CHAPTER 19
‘SO, HOW ARE the holiday plans going?’
‘Do you have everything you need?’ I ask. ‘Adapters? Thongs to wear in the dorm showers? That neck pillow thing that I’m not entirely convinced is even remotely effective?’
‘Yes to each of those, Mum.’
‘I just worry about you, darling.’
‘Speaking of worry,’ Nic says, with the tone of someone trying to avoid setting off a jumpy cat, ‘how did things end up over the weekend?’
‘It was a royal clusterfuck. And that might be underselling it.’
She drops her clipboard on the table and walks over to fold me into a hug. It lasts precisely six seconds because Nic saw a video that told her six-second hugs lower your blood pressure and help with anxiety. ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you, Gertie. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Ask me for details later after a few glasses of bubbles.’ I’m laughing, because this much concentrated sincerity makes me uncomfortable. ‘But the upshot is that I think we’re done.’
‘Who? You and Bee? Or you and the lovely man?’
‘Both,’ I say. I think it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
‘Geez, busy weekend.’
‘It was shoutier than most weekends I’ve had.’
‘So, where are you and Bee at now?’ Nic asks. We’ve finished the place cards, and now we’re placing personalised photo-frame bonbonniere. Because everyone wants to leave a wedding carrying a framed picture of the couple with their names and wedding date on it.
‘We haven’t spoken since Wednesday.’
‘Is that the longest you’ve ever gone without talking?’
‘I mean, intentionally yes. Bee did go to Greece and Italy a few years ago, and I wouldn’t have known if she was dead or alive for four weeks if not for the stories.’
‘I’m not very shocked by that.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you going to do?’ This is a harder question, and one that has been echoing in my mind for the last forty-eight hours. ‘Would you consider moving out?’ she presses.
‘I have been wondering if she is thinking about it, but I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to find somewhere central and affordable and not with complete strangers.’
Although maybe far away with total strangers is the best option right now. But the kitchen island.
Nicole looks pensive. ‘How would you feel about living with a couple of uni students?’
‘Huh?’ Eloquent.
‘My girlfriends are moving into a four-bedroom townhouse in Hawthorn soon. I’ll be taking the third bedroom, but we’ve been looking for someone to fill the fourth. Three hundred a week. Brooke’s dad owns the place.’
‘Can I think about it?’ I ask.
Nicole’s offer has short-circuited my brain. I don’t know if I can remember the last time I just turned up to work and worked, because these days it always seems to get sidetracked by potentially life-altering events.
Could I really just…move out? I don’t have much furniture to deal with—almost all of what’s in our apartment is Bee’s. Packing up my room wouldn’t take longer than a day. We’re on month to month, so it wouldn’t be a hassle to break the lease; just need to call Brian.
I wonder what my life might be like, living in the inner city with a bunch of uni students. And then I remember that it’s not like I’m in a place in my life where I’m headed anywhere near home-ownership, marriage, babies. May as well…not so much relive my youth as go back and give it a first crack.
Maybe I need someone to remind me that I’m young sometimes.
By the time we settle in with the discarded alcohol at the end of the shift, I’m ready to find the answer in the bottom of the bottle. And I realise that, wherever I go, the moving-out bit is a foregone conclusion. I’m not considering the pros and cons of doing it; I’m thinking logistics.
I turn to Nicole. ‘I’m in.’
She squeals and hugs me. ‘Yay! I’m starting a group chat now so we can discuss. When can you move? Do you have a fridge? Can you cook?’
‘What’s happening?’ Reg says, walking over with a fresh half-finished bottle.
‘We’re gonna be roomies!’ Nicole shrieks, in my ear, still squeezing me so I can’t escape it.
‘Yay!’ He joins the hug, and I feel a dribble of spilt bubbly down my back before he pulls back and we settle around the table. ‘So,’ he continues. ‘In other big life-change news, I am going to be switching to days only from next year.’
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Why?’
‘José and I are looking to have a child next year. Can’t really be staying out to all hours drinking fancy plonk with you degenerates when I’m a dad.’
Nicole and I leap from our seats and renew the group hug. I try to pour all my joy into it for Reg. It’s really the best news.
Unfortunately, it means Nicole’s shrieking again. ‘That’s so exciting, Reg!’ Glad he gets a taste of the ear damage too. ‘You know, Nicole is a very pretty name for a baby girl.’
‘It is, but you’re getting well and truly ahead of yourself, my love,’ he replies, patting her on the back.
Reg confesses that this is the reason for the nicotine patches he’s been using (the booze being a work in progress); then we spend the next ten minutes spitballing increasingly ridiculous baby names.
I don’t think little Asparagus (Gus for short, obviously) and Mayonnaise (May) will ever appreciate our creativity.
When he tells us about how José wants to raise the baby bilingual, I swear there are tears in his eyes.
Nicole’s phone pings and while she’s distracted, I whisper to Reg, ‘Are you scared? This will be such a massive life change.’
He glances over at Nicole, still furiously texting. Her thumbs must have calluses.
‘I’m terrified.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s scary. But it’s usually the scary things that carry the big rewards.’
‘I’m frightened of change,’ I admit. ‘But now I think I’m much more scared that nothing ever will change.’
He nods, and pats my hand. ‘That’s what a lot of people never understand. Stagnation is a poison. Jump into this new life headfirst, Gertie-girl—see where it takes you.’
Reg goes home shortly after that, but before he does he lets us make fun of him for calling it early. ‘Will we ever see you again, Reg?’ Nicole asks.
‘I’m going to day shift, Nic, not palliative care. Besides,’ he winks as he gets up to leave, ‘this won’t be the last time you see me. Someone still needs to teach you youths the value of good champagne.’
‘Or domestic sparkling,’ I say.
‘That too.’
Then Nicole demands a full and comprehensive synthesis of the shit show that was my last week, making all the appropriate shocked and horrified faces, revelling in the sick burns I lobbed at Will, lamenting how it went down with Arthur. Are you sure it’s over, Gertie? Like really, really sure?
I’m really, really sure.
Nicole looks up from her phone. She has been texting again while I contemplate going home because it’s two-thirty and I’m exhausted. ‘When can you be out of your lease?’ she asks.
‘I’m month to month.’
‘Perfect. The place is empty because the tenants just moved out. Brooke’s mum is replacing the carpets next week, and then we’ll be good to go.
What furniture and appliances do you have?
So we can make a list and figure out who’s getting what.
’ ‘I don’t have any major stuff beyond my own bedroom. It’s all Bee’s.’
Nicole scrunches up her face. ‘Eh, that’s fine. None of us have anything either, except I’ve got the option for the couch at the holiday house if we want it. Anyway, if we used any of your stuff from Bee’s, we’d have to do, like, a sage cleansing ceremony to get rid of the bad energy.’
‘I don’t think an Ikea table can carry any energy, good or bad.’
‘It definitely can. We’re going to have to teach you about aura healing so you don’t immediately throw the whole space out of balance, the feng shui’s bad enough as it is. Do you have any crystals? Oh! And before I forget, Brooke’s asking what your star sign is.’
‘No idea,’ I say truthfully. I can instantly tell it was the wrong thing