Kristian With the ‘k’ #2
“Yeah, sure! You can cut the bullshit, Florence!” Mark laughed. “When you said,” he continued, artfully mimicking my voice, “‘Have you seen that guy? Wow! We might have two weddings by the end of this little vacation,’ I knew it was all an act.”
“What?” I gasped. “First of all, I do not sound anything like that! My voice isn’t even that high-pitchy. Maybe you’re thinking of someone else, Mark?”
“Wait!” Miles glanced at me. “You said that?”
“Do not gloat. I did not mean a word of it!” I muttered, shoving a forkful of lemon sole into my mouth.
“And what’s second?” Jo stared at me.
“The second?” I asked, confused.
“You said ‘first of all.’ So, what’s the second?”
“Oh, I guess it’s just first of all…” I trailed off.
“You should have seen her,” Mark chuckled.
“The steam was nearly coming out of her ears. And the funniest thing is, we saw you two that day. You were talking at the beach, and we could see you from our balcony, practically a front-row seat to the whole drama. After something that looked like quite a heated argument, Florence stormed off. She kept muttering something to herself the whole way home. Probably cursing you.” Mark glanced at Miles, chuckling.
“Fury, there was pure fury. Her eyes saw red. And then, moments later when I asked her about you, she completely switched into, you know, all sunshine and rainbows, so…” Well, great, Mark.
Noticing Miles furrow for a brief moment, I was sure he too didn’t forget that happened.
“That is absolutely not true! I have no idea who you are talking about!” I mumbled defensively, my hand instinctively reaching for the glass of water, my mind racing for another subject. “Anyway.” I took a sip of a cold liquid. “How is your choreography class going?”
“Ahem.” Suddenly Miles coughed, nearly choking on his drink. “Sorry,” he breathed. “Excuse me.”
“Are you okay?” I asked but his only response was a quick nod. “Alright.” I turned to Jo. “Where was I? Oh, right! The choreography. How did it go today?”
“Today?” Jo shook her head, reaching for the salt. “No, it wasn’t today. It is tomorrow.”
“But Miles…” I trailed off, glancing at him.
But wait… Why did he say it was today? My gaze drifted to his stormy grey eyes and then, like magnets, they locked into a lingering stare.
At that moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.
A crease furrowed my brow, searching for the answer to a silent question that was hanging heavy between us.
“Why?” I mouthed. Was that anything to do with him saying all those things to me that evening?
And what did that even mean? We despised each other from day one—Jo and Mark had clearly witnessed that.
Was he messing with me? Or was I simply imagining things?
Could it be my mother messing with both of us?
Or…was this something entirely different?
I couldn’t deny that something had shifted between us.
A strange warmth bloomed in my chest and as we both looked at each other, for the first time I felt truly seen.
A muscle tensed in his jaw and his hand clenched around his fork. The air caught in his throat, the words waiting to escape with the breath. Finally, so close to the truth, he blinked when the voice spoke from across the table.
“Well, since it’s clear you two aren’t exactly friends—” A short laugh erupted from Jo. “—you don’t have to keep up the act for our sake.”
“We appreciate the effort, though,” added Mark.
“Right.” Miles offered them a smile that left me even more confused than I was seconds ago.
I stared at him for another brief moment, but it was clear that whatever was left unsaid would remain so.
I quickly stood up. “Um…excuse me.” I glanced around the table. “I’ll be right back.”
“Is everything okay?” Jo shot me a look of concern.
“Yeah.” I managed a hesitant smile. “Just need a…” Halfway out of the room, I mumbled, “the loo.”
I rushed through the corridor, my feet carrying me away past the bathroom door. “Ten days,” I muttered, heading outside to get some fresh air. “Just ten days, Florence, and you’ll be gone from this place.”
Leaning against the cool brick wall, my arms wrapped around myself. Eyes closed, I basked in the last rays of sunshine that caressed my face. Lips parted with a long exhale, the aroma of the evening garden, lavender and roses filled my nostrils.
The stillness of the day surrounded me. A quiet whisper of breeze sang along with the faint screams of seagulls overhead. I looked up. There they were, skilfully navigating the air, waiting for the opportunity to snatch swimmers’ food the moment they looked away. Thieves!
A few cotton clouds floated in the sky, somewhat resembling ocean waves about to crash against the sandy shore.
My eyes darted to the vast horizon, watching some yachts sail the quiet, still waters.
What a wonderful feeling that was to course through the blue expanse, standing behind the helm!
The salt spray kissed your skin as you were going as fast as you could, catching some of the best sunsets.
Just as I imagined myself standing on one of those yachts, the wind dancing with my wavy strands, I suddenly detected another scent that did not belong there: nicotine.
I whirled around, spotting a figure there. “God!” I blurted out. “Can you smoke elsewhere?”
“Sorry, I didn’t know there was someone else here.”
“Oh.” My cheeks immediately burnt, realising that it wasn’t the person I thought it was. “Father Kristian?” I stared at the priest. “I didn’t…um…you smoke?”
“I tend to smoke when I’m anxious,” he confessed.
“Are you…?” I asked. “Anxious right now?”
“Well…your mother can be rather…” He paused, trying to find the right word.
“A horrible human being?” I blurted out.
“A lot to take,” he muttered with a smile.
