead. “It’s not simple, Cass. We try to call each other every day when we can but just the time zone—it’s totally different. And the days when you feel unbearably cold or lonely, those are the toughest moments. Sometimes you just want to curl up in a ball and rock back and forth in your bed and fucking cry your eyes out from it all. And, God, I can’t—I can’t even Skype with her in fear that I would have a breakdown, you know. Seeing her there on your computer screen yet not being able to touch her . . .”
“Yea . . .” Cassie nodded her head in understanding. “Must be very maddening.”
“It is. But you have to get on with life, yea?”
“I suppose so.” Then her face turned a trifle more serious. “And—uh—how ’bout Jenna? Is she okay with you and Naomi now?”
I let out a sigh, and let a hand slap against my side. “Nope.”
“So she still have her bloody bitchfits whenever she hears Naomi’s name?”
“Yep,” I said glumly. “Right now, the best way to live a happy, normal life in the house is if I will avoid at all costs talking about my girlfriend around my mother. And I’m doing just that.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Obviously, no, I’m not. It’s just that I absolutely have no idea what to do with her anymore.”
“Well . . . let’s just hope Jenna gets over this whole thing,” she said. “Soon.” I just smiled at her briefly, grateful for her concern.
Cassie then crossed her legs and swung them casually. I couldn’t help but notice her ever-eccentric wardrobe and look—printed flowing tops, coloured jeans, stable boots, an armful of thin, gold bangles and her hair’s always had those messy waves. My best mate was friendly, flirty, faunlike, and so willowy and that made Katie sort of want to push her over. “So . . . there’s this really cute trainer in your new gym,” she started. “I don’t know his name but I call him ‘Hello, Beef.’ Have you met him?”
“You mean Cliff?” I asked, straddling a giant inflatable shark like the thing’s a horse.
“Cliff ‘Hello, Beef’! ‘Hello, Beef’ Cliff!” Cassie giggled loudly, making the old couple in the corner booth glare at her. “Oh, God, it’s perfect!” she gushed.
I folded my arms and raised a brow. “So, he was the one you’ve been flirting with? One of your potential ‘summer flings’?”
“Nope. We’ve never even been introduced to each other,” she said, snorting. “I just watch him from afar. Everyday after class. I mean, I couldn’t really—”
“You’ve been stalking him?” I said more like a statement rather than a question.
“No, I was not,” Cassie replied primly. “I was just admiring him. You know, like Jenna’s rose garden. You just walk by and lend a second to appreciate its beauty. It’s totally different.”
“And you’re totally out of your mind.”
“Whatever,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, can we drop by Rob’s new gym for a while? I mean, we still have time, yea? And it’s only five minutes from here.” She tugged my sleeve like a kid. “Please? Pretty please?”
“Yea, I could take you,” I said. “After I take a proper shower, that is. Then we could also drive over to . . . oh, shit,” I stood up, tipping the inflatable shark on his side, and then ran to the door.
“What?” Cassie hopped down from the counter and followed me, checking her watch. “You’re not working until the night shift—six till whenever—whenever being whenever the hell you feel like it because Aunt Martha will be gone by then. Thank fuck.”
“No,” I said frantically dashing down the stairs. “I’ve been double-parked this whole time. My car’s blocking part of the street—I was just going to run in and . . .”
I got down to street level and found—of course—that my car and all of my belongings, everything—clothes, books, my phone, my wallet, and Blue Poring—were gone.
“Oh, dear,” Cassie said, frowning.
“You curse, like, every two seconds—now my car’s been towed with all my earthly possessions in it and all you can come up with is oh dear?”
“Oh, dear,” she said again, this time cracking up.
“It’s not funny, you mong. What am I supposed to do?” I stood with my hands on my hips. Normally, I’d call Dad or Katie or just suddenly know what to do, but I don’t. “Okay, get me the phone book. And a phone.”
Ten minutes later I’ve reached the non-emergency police number, been put through to the parking bureau, and was told that since it was Saturday past noon, I couldn’t retrieve my car until Monday.
“But my extra clothes are in there!” I said to the parking person like she cared. “And my phone is in there. And my wallet. And Blue Poring!”
All my complaining had gotten me nowhere. “I’m going to have to borrow your clothes,” I said to Cassie. “You know Big Martha will kill me if she finds me wearing a mini-skirt.”
Cassie thought for a second. “You know you’re welcome to anything I have, babe, but I have to say there’s not a fucking chance in hell my jeans will fit you.”
We stood next to each other and checked the height difference for the thousandth time in our friendship.
“Yep,” Cassie said. “You’re still a midget.”
“And you’re still a mammoth,” I shot back.
“Mammoth makes me sound fat.”
“You’re not fat,” I said and poked her stomach.
“I know that. It just sounds that way.”
“Oh, Jesus. Stop.” I sighed. “Fine, you’re modelesque—better?” Cassie nodded and I went back to my clothing conundrum. “So what do you suggest I do? Go back home to Dunstall Road which would take an hour or so back and forth—because of the fucking traffic—in the fifty minutes I have before serving coffee for the night’s eternity?”
Cassie suddenly smiled and winked. “No. Not at all. I don’t know why I’ve only just thought of this.”
“What?”
“Brooke,” Cassie said. “You should ring Brooke.”
“Because . . .” I stretched the word like it was a full sentence.
Cassie started making herself a frozen blended drink. “Because her dad owns half of Bristol and is friends with those people who own the other half. And before you go shaking your head all fucking prim and proper, it would just be a favour.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Cassie shrugged, then glopped some chocolate syrup on a mound of shaved ice. “Brooke lives just around the block and the vehicle pound’s only a ten-minute drive away. What’s the big deal?”
“The deal is . . .” I wanted to object, to explain that I don’t want to be that person again—the one who runs to someone every time I need help. Especially not to Brooke. I want to be able to build a fucking bookcase, cross a river on my own, and get my car out of the lot after it’s been towed. But I also just want my car back without having to wait forty-eight hours. “Give me the phone.”
Outside, drumming her hands on the steering wheel of her yellow Lamborghini Gallardo, Brooke mouthed along to The Temper Trap’s “Love Lost.” The vertical passenger door opened and I climbed in, put on my seatbelt and gave her a quick hug in one fluid motion and sang a quick owhost-owhost-owhost from the chorus, even though it’s thoroughly annoying to anyone but yourself when you vocalise an echoing bit.
“It’s nice that you’re singing our song. I love it,” Brooke said as she shifted gears. “And you have a great voice.”
“Our song?”
“Correct me if I’m mistaken,” Brooke began, “but taking up Theatre as a minor had developed my almost childlike belief that love lost can result in love found once more.”
“No offence, Brooke, but I really think you’ve been misled,” I said as polite as I could.
Brooke laughed. “I know! I’m only kidding! I got the message, Emily,” she said. “And don’t give me the ‘I deactivated my Facebook account’ rubbish.”
“Sorry,” I said quietly, genuinely embarrassed.
“Nope. I admit I was over-the-top creepy. Katie even warned me for it, you know,” the brunette said, chuckling a little. “But I have to say, you really do have a great voice, Emily. I’m not trying to get into your pants, it’s just the truth.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, smiling. It was a nice compliment. For so long I counted on my red hair and having a twin to carry me to adulthood, as if there were no other possibility of what I could be than being a redhead and being Katie’s twin. The compliment only made me wish people would notice something else. It just felt great to know that people were aware of my other strengths. Like how Naomi Campbell was aware of how good I am at making salad especially if it’s for peace offering. Or how skilled I am at sweet talking. Or how amazing I am as a kisser.
Brooke touched my knee to bring me back to earth from whatever parental planet I had been visiting. “You all right, Emily?” she asked.
“Yea. Just – just thanks for doing this for me.”
“It’s no problem really. If I can’t exploit my father’s power for good, what’s the point, yea?”
“I suppose,” I said, gripping the rolled down window as we took a curve half on the road and half on the pebbly shoulder of Whitchurch Lane.
Brooke slowed the car down outside a locked chain fence. “We’re here. I just have to ring Mr. Reynolds up.”
We got out of the car and Brooke made the phone call to some bigtime officer of the Bristol City Parking Services Team. I stayed leaning against Brooke’s flashy car, watching her as she talked on her Blackberry. I felt a wave of affection toward her. Brooke Boothroyd isn’t that creepy, after all, I smiled at my own paranoia. She could actually be good company.
After the quick phone call, Brooke walked over. “Let’s just wait for a bit over there,” she said, cocking her head to a waiting shed. “Someone will bring the car out for you. And you don’t have to worry about the release fee and all that bollocks.” She winked.
“Thank you, Brooke,” I said, following her into the shed.
She put her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and scratched her vintage boots on the rough ground. “So how’s this girlfriend of yours—Naomi?” she said, looking at me sideways. “Katie told me about her.”
“I just need her right about now,” I said, with a sigh. Then when I realised how corny that came out, I blushed. “Sorry, that sounded so cheesy.”
Brooke laughed. “Cheesy but sweet. It’s like my favourite song—Said I wouldn’t call, but I lost all control and I need you now. And I don’t know how I could do without,” she sang the last part and I joined in. “I just need you now . . .”
“Hey,” I said, “you have a good voice!”
“Thanks,” she said, blushing only a tiny bit. “We sound good together.”
“You should join our chorale this semester.”
“No, thanks,” she said. “The Choral Society is a bit too intense for me. But I might try out for the Wills Hummers, even though that’s got to be the stupidest name ever.”
“Yea, it’s pretty much the ridicule of all extra-curric groups . . . but the performances are good . . .”
“What about you?” Brooke asked me. “Any thoughts about the future of your illustrious career?”
Cue big sigh and shrug from me. “Not sure.”
“Don’t you have any plans?”
My plans. If only plans had no wrong answer. Or, if only an answer were simple—staying in my department or moving to another one? Crying my eyes out here in Bristol or flying to the other side of the world to be with Naomi? Figuring out how the espresso machine works before Big Martha fires me. Who, when, why, where.
I gave her another shrug.
Brooke regarded me with concern. “What’s up with you and your drive, Emily? If I remember correctly, during our first and only date, you were all over anything IS-related—Marxism, status quo, religion . . . wanting to get a job in the Diplomatic Service, work for the United Nations or something, and now . . .”
“And now I’m just not sure,” I said wearily. “I don’t know, Brooke. It’s just a confusing subject for me. I used to be so sure about wanting to do that, planning my life around it, and these past months it just sort of changed. Or shifted.”
The gates opened and my baby blue Renault Clio came into view. I uttered a shy “Thank you” to the bloke who fetched my car, and climbed into the driver’s seat. I rolled the window down and smiled up at Brooke.
“How about committing to a life in the service industry?” Brooke said, leaning over. “Like what you’re doing now.”
I snorted. “Like serving coffee for the rest of my life? Nope. I swear, every time I say ‘Would you like sugar on that?’ I feel like throwing up inside. Plus the fact that I’m fucking hopeless with multi-tasking. My girlfriend said so herself.”
She let out a laugh. “You’re smart, Emily. What are you supposed to do with all this?” She pointed to my head like it’s a container. “You could teach. Teach everything that’s in here.”
“Teaching . . . is a possibility,” I said, like I’m done with uni and ready to go out into the real world. I put my hand on the window, then glanced at my watch. “Oh, shit. I have to go, Brooke. My first shift is really soon and I’m about to win the award for least-showered person in this town.”
I was slicing s’more bars into squares and onto a platter when it hit me: I feel happiest when I’m reading books. Give me a book and I’m golden. And I also realised that I was very interested in Japanese literature. Sometimes when I get bored with the reading materials for my research paper in the library back in Hamada University, I would go grab a Japanese book. I could go on and on with the authors of both ancient classics and modern literary works. And teaching was definitely an option.
A sudden vibration in my pocket yanked me out of my career-related ponderings. I took my phone out and found an unexpected message from Misaki:
A smile tugged the corners of my mouth as I read her text message. The Japanese girl sure knows when to enter the scene. She just would bizarrely show up when you need help.
Right after my shift I hurried into the back room office and turned the computer on. I checked my inbox and found Misaki’s e-mail. I opened it and clicked on the attachment. A Word document of Hamada University Application Form and a list of scholarships available appeared before my eyes.
Without further ado, I Googled Hamada University and scanned the colleges. I clicked on the College of Letters then Department of Humanities and–Bingo!–Japanese Literature.
I read the course description.
Graduates continue onto careers in middle and secondary education, public service, and various other fields.
Perfect, I thought, with a wide grin stretching across my face. Absolutely perfect.
I had just clicked the computer’s Shut Down button when Katie burst into the room with Cassie trotting behind her.
“Hey, let’s lighten up this little parade, huh?” Katie suggested, grinning. “Why don’t we go to this fair at Yate? It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a Ferris wheel.”
I stood up from the chair and grabbed my bag and car key. “Naomi loves Ferris wheels,” I muttered, my voice low.
Naomi. As in Naomi Campbell. As in the love of my life, now still miles away from me, doing God-knows-what.
It was killing me.
Girl meets girl halfway, girl loses girl halfway, I thought. Third act has yet to be written.
Cassie slung her arm around my shoulders. “You know, you and your brother James should be giving each other back rubs,” she told me. “One of you is hung up on a girl who’s physically absent, the other one’s hung up on a girl who’s emotionally absent.”
“As opposed to you who is hung up on being hung up,” I added.
Cassie laughed. “Our wallowing is so fucking banal.”
“Totes,” Katie said. “So let’s do something more dramatic, yea? Take a fucking guitar and write Taylor Swift-like songs, perhaps? Did anyone bring a guitar?”
“Guitar-free,” I told her, as the three of us made our way out of the back door and into the parking lot. “And I am not fucking pining.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Yea, right. What would you call it then?”
“The third act crisis in a love story with a happy ending,” I said firmly. I stepped off a plank and sank into the water-filled ground nearly to my ankles. “For Pete’s sake!”
Cassie clapped me on the back as I leapt from the puddle. “Let’s hope the third act crisis doesn’t last longer than, say, those very few hours when your sister’s boyfriend-less.”
Katie shot her a sarcastic smile. “Very nice, Cassie. You’re making me sound like a slut.”
“Well, you are. Sort of,” Cassie said.
“Piss off, bitch,” Katie retorted. “Just be glad I’m hanging out with you, loony loser.”
Cassie dramatically put her hands on her heart. “Why, how charitable of Miss Katie Fitch to mingle with us, poor, simple, folks,” she shot back, with a fake smile. “It kinda brings tears to my eyes.”
Katie only rolled her eyes at her. “Anyways, Emzy, like I would always say, it’s not easy at first but you’ll get used to it.”
I cocked an eye at my twin. “How come I still hear you at midnight, sobbing like a fucking baby?”
“It’s not like I still cry over Cook every night, you know,” Katie said. “It’s just that wanting him is a hard habit to break.”
“It’s a hard habit to break, yea,” I agreed with a sad smile. “The hardest.”
It was a balmy Saturday afternoon of late August. I didn’t know how long I was dead in the bed. All I knew was that I woke up with my temples pounding and sweat all over my underdressed body. The glasses of Mojito I consumed last night at a rave party did not fail to give me a banging headache. I rolled on my side and reached for my phone on my bedside table to check the time but it wasn’t there.
Sitting up, I saw Katie still sleeping soundly in her bed. I studied her messed up state—slightly torn top, disheveled hair, and smudged make-up. Fucking hell. Why had I let her drag me again to another crazy party that involved some sick pills and an awful amount of alcohol? We had come in just this morning and my coordination was taking a bit of a bashing and I was certain it would continue throughout the day.
“Kates?” I called.
Katie stirred and her answer was muffled—from the depths of her covers. “Hmm?”
“Have you seen my phone?”
My sister groaned and stuck her head up out of the covers. She fixed me a look. “You woke me up just to ask me of your fucking moby’s whereabouts?” she snapped. “Fuck knows! I don’t even know where mine is.” Then she buried her head back into the pillow and covered herself entirely with a blanket. “Bringmeacupofcoffee-andsomeflan.”
Fuck. Where had I left it? I racked my brain to recall the events of last night but couldn’t connect the dots. I shrugged it off, thinking that it might just be around the room somewhere.
I flung off the blanket and sat on the side of the bed for a moment to massage my temples. Then I stood up, quickly pulled on a shirt, and turned for the door. Closing the door behind me, my heart pounded when I heard some sort of commotion downstairs. I poked my head out from the wooden railing and relaxed almost immediately when I found out that it was only Mum talking on the phone. Probably with Shelley—the producer of the short film she’s been working on, I thought. Everyday with my mother was a commotion, after all.
With a scornful shake of my head, I moved to the bathroom. My hand was just on the doorknob when my mother’s voice rang out strongly. It made my skin crawl.
“—and I want you to stop calling her, okay? Let her live a normal, happy life.”
And then I heard her mention a familiar name that made me suck in a quick breath.
“Didn’t I make myself clear already, Naomi?” she ground out. “Leave my daughter alone.”
My heart pounded furiously as I scrambled down the stairs two steps at a time.
Mum kept on, “Never call her again, okay?”
“Mum!” I seized my phone from her hand in a swift motion then put it against my ear. “Naomi? Naomes?” There was a click then a depressing dial tone. “Naomi!”
My stomach began to churn. What is she thinking now? God, I wish she didn’t let Mum scare her away.
My eyes blazed when I looked up at my mum. “What the fuck did you just do?” I nearly spat it out. “Did you just tell my girlfriend to fuck off?”
Unfazed, Mum walked to her usual table and started arranging a stack of papers. “I did what’s best for you. Best for you two.”
“No,” I said, my voice a meek quaver.
She turned to me then. “She’s not good for you, Emily.”
“Shut up,” I pushed the words past clenched teeth. I rang Naomi’s number again, but her phone was already turned off. I tried again, with trembling fingers. And again. And again. And each time, it was only the Vodafone operator’s monotonous voice that answered.
I turned to my mother with a glare. “Fuck’s sake.” I nearly trembled at the fury that looked as real now as it must have been then. “Jesus, Mum. Why did you have to—?”
“I was only thinking about you,” she stressed. “What’s good for you!”
A stray tear snaked down my cheek, and I angrily wiped it away. “You don’t know what’s good for me! You never care about how I feel! You never listen!”
Katie came dashing from the stairs. She only stood at the bottom step, flicking her anxious eyes between me and Mum as we both seethed.
Mum’s face barely veiled her contempt. “Look at how this girl turned you into,” she sputtered. “Where was that sweet little girl who was the apple of our eyes? I’m very disappointed in you, Emily. I don’t even know you anymore.”
“I am still Emily, Mum.”
“No, you’re not. You’re this poor little girl who’s trying to convince herself she’s gay when she’s not. What happened to you? You used to be my perfect little—”
“Just because you think you knew me when, don’t assume you know me now! People change, Mum,” I said. “And unlike movie scripts you write, you don’t get to fucking manipulate how they change or even why they change. And the toughest of all, you don’t get to control whether or not the person they become is your own daughter who likes girls.”
Mum looked at me for a moment, then she shook her head mournfully. “You just need to find yourself, Emily. You're confused. You’re just—”
“Stop acting blind, Mum!” I finally burst out, making my mother look away and stay in silence.
For a moment I stared at my mother’s averted face, disgust and heartache battling for supremacy. Disgust—for I felt ashamed of having a despicable, intolerant mother. Heartache—for my mother's attempt to get rid of my girlfriend. Then she turned away from me and said to Dad, “I’m just going out for a while. I need to get some groceries.”
When she turned back to me, she couldn’t meet my eyes. She took her coat and umbrella and moved to the door. Her silence didn't hint of a white flag raise. In fact, it seemed more foreboding.
“Go on,” I told her quietly yet contemptuously. “Just walk away. Because that’s what you do best, yea?”
When she left, Mum didn’t slam the door. But the quiet click of its closing couldn’t have sounded more ominous.
“Emily, sweet girl.” My dad was the first to break the funereal silence in the room. I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there, staring at the door. My dad repeated my name.
I lifted my head and saw that my dad was looking at me cautiously. Did he expect me to fly into a rage, gnash my teeth, tear at my hair, bang my head against the wall? His wariness was justified. I felt capable of such acts. “I suppose, she’ll remain a nasty old witch.” I sighed. “She’s just hopeless.”
Dad and Katie stared back at me in sympathy. I couldn’t stand their pitying expressions. “I think I’ll lie down for . . . for a bit.” I began edging toward the stairs, and by the time I left the room I was running.
I fell across the bed, hugging the pillow tight against my face as I screamed into it. My body twisted against the excruciating pain of my soul. I vented my fury with tears and curses, pounding my fists into the mattress beneath me. Never had I succumbed to such a fit of temper, but then, never had my world been so unmercifully destroyed. How could anyone be so horrible? So totally, blatantly, evil? And to think she was my own mother.
But the rage was soon spent, and I became exhausted. And the exhaustion was accompanied by despair, black and encompassing and absolute, suffocating me.
I rolled onto my back, my eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. I took my phone and tried calling Naomi again. Still it was the operator who answered.
“Argh,” I cried and buried my face in the pillow again.
After a moment, I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. I needed to get out of this house, I thought. I reached for my phone again and rang my best friend up.
Cassie answered on the third ring.
“Oh, hey, Ems, what’s up?” Her voice was animated almost giddy. Without waiting for me to respond, she went on. “I had the most romantic date last night with ‘Hello, Beef’ Cliff. God, he’s a sweetheart. And don’t let me start talking about his pecs and abs. This one is different, Emily. I think he’s my first big love. He actually wants me to meet his family in Newcastle.” She giggled.
“That’s really nice to hear,” I said with strained politeness. “Listen, Cass, I sort of need to talk to you about something.”
“Oh, Jesus, Ems, you sound fucking terrible!” Cassie’s voice snapped into concerned mode. “What’s wrong?”
I exhaled shakily. Cassie and I would usually just laugh about dramatic stuff and not dwell in misery; it was hard to know where to start. I decided to just jump into the deep end.
“Cassie, I need a place to stay. Just until I feel all better.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“What do you mean? Did you and Katie have a fight?” Cassie said finally.
“No. It’s Mum. She’s making my life hell.”
“Well, usually, I would advise you to do the reasonable thing which is to wait until you’ve calmed down and talk it over with Jenna and—”
“No. I’ve had enough of talking. Nothing’s changed.”
“Okay. Then, you could crash with me,” she said. “But you have to talk to me about this, all right?”
The door opened and Katie came in. “Emz.” She stared at me as if gauging my mood.
“Okay. Thanks, Cass. I have to go. I’ll be over there in a little while,” I told her quickly, then flipped my phone closed. I moved to my closet and started shoving some clothes into a rucksack.
Katie’s brows shot up. “What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer her, but just quickly gathered up my stuff.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
I slung the rucksack over one shoulder. “I’m staying over at Cassie’s house for a night. A few nights. I don’t know.” I started toward the door.
“No, you’re not.” Katie blocked my path.
“Yes, I am. I don’t want to live in this house anymore.” I tried to pass her. She wouldn’t let me.
“No. Don’t leave me here, Emily,” she implored. “You know Mum didn’t mean to be a total bitch.”
I stood there, my mounting frustration was making me want to jump out of my skin. “What does she mean then, Katie?” I asked. “Didn’t you see the way she looked at me? She looked at me as if I were a fucking stranger. She doesn’t even want to recognise that I’m still the same Emily. It’s as good as not being here.”
“Emily, Mum just feels weird about all this, that’s all. Just give her a little more time to take it all in. I mean, it took me a while to get used to the idea, yea?" she said. "Remember that time when I gave you silent treatment for like a month and you moved to the guest room?”