“Right!” I frowned. “That’s what I should have said.”
“You seem like—” He took a long drag. “—you too might need a cigarette?”
“Hmm,” I shook my head, “I do not smoke, but in a life where I do, you’d be absolutely correct.”
“I see.” He took one step down and sat on the cool concrete, facing me. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“Oh.” I let out a short, choked laugh. “That might be too much for God to deal with.”
“Pretty sure He can handle it,” Father Kristian said, taking another puff at a cigarette, his hand adjusting the clerical collar on his shirt.
“Um…” I quickly dipped into the grass and plucked a blooming daisy peeking out of the perfectly cut lawn. “I really don’t think so…” Leaning back against the wall, my fingers played with a green flimsy stem as I contemplated his words.
“Well—” Father Kristian glanced at me, taking another drag. “—believe me when I say He is a good listener.”
“Does He have a week?!” I shot back with a half-smile, my brows slightly raised with the rhetorical question.
“He hears each and all, for He is God.”
“Hmm, how do we even know He is a He?”
“Neither He is a man or a woman.” His voice was subtle as he spoke.
“God is One. He is the Holy Spirit and the Creator of all. But,” with a hint of amusement in his words, he said, “if you feel the need to imagine God as human and would prefer to imagine Him, I don’t know, as a female—” He paused, taking the last long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling upwards in the still evening air. “—knock yourself out.”
I had never heard a priest speak this way, nor did I speak much to them at all in my life.
However, taking his words in, I thought that was probably the first time I actually enjoyed talking to one.
Father Kristian stared at me with a steady gaze, as if expecting me to come up with yet another objection.
Certainly, I was not going to debate something I had very little knowledge about.
Nor did I want to share whatever it was on my mind.
I could simply ask why God took Cassey away from me, why the good people always go.
This very question often echoed in my mind, a familiar ache settling in my chest. Cassey, with her infectious laughter and boundless kindness, was taken too soon.
No answer, not even from God himself, could ever fill the void left by her absence, nor would it bring her back.
“You know what,” I mumbled with a smile, “let’s head inside. I don’t believe I have any space left in me, and I know gluttony is one of the sins.”
“Deadly,” he quickly muttered, glancing at me.
“But trust me,” I continued, “the exquisite dessert my mother must have prepared specially for your visit is definitely worth violating a cardinal rule for.”
***
At the table, Miles and I had not exchanged a single word, nor did we even look at each other.
The air between us seemed to be heavier than ever.
The rest of the evening I remained a listener; I thought it would be easier that way.
Josephine kept stressing how important the final wedding dress fitting was but the irresistible pistachio tart sitting in front of her was tempting enough to not say no to.
Mark went into some details about his work but, unfortunately, my mind was not present at that conversation.
The number of names he mentioned got me very much confused.
All I could make out was Chantelle, perhaps?
And only for the reason I had never met anyone called Chantelle in my life.
All my thoughts drifted away to the abandoned car park and myself, sitting in the driver’s seat of Miles’ car.
Fingers tightly curled around the steering wheel as I slowly pushed down the gas pedal, and then I drove.
I drove! Not fast. I swear the speeds might have been around five to ten kilometres per hour or even slower.
But I drove! And that was such a huge deal for me!
After so many years of being afraid I would never have thought I could ever do that again.
I used to love driving. I could just put some music on, set a destination, and go, be on my own, think about things I wasn’t sure about, or things I thought I was certain of.
It was my comfort, a rolling safe space where my mind could roam.
And there I was, sitting in his car, making a small step towards something I always loved to do, overcoming my fear, one hesitant step at a time.
And then, when we stopped, I breathed in deeply and glanced at him.
“You did it!” Miles smiled at me as if it was such a huge deal for him too.
“You did it!” he repeated. Hugging him was the last thing I expected from myself but, oh, boy!
That was exactly what I did. I hugged him.
Tightly. My eyes closed as I just kept hold of him.
Not immediately, but his arms wrapped around me too, his thumbs slowly drawing comforting circles on the back of my shoulders. “You did it,” he whispered again, pressing his lips against my hair.
“Yeah,” I breathed, “thank you for making me do this.”
Burying my nose into his shirt, I noticed he smelled nice; a pleasant aftershave that somehow worked with his smoking habit. Not that I approved of that, of course, but my olfactory sensory receptors were quite fond of it.
That was it, a shared moment that felt like a lifetime ago.
Now, when my sister suggested she knew we never liked each other and that we should stop pretending we did, all Miles said was “right.” What did that even mean?
Ugh! All I knew was that I’d come dangerously close to giving mother the satisfaction of thinking her meddling plan was working.
Seriously, Lore? I should have kept my guard up.
“Wait, wasn’t that Chantelle?” Miles’ deep voice was snatching me back from my thoughts. I quickly shook my head, glancing around the table. God! Were they still talking about the same thing?
“Yep!” Mark shot back at him. “That was her.” Hmm, I now was very curious to meet the woman in question.
Shifting my gaze towards my parents, who were quite preoccupied in a conversation with Father Kristian, specifically the order of things God created in six days.
I surely was ready to admit that I was tempted to ask why there were six days only, or whether God ever considered creating anything on day eight, but then, as I mentally rolled my eyes at none other than myself, I thought I’d better just shut the fuck up.