“Yea, well, you were a bitch. I hated you so much.”
“But then one day I set you up on a blind date with Brooke,” she reminded me.
I managed a small smirk. “And she was a fucking ’mare.”
“But the point is, I got over it, yea?” she pointed out. “Mum will come around, Emzy. Soon she’ll be worn down from all this and she’ll get over it. Okay?”
I shrugged, and just prayed that Katie’s words were magical.
Katie walked over and gave me a hug. Then she held me at arm’s length. “I’ll back you up,” she promised, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Stay here, please. Just stay.”
With a final sigh, I sat wearily back on the bed, my bag thudding on the floor.
That Sunday breakfast in the Fitch household was usual. We ate in silence until Dad would start babbling about the week-long activities in his two gyms that would always bore us except for Mum.
Katie walked into the dining room and placed a plate full of pancakes in front of me. “Here are your pancakes, princess.”
I looked up at her, surprised. “What?”
“Naomi asked me to make you some,” my sister filled in. “No. She begged me, actually. Sorry if they’re not as good as hers.” She pulled out a chair beside me, sat down, then started eating her flan.
“She did?” My eyes brimmed as I stared down at the plate in front of me. Naomi didn’t run away or anything. She was still there. This pancake was a message. The biggest one she could right now.
I had never been so terrified in my life as I had been yesterday. In paranoia, I had tried to contact Naomi in every way possible. Her phone was turned off all day so I called Gina, Gertrude, JJ, her roommate Jill, some of her classmates and even her friends from uni, but I couldn’t get through her. In desperation, I sent her tons of apologetic e-mails and Facebook messages, explaining the situation and asking for forgiveness for my mother’s ill behaviour.
“That’s very nice of Naomi,” Dad commented which instantly earned him a death glare from Mum.
But at this moment I didn’t care if my mother would never approve of my relationship with her. I couldn’t care less about how she was shooting daggers at me with a tight jaw and was slicing her ham a little harder than necessary right now. I was just content that I still have Naomi. That was everything that mattered.
I still have her. I chuckled at myself through tiny tears and nearly choked. God, if that wasn’t the perfect demonstration of my idiotic state. I was a fool, all right.
“Are you just gonna stare at the pancake?” Katie’s usual bossy voice shook me up. “Eat it. Blondie e-mailed me the recipe just this morning. I don’t know how it’s supposed to taste but I followed her instructions perfectly, you know.”
I ate with a considerably lighter mood. Relief was singing through my veins, and I was a bit giddy with it. My mind was racing wildly.
Katie raised her brows. “So?”
I smiled and mumbled through a hunk, “A little different but could pass. Thanks, Kates.”
“I wish I have a girlfriend like that,” James mumbled. “Chelsea never cooks for me. She won’t even let me grab her arse.”
“James,” Dad said in a warning tone.
“I’m only saying that Naomi’s really sweet,” James said. “And she knows how to take care of Emily. I bet she also gives Emily regular shags. Doesn’t she, Emi—?”
Dad gave him a stern look. “James! Forty reps on the naughty bar!”
“Dad, I’m not twelve anymore!” James protested.
“Go. Do it!” Dad commanded. James grudgingly stood up and moved to the door.
It was when my mother opened her mouth that the tension around the table escalated. Her tone was curt. “How many times do I have to say I don’t want to hear that girl’s name in this house.”
I felt fury rising in my chest, but was too exhausted to act on it. I hated my mother. I hated her for being such a narrow-minded cunt. I hated her for doing this to me time and time again. And I hated myself for letting her.
“Get used to it, Mum!” To my surprise, it was Katie who snapped. “Emily’s in love with Naomi. Naomi, who’s her girlfriend now. Naomi, who’s a girl. God, what is so hard to understand?”
Fury thinned my mother’s petulant lips and blazing eyes. “We’re eating, Katie,” she grounded out. “This is not the right time—”
“When’s the right time?” my sister interrupted. “There’s never a time for you to listen to Emily!”
“Katie, I need you to shush now,” Mum hissed between clenched teeth. “We are having breakfast.”
Katie stood up and pounded her hands on the table. “No. You shut up!” she burst out. “Face it, Mum! Why can’t you get it through your head?”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” Mum spat.
“Kates,” I said, placing an imploring hand on her elbow. I shook my head ‘Don’t.’
Katie only glanced down at me briefly then she turned to our mum again. “No. I’ve had enough of my sister taking shit from you. I was so contented by just observing from a distance. Watching you crush Emily’s heart over and over. But this shit is going on too long now.”
“Katie,” I pleaded, but my sister wasn’t done.
“Look at Emily, Mum!” she cried. “Why don’t you stop for a sec and try giving her a glance just this once? She’s fucking miserable! Miserable because her girlfriend is not here with her. And even more miserable ’cos her mother is a complete homophobic cow who wouldn’t even submit to the fact that she’d found someone that she completely loves. She’s in love, Mum,” she stressed. “And this girl makes her happy. So will you stop acting like a mental villain trying to take her happiness away and just fucking deal with it?”
Katie took several heavy breaths as though forcibly tamping down her anger but Mum’s glazed eyes never wavered from her tight, furious face.
“Can we eat now? Like really, really eat now?” James was standing in the doorway, smiling sheepishly at everyone.
“Yes, James,” Dad acknowledged warmly. “Come and sit here, boy.”
For the first time, Mum didn’t walk away. She stayed in her chair and just continued eating her ham without a sound, looking genuinely stunned by the turn of events inside the dining room.
After a few more calming breaths, Katie straightened her shoulders, smoothed down her skirt then took a seat back in her chair with such poise. I turned to my twin with a grateful smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze of ‘Thanks.’ She smiled back, then went back to her eating. For a long while, everyone around the table ate wordlessly until Mum unexpectedly broke the silence.
“Artichoke and beetroot, anyone?” she asked, now smiling.
Dad, Katie, James and I looked oddly at Mum for a moment then we shook our heads and crinkled our noses with a look of disgust at the same time. “Nah.”
The table then roared with laughter.
I exercised viciously on the sloping bench, jerking the pulleys with muscles that surprised me, so that the weights clanked noisily when they came to rest, and the sliding bench screeched as it rolled up and down the gradient. But no matter how hard I pushed and pumped at the weights, I couldn’t drown out the conversation. Mum and her producer friend, Shelley—a chestnut brown-haired lady with soft facial features and Emma Pillsbury haircut, probably in her mid-30’s—had stopped exercising and were standing at the window.
“So Katie’s boyfriend is Irish?” I heard Shelley ask. Good thing my dad’s gym was not crowded that September morning; I could easily overhear their little chitchat.
“Yes, James Cook from Dublin,” Mum said. “A very well-bred, lovely man.”
I almost burst out laughing, but restrained myself. “Very well-bred. Right,” I scoffed to myself.
“Sounds like a keeper,” Shelley said. “How about Emily?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother glance at me furtively. I just feigned absorption with my workout by humming with my iPod—which I had actually put on mute as soon as I heard Mum mention my name.
Mum leant closer to Shelley and made her voice a little lower but I could still hear her every word. “Emily. Well—uhm—she’s just a little derailed right now.”
I kept my end of the conversation silent and just worked on grimly at the bench.
But the conversation continued.
“I don’t know what ‘derailed’ exactly means, Jenna,” Shelley began, “but I must say, I love your twins and little James. They’re all lovely. It makes me excited to have kids, you know.”
“Kids,” Mum echoed flatly. “I don’t know, Shelley. It’s difficult raising children these days. They just grow into unpredictable, wild little urchins. Sometimes I don’t know if it’s me who has the problem, if it’s the way I brought them up or the people they’re hanging with . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“Emily,” my mum answered, and my heart sank a little bit more. “I just don’t approve of her choice of partner. Or her life choices in general.”
Shelley chuckled a little. “Why is she dating a pothead or an ex-convict or something?”
“No, she—he actually seems like a decent person,” Mum answered. “And seems to love Emily too. He’s just not what I expected or what I had wanted for my daughter to end up with.”
“Is she happy with this lad?” Shelley asked.
Mum nodded her head.
“Look, Jen,” Shelley began, smiling, “I don’t know what else to say but love’s love. And love is not a matter of following certain rules or a given formula; it’s a matter of what your heart would choose for you. You can’t help who you love. And sometimes the people we least expect are the ones who could truly make us happy or, in your case, this person makes your daughter happy. Just give this boy a chance.”
“I don’t know, Shel. I still don’t trust this person. I’m scared that Emily would just end up with her heart broken. Even though . . . Emily seems to be so in love and she’d even fought many times for this gi—I mean, b—boy. Boy.”
“Just be glad that your daughter’s experiencing this kind of love. Let her fall, let her feel. If she hits the ground then that’s a lesson learned. Isn’t that what life’s all about?” she said. “To tell you the truth, Jenna, my parents did not approve of mine as well, but look where it’s gotten me. I’m happily married, still very much in love after a decade, and planning to have a baby real soon.”
A smile curved my lips as Shelley’s words touched me. I wish my mum was half as softhearted and considerate as Shelley was. Suddenly a shadow fell over me.
“I’m in the mood for a good sweat out,” Cassie said. “It’s time to get Fitch! I’m single and ready to sizzle.” She took my hands and pulled me off the sliding bench.
I took my earphones off. “So it’s off with ‘Hello, Beef’ Cliff?” I asked, making a sad face to Cassie. “I thought he was, you know, your first big love.”
“Me, too,” she said, as we moved to the treadmills. “But maybe we just put too much into it. It’s one thing to have an intense couple of days of being together on vacation . . . but it’s something else when you try to move that sort of idealist romp into reality.”
We stationed ourselves on a couple of treadmills. I looked sideways and saw Mum and Shelley still talking but now in a hushed tone.
“I got to Newcastle and it was fucking fantastic—just what I expected,” Cassie went on, as she started the machine. “We hung out, made out, dined out. I even met his mum. But after a few days it felt like . . .” She sighed. “Like it was . . .”
I completed her thought. “Like it was fine.” I started my machine and let my legs work out.
“Yes. It was just fine.”
“So you didn’t stay with him?”
“I probably would have, to be honest. I mean, Clifford’s smart and funny and gorgeous and he’s fucking crazy about me. I seriously doubt I’m going to do better—even if it only felt fine. Or okay. But then I got a phone call . . .”
“Okay. Is this the dramatic bit here?”
“Bristol Uni called me. They wanted me to start a GSA. You know, a gay-straight alliance? Which I’m kind of excited to do.” I opened my mouth to say something, but Cassie didn’t allow me. “And no, it’s not mainly because I have a lez bezzie or the fact that 60% of my mates are gay. I also like the idea of leaving a legacy there. So I thought you’d be my secretary.”
I stopped, held on to the machine’s handrails and gasped for air. “Wow,” I said, after my heartbeat slowed down. “I mean GSA is an honour, but it’s also a fairly big banner—a gay banner—so it’s something I still have to prepare myself for. And I don’t really want a giant reminder of ‘my choices.’” I cocked an eye toward my mum.
“Oh. Right. Jenna.” Cassie grimaced. “But think about it, Ems. If Naomi were here, she’d be behind your back. 101 percent.”
“Emily,” Mum called. “Shelley’s about to leave.”
I walked over to them. “It was nice seeing you again, Shelley,” I said, smiling genuinely at the lady.
Shelley returned my smile. “It’s nice seeing you, too, Emily.”
A woman with really short honey blond hair approached Shelley, wrapped her arms around her and kissed her cheek. “Hey, baby,” she murmured. “Sorry, I got caught up in traffic.”
Shelley smiled at her. Then she turned to us. “Jenna, Emily. This is my wife, Rebecca.”
Mum and I stared at the two women, our mouths open. “Oh.”
I sat on my bed, in my dimly-lit room, watching the video clips I’d taken back in Kyoto. Thank God, Katie was already fast asleep in her bed as I wouldn't be getting an awful amount of scoffing and eye-rolling from her whilst I reminisce for the gazillionth time in ten weeks of my being Naomi Campbell-less.
Naomi’s face appeared on the laptop screen. She was laughing about something. Then glaring at me. God, you could read every emotion on her face. I knew the meaning of every tiny tic, every blink, every tilt of her head.
I reran Naomi’s footage. Then I fast forwarded to the scene whilst we were outside a convenience store.
There was Naomi, in that loose green top, looking just naturally beautiful.
“I feel lucky,” she was saying. “I feel fucking lucky. Happy now?”
I rewound it so I could watch it again. “I feel lucky,” Naomi said. “I feel fucking lucky.”
I feel lucky too, Naomi, I thought, my eyes beginning to sting. I feel goddamn lucky.
An ache filled my throat, a deep longing for the time when I could still hold her, smell her, kiss her. I paused the video at a close-up of Naomi’s smiling face.
I touched the screen gingerly with a finger, a lone tear trickling down my cheek.
“Emily?”
A light tapping on the door made me straighten up. I wiped my tear on my sleeve. “Yes, Mum?”
The door was opened and a wedge of light sliced across the room. Mum took a tentative step into the room. “I thought you might like some tea.”
I nodded absently, but didn’t say a word.
My mother set a tray on the bedside table. “Here, dear.” She handed me a cup then sat on the edge of the bed by me.
Mum slipped her arm around me and drew me to her. I leant my head on her shoulder and we both looked at the image on my laptop screen.
“I love her, Mum,” was all I could say, as tears streamed silently.
Mum lifted her hand and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks with her thumb. “I know, sweetie.”
“I love her,” I repeated. “It’s that simple.”
“I hear you, dear,” she said, cradling me against her chest. “I hear you.”
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I can’t fix it.”
“Don’t be silly, Emily,” Mum said, stroking my hair with her tender hand. Then she raised my face to hers and peered down into my tear-filled eyes. “I love you, you know, and you’ll always be my sweet little girl no matter what, okay?”
Tears multiplied in my eyes. “It sucks, Mum. It tears my heart in two to know that I’ve been rejected by my own mother, to know that to you I was a stranger.”
“I never realised,” Mum began, tears welling up in her own eyes. “I never knew you . . .” And
then she was drawing me into her arms again. For a long time, the embrace felt odd,
uncomfortable. And then I inhaled the quiet floral fragrance my mother had worn
for years, and my arms stole around my mum’s waist, my head slipping into the
comfort of my mother’s shoulder.
Making the first steps at bridging the years-old divide
between us.
A sense of peace, of knowledge settled into my heart. My
mother did care about me. And she loved me—always did. The tears
continued their journey down my face, blurring my vision, soaking into my
mother’s soft blouse.
“I’m sorry, Emily,” my mother said, her voice hoarse. “I
know that doesn’t even begin to make up for me not being there for you when you
needed me the most, for rejecting your choices, for not listening to you, for
not taking part in that particular corner of your life, for failing as a mother.
But—”
“But it’s a start,” I finished. “We have time.”
Mum drew back, a watery smile on her tearstained face, then
gathered me again. “Yea, we have time.” My mother cupped my chin, her brown
eyes now softer. “I am proud that you’re my daughter, you know. I’m proud of
you, no matter what. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too, Mum.”
“I’ve always been so proud of you, Emily. I saw you going
after what you wanted instead of sticking with the easy, convenient road,” she
said, a look of pride taking over her features. “You’ve really inspired me to
be more audacious, you know. It takes a lot of courage.”
I swallowed. “Yea, but what about your dreams for me? What
about all those things you wanted for me?”
My mother waved a hand in dismissal. “You’ll do what makes
you happy. You’ll be with a person that makes you happy. That’s what I want for
you right now.”
“Will it change tomorrow?”
Mum let out a little laugh. “I just want you to be happy,
that’s all, dear.”
I returned the smile, then sobered. “That’s the problem,
Mum. It’s tough when the person you love is not here with you. It’s maddening.”
“Don’t give up, dear. Stay strong. When there’s love, fight for it. No matter how tough. When it gets harder, you gotta fight more, yea?” she said soothingly. “Because it’s worth it.”
I only nodded my head and sniffled, then I took a long, calming sip of my tea.
Mum smiled at me softly—the sweet, motherly smile I missed so much. “Just remember that I only want you to be happy, sweetie, more than anything,” she said. “If it’s this girl Naomi then so be it. If you like girls then so be it. If you prefer burritos than—”
“Mum!” I said, blushing from embarrassment. “Ew.”
She laughed. “What do you want to call it then, beaver?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“How about blossom full of nectar?”
“What? No!” I said, snorting in laughter.
“Your dad calls mine ‘Yum Yum,’” she said lightly.
“Ew! Mum!” Katie’s scowling face appeared from under the heap of blankets. “That is so gross! Too much information!”
Mum and I could only laugh at the look on Katie’s face. Priceless.
Mum nudged me with her elbow. “What about love tunnel, hun?” She wriggled her brows.
I scrunched my nose. “No.” Then I slid on the bed and tugged the blanket over my head. “I think I’m gonna sleep now. Night, Mum!”
Mum pulled the blanket off my head and teased for the last time. “Sleep tight, honey pot?”
I brushed some lint particles off the knees of my jeans as I made my way out of the Bristol University auditorium on Monday afternoon. Why did Drama class always include cringe-worthy acting exercises that involved “interpreting” random words like liquefied and algae? And why did those so-called interpretations inevitably consist of crawling around on a dusty stage floor?
I wondered if it was too early to consider dropping the class. But I’d promised this year that I’d be less fickle and just get all this over with. If nothing else, it would hone my very poor acting abilities just to be able to gloat in front of Naomi.
I glanced at my watch. Drama had let out a few minutes early, so I could probably catch Cassie on her way out of Philosophy. I hadn’t seen much of my best friend since Autumn Term started, except at GSA meetings. Plus last time Cassie called wanting some BFF action, I had been busy working on my Hamada University application.
I stationed myself off to the side of her classroom door as the final bell of the period rang. All around me crowds of students erupted from the doorways, chattering and laughing as they headed down the hallway. I scanned the sea of faces—so many new people I hadn’t met yet.
I felt a hand grab my arm. “Thank God, you’re here already," Cassie said. "We have to plan our GSA activities and campaigns. I called for an emergency meeting.”
She tugged me into a small conference room that was surprisingly already crowded with GSA members. I took my seat at the huge conference table.
Cassie nudged me then leant over to whisper, “That girl Francine sitting across you is totally eye-fucking you right now. She’s like undressing you with her eyes.”
My eyes slid to her. “Okay . . .”
“What?” she said, as if trying to make a point. “She's sound.”
“Okay . . .” I repeated in the same weirded-out manner.
“Oh, my God. You’re so whipped,” Cassie said, all wide-eyed.
“Whipped?”
“What?” she said, as if trying to make a point. “She's sound.”
“Okay . . .” I repeated in the same weirded-out manner.
“Oh, my God. You’re so whipped,” Cassie said, all wide-eyed.
“Whipped?”
“Like totally Naomi Campbell-fixated.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, taking out a large notebook from my bag.
“Oh, come on, Ems. I’m your best mate,” she said. “I know you inside-out. Before you’d fucking blush so bad or stiffen whenever you spot a fit girl, but I never see you like that anymore. I don’t think you care about other girls other than your girlfriend. Naomi's got you under her spell.” She playfully stroked my chin with her finger.
I flipped my notebook open and placed it on the table. “Well, I’m actually sitting here right now because of her, you know.”
It was true. I joined the GSA because of Naomi. When I told her about my intention and Cassie’s plan to make me her secretary, she gave me a thumbs up and shared the PROs and CONs. According to the blonde, “PRO: You’ll get to meet a lot of awesome people who you can identify with. CON: You’ll get to meet a lot of awesome people who you can identify with and would secretly want to smell your red hair.” That was Naomi’s subtle way of saying that I better not be making 'friendly friends' with any of them.
It was true. I joined the GSA because of Naomi. When I told her about my intention and Cassie’s plan to make me her secretary, she gave me a thumbs up and shared the PROs and CONs. According to the blonde, “PRO: You’ll get to meet a lot of awesome people who you can identify with. CON: You’ll get to meet a lot of awesome people who you can identify with and would secretly want to smell your red hair.” That was Naomi’s subtle way of saying that I better not be making 'friendly friends' with any of them.
Cassie smirked. “I know. And I really have to thank Naomi for whipping you real good. Anyway, we better start.” She straightened up, walked toward the projector screen, and formally started the meeting.
Twenty minutes, four yawns, ten times of finger drumming, three tongue clicks, five weary sighs, and thirty sips from my water bottle passed by until a vibration of my phone wrenched me from half-sleeping. Sneakily, I took out my phone from my pocket as the PowerPoint slides flashed on the screen and Cassie droned on.
I looked up just to check if someone had noticed me busy doing something else, but smirked when I found everyone had been listening intently to Cassie. “. . . So this coming December,” she was saying, “we’re going to have a fund-raising party together with other GSA members from other schools and . . .” My phone vibrated again as I got another reply.
For a moment I only stared at her last message. Then I shook my head in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable.
With a little grin, I put my phone back into my pocket then shifted my attention to the ongoing meeting.
“. . . And so for those of you who came in late,” Cassie said, “here’s Emily Fitch for the recap of the minutes.”
All eyes turned to my direction. I felt a sudden heat rush to my cheeks.
“Wh-what?” I stammered to Cassie, my mouth going bone-dry.
Cassie smiled at me. “Emily, as the secretary-general, you are responsible to document everything that we’ve been talking about—the minutes of the meeting—and summarise it to the late-comers. So, the floor is yours now.”
I looked down at my blank notebook then gulped. “Oh.”
Naomi would be proud indeed.
The days passed by quickly. It had been four months that Naomi and I managed to keep our relationship through thrice a week phone calls, occasional Skype conversations, and sweet little exchanges of text messages. We had both been busy with school. There had been a few times when all we would do was laugh on the phone. Many times, we’re just crying. And a very few sweet times, we’d sleep together in front of our webcams despite the different time zones.
Now I decided it was time for some bonding session with my favourite girls.
“GNG reunited!” Panda’s squeal and high-pitched giggles almost shattered my laptop’s speakers.
“Chrissakes, Panda,” Halo ground out, “I’m on freaking headphones!”
“Oops. Sorry,” Panda mumbled sheepishly.
I laughed. It was nice just hearing their familiar voices. They’re just two of the most animated people on earth and I could visualise their every facial expression and action by just listening to the tone of their voices.
“There’s still ringing in my ears. Fuck’s sake,” Halo grounded. Then she snapped into perky mode. “Anyway, Emily, how are you doing?”
“Just busy with the GSA meetings and filling out forms for Hamada U,” I replied. It was true. In another window, there was a Hamada University form that I was only halfway done with.
“GSA?” Panda repeated. “Oh, okay, wait. I’ll Yahoo! that.”
“Yahoo! that?” Halo cracked up.
“What?” Panda said in defence. “Everyone says Google. I don’t want to Google. I'm sick of Google. I want to Yahoo! this time.” We could hear the urgent tapping of keys from Panda.
And as if on cue, Halo and I burst out laughing.
“Guys, shush please. I’m concentrating,” Panda mumbled soberly.
“So, Emily,” Halo spoke when she finally sobered, “you’re really gonna finish your undergrad studies in Japan?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I replied. “I mean, I need to get a scholarship first because there’s no bloody way I can pay for Hamada U’s tuition fee, you know. But Misaki e-mailed me all the forms I need to fill out and she’s also looking for a scholarship guarantor for me.”
“God bless that Misaki Ueno,” Halo said. “Such an angel. And I won a nail-art competition here in Vancouver, thanks to her collection.”
“Have you told Naomi about this big move, though?” Panda asked.
“No. Not yet,” I said. “I mean, I’m not sure if I’ll be accepted in the first place. I’m just giving it a shot. Although, I’ve changed faculties. I’m glad they let me. Now I’m in the Faculty of Arts. It’s just so my courses could be credited at Hamada U just in case I take up Japanese Lit.”
“That’s a clever move, I should say. I bet Jap Lit would be effortless for you given that you take pleasure in reading volumes and volumes of freaking books,” Halo said. “And you’re really good in Reading class.”
Her words made me feel a bit more confident. “Thanks for that ego-bloating compliment, Halo. I just feel like this is where I belong, you know. I could end up teaching and—”
“Oh, I got GSA now!” Panda suddenly exclaimed happily. “Gangsta Skeezas Association?”
“No, Panda,” Halo said dryly.
Panda tried again. “I Yahoo!ed it again. Goatee Society of America?”
Halo’s tone was flat. “Uhm. Not.”
“How about Good Samaritan Asylum?” she asked for the final time.
“Definitely not, Panda,” I spoke finally. “It’s gay-straight alliance. Can we move on now?”
“Wow. Gay-straight alliance," Panda said thoughtfully. "So what exactly do you do there?”
“We organise gender awareness events and initiate campaigns,” I filled in. “Our main goal is to battle homophobia. I enjoy it a lot, actually. You get to have fun and do something of significance at the same time.”
“I have to tell you, Ems, I was surprised about this GSA,” Halo said, contemplatively. “I mean, where was that good ol’ Emily Fitch who took pride in being a wallflower?”
“There’s Emily BN and Emily AN,” I explained.
There was silence for a moment. I could totally imagine the blank expression on their faces.
“AN?” Panda finally asked. “Okay, wait, I’m going to—”
“You won’t find it on Google, Panda,” I interrupted, before she says the word ‘Yahoo!’ again.
“Yahoo!,” she corrected.
“You won’t find it on Yahoo! as well,” I said, trying to gather more patience. “Anyway, stepping up and being out and proud, that isn’t me and everyone knows it.”
“But you just did it,” Halo pointed out.
I smiled even though they couldn’t see me. “Not me. I thought for sure you’d get it,” I said. “Who has the most take-charge and do something positive energy of anyone we know? Who could not just stand by and let injustice happen without fighting for what’s right?”
One by one, they let out an ‘Oh’, as the answer came to them.
“BN—Before Naomi,” Halo played translator. “AN—”
“Exactly,” I filled in. “She’s such a pain in the arse all the way from Melbourne. And she has a hell lot of nerve for turning me into such a disgustingly productive citizen.”
Panda giggled. “She’ll be super duper proud of you for doing this, Emsy,” she assured me.
“Well, you know what they say—but let me rephrase it,” I began. “Behind every great woman is a great woman.”
“And behind every great woman is a great butt,” Halo added.
I laughed. “And damn, but I miss hers.”
It was a cold, windy, and rainy mid-December night. I clicked on my mouse and Naomi’s face instantly appeared before my eyes.
I couldn’t bear it. I sank to the floor at once, wrapped my arms around my knees, curling up against the ache. It didn’t help. I bit my lip, fighting tears. I tried not to look up at the laptop screen; I knew she was looking, knew it all too well.
“Emily, where are you?” Naomi called. “Ems?”
“I don’t want to face the camera,” I sniffled. “My face is all puffy. I’ve been crying.”
“I don’t care. You’re actually ten times cuter with a red nose.”
I thought I was laughing. But then I realised I was choking on my tears. My chest heaved, expanding for the air it wasn’t getting. God, I missed her so much.
“You’re killing me here. Emily?” the Aussie blonde called again. “I want to see you.”
At last, gasping through my mouth, I caught my breath. My throat felt swollen with the effort. “No.”
“Fuck’s sakes. Ems!” she yelled.
I didn’t move.
“Emily, you’re such a fucking tease, you know,” Naomi said impatiently. “I want to see you!”
When I didn’t answer, she decided to take a different approach. “Show your face or I’m going to sign out. Now!”
That did it for me.
Slowly, shakily I climbed to my feet and sat heavily in the swivel chair. My voice vibrated with emotion. “It’s torture, Naomi.”
She studied my face, a smirk forming on her lips. “Oh, don’t be such a crybaby.”
“It hurts. Right here.” I pointed to my left chest.
“Just a little bit,” she said.
“A little bit?” I echoed with a disbelieving scowl wrinkling my brow. “I’m dying here without you.”
Then I heard some muffled chuckling in the background. My eyes wandered to the side of the screen as if I would be able to see beyond it.
Naomi had that sheepish smile on her face. “Oh, yea, I forgot to mention about . . .”
“Hello, Emily.” A grinning Gina appeared next to Naomi.
“Oh, my God. Gina?” I gasped, my face turning red as tomatoes. The two Campbells laughed at the look on my face.
Naomi spoke. “I was telling Mum that I wasn’t the only one who breaks down and cry, you know. She wanted evidence.”
For a few seconds, I only looked at the younger blonde dumbfounded. “You’re unbelievable,” I muttered to her, shaking my head, still flustered and flushed from embarrassment.
Gina clasped her hands together to relieve the awkward situation. “Okay. You’ve made your point now, sweetie,” she told her daughter, getting up. Then she turned to me, smiling sweetly. “And Emily, I am happy to know you two are going strong. I better leave before things get more awkward here.”
I managed a smile to Gina. The older blonde turned on her heel and moved to the door but not before saying, “And, oh, Emily, you’re really cute with the red nose!”
I turned my gaze back to the blonde in front of me. She was slumped against the back of her chair, helpless with laughter.
I was still staring at her as if she was mad. “I can’t believe you just did that!” I cried before covering my face with my hands.
“I had to prove a point,” Naomi said in defence. “Mum thought I was the only melodramatic one.”
I removed my hands from my face. “At the expense of my dignity?”
“I needed proof,” she said simply.
I covered my bright red face with my hands again and grumbled. Naomi was just chuckling at my reaction.
When I found the cheek to face her again, Naomi propped an elbow on her desk and leant a little closer. “Do you miss me?”
I took it as a chance to get back at her by teasing her. I didn’t answer right away, but simply stroked my computer mouse with a finger. “I suppose I do,” I said, secretly taking pleasure at the way her face fell. “Now and then.”
The blonde lifted a brow. “How about now?”
I sank back into the chair and gave a little half-shrug. “Yes. I miss you.”
Naomi straightened up then smirked smugly. “Good. I want you to miss me,” she said. “I want it to kill you every time I’m not with you. And I want you to feel as baffled and uncomfortable and fucking frustrated as I am with this whole shitty situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
“Well, I do, so that’s just fine for both of us.”
“Fine and fantastic,” she declared.
I exhaled wearily, lowered my gaze to the mouse and fiddled with it again. “I had a dream.”
“Did she look like me?”
I smiled faintly. “She was you.”
She smiled back. “Nice dream. Were we happy in it?”
My smile faded. “We were,” I replied, “but when I woke up, I was cold and there were tears in my eyes.”
Naomi bit her lip sadly. “That’s the trouble with dreams.”
“Or maybe,” I said quietly, “maybe that’s the trouble with our relationship.”
She became silent for a moment, then her eyes brimmed with tiny tears.
It took her a while before she could speak. “Did you know I was a complete fucking mess after you left? I couldn’t drag myself out of bed even if I wanted to. It wasn’t, you know, particularly a House of Fun without you there,” she paused, taking in another gulp of air. “I could tell you—tell you I didn’t want you to go. But then it would hang like a weight over our time together. It’s not fair to make you feel guilty about getting on with your life. I knew I would have to, too.”
Fresh tears gushed from both our eyes. We both couldn’t help it.
I rested my arms on the desk, rested my chin over them and stared straight into the blonde’s red-rimmed eyes. “Naomi, this is so maddening—what we’re doing.”
Naomi mimicked my move. “I know,” she whispered shakily.
I savoured the moment whilst we were eye to eye. I was acutely conscious of everything around me—the cold December wind whistling through the trees outside, the rain hammering on the roof, the cozy warmth of the room, the jolly Yuletide music Katie was playing on the piano downstairs.
Yet at the same time there was nothing but the two of us. I was falling into her blue-eyed gaze, her soul. Her mouth seemed so close to my mouth, I could feel the electricity. I touched her face with a finger but instead of her warm smooth skin, I felt a cold flat surface. It made my heart sink a little bit further.
I sighed and leant back in my swivel chair. I wanted Naomi’s kiss, Naomi’s embrace—both that could make time melt away, both that could save me from this sustained agony. But that wasn’t possible.
“Naomi love! We’ll leave in half an hour!” I heard Gertrude call from outside Naomi’s door.
Naomi straightened up, turned her head around and yelled back, “Roger that!” With a sigh of her own, she reached for her cup of coffee and took a slow sip. “I guess I have to go in a little while.”
I let my eyes close a moment at the painful effect of her words. Recently, farewell lines from Naomi seemed to be the most heartbreaking words to travel into my ears.
“Emily?”
Naomi’s soft voicing of my name sent a surge of heat through me. I opened my eyes and looked at her, again. So strikingly beautiful, and it was killing me. Her golden hair had attractive waves. I wanted to run my fingers through them and drown in its scent. And her lips . . . Oh, Jesus, her lips. I wanted to feel them against mine.
The blonde drained the coffee from her cup and looked across at me. “You’re staring,” she said.
“I’m trying to get my fill.”
“Your fill?”
“Of you,” I candidly said. “Of looking at you. Of being with you. Because once this convo is over, however it comes down, you’re going to return to your life, and I’m not going to be there next to you. You know what I’m saying?”
Slowly, she nodded her head yes.
“That’s why I’m staring.”
Naomi looked at me for a moment. “I have to go. Aunt Margie and Uncle Gary’s invited us over their house for lunch. Grandpa’s going to be there. And the rest of the fabulous Campbells.”
I nodded. “Okay. Then I’ll just be here alone in my room and I’d be really lonely . . .” Whilst I was talking I was slipping my robe off one shoulder.
Naomi stared. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” I feigned ignorance, and slowly let the other side fall off.
The blonde’s blue eyes were darkening with desire. “Emily, stop,” she bit out. “I really have to go.”
“Then go,” I said, smirking triumphantly when the blonde didn’t move. I lifted my hair and let it fall gorgeously to one side in a bombshell kind of way.
“Ems!”
I chuckled at Naomi’s heated face. “Naomi, it’s an act of almost superhuman control for me not to jump on you right now, but I’m not going to,” I said with a smug smirk. “Because delaying it will make the pleasure more intense.”
“No,” she said. “You’re playing with me, and I don’t like it.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are, and I want you to stop.”
I moved a little closer to the camera and arched my brows provocatively. “Can you tell me exactly what you want me to stop?”
“I want you to stop being so irresistible,” Naomi said.
I shrugged. “I can’t do anything about it.”
Naomi bit her lip then narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay, then, if you want to prolong the agony then I will go get changed.” She pushed herself off her chair.
“I can watch,” I said, as Naomi moved to her closet.
Naomi turned back to face the cam, smirking. “You’re a downright perve, Emily Fitch, but I love you so feel free to peep.” She punctuated her words with a naughty wink that sent shivers up my spine.
Half an hour later I was stretched out on my bed. Dad was spreading the duvet over me.
“Stop crying now, love,” Dad said softly.
“Remember Dad when I was a kid, you’d always ask us what do we want from Santa, and I’d always say whatever Katie wants,” I sniffled.
Dad nodded and smiled tenderly. “You’d always get matching dresses but it made you so happy.”
“Well, this is the first and only time I’m sure of what I want, Dad,” I told him. “The first and only time I’m certain of what truly makes me happy.”
“Naomi, you mean,” Dad said quietly.
I nodded my head. For a while we stayed in silence as Dad stroked my hair tenderly.
“It’s been five months, Dad,” I said. “Crazy five months. And it’s not getting any better.”
“You’ll be okay, dear. Just hang on a little longer.”
I sighed and wiped my dribbling nose. “I wish Santa could feel my suffering . . .”
“I bet he does, love,” Dad said. He planted a kiss on my forehead. “And you never know . . . maybe Naomi will show up in a big box at our doorstep one day.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “That’s rather an outrageous imagination, Dad, but thanks for cheering me up. I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweet girl.” Dad straightened up and turned for the door. I stared at a framed photo of Naomi on my bedside table.
I had a powerful urge to just go out that door, fly all the way to Melbourne, wrap my arms around my girlfriend, pull her toward me and forget everything else as we kiss.
But that moment passed. I was still tucked in my bed. Dad turned off the light and closed the door behind him. I let my heavy eyelids close, snuggled under the duvet and wrapped my arms around myself.
Maybe, if I were lucky, I’d dream about kissing her.
The string of silver bells on the door was tinkling nonstop that rainy December morning. The customers rolled in, so I steamed milk and plated croissants and cinnamon sticks whilst Cassie tended to the vats of coffee and hauled a couple of bags of ice from the freezer.
Over the blender noise whilst I was making a frozen latte, I told her, “It’s a blue Christmas for me, Cass. Five months and counting and I still don’t have Naomi. I’m losing faith in Santa Claus, you know. I know I’m not exactly Miss Perfectly Behaved but I just wish he’d be gracious to me this year.”
Cassie smirked and rang up the sales. “Don’t frown too early, Em,” she handed a customer some change and turned to me. “Maybe Santa just got stuck in traffic.” She winked.
I just looked at her oddly. I had always known Cassie’s winks had subtexts.
She slung an arm over my shoulders. “Cheer up, hobbit,” she said, pinching my nose. “Don’t worry, your dad had prepared a little something for you.”
“A little something?”
“Don’t tell him that I told you,” she said in a hushed tone, “but I know Rob’s planning to hang a huge framed close-up photo of your girlfriend inside your room despite Katie’s protests.”
“Wow,” I said, “all the more reasons to feel blue. That's just fantastic. A great reminder of the physical absence of my girlfriend.” I snorted.
Cassie laughed then placed an oversized filter over her head. “Do I look hot or what?”
“Ever the actress,” I said. “You look good in everything you eat.”
Cassie took this as her cue to hang a croissant from her ear, which made me crack up finally.
“You’re insane, Cassandra. And that’s why I love you,” I said, grabbing a rag then moving to the counter.
I was slicking the marble counter with a damp rag, wiping it free of crumbs and coffee rings when I heard a familiar tune. I stopped mid-motion. And the hairs at the back of my neck stood.
♫ When the rain is blowing in your face and the whole world is on your case . . . ♫
I gasped. Or at least I felt the soft gasp rise to my throat. “Whoa, whoa, wait. The song playing . . .”
Cassie gave me a searching look. “What about it?”
♫ When the evening shadows and the stars appear ♫
“I know this one.”
“Yea. So?” Cassie shrugged. “Sounds like a mushy song.”
♫ And there is no one there to dry your tears ♫
“Why—what—how . . .” Question words came sputtering out of my mouth. “Who played this song?”
♫ I could hold you for a million years to make you feel my love . . . ♫
Cassie held up a cup of coffee. “I haven’t got a clue.” Then she put on a heavy Lord of the Rings voice. “But I am not the ring bearer.”
Chuckling softly and shaking my head in amusement, I wiped my hands on my white half apron. Eight in the morning and it was already dirty with grinds, chocolate, and wet from the ice. I crouched on the floor and opened a drawer to look for a clean apron.
“It just reminds me of someone,” I said, smiling to myself. “A sappy someone.”
I looked up and saw Cassie with a big grin on her face as she eyed something in the distance. “You mean . . .” she said slowly, “that sappy someone?” She pointed her thumb to the window.
Very slowly, shakily I got to my feet to look out the huge front window, and froze the instant I caught sight of someone standing across the street.
Oh. My. God. My jaw dropped and my heart did a somersault. Oh. My. God.
To be continued . . .
To be continued . . .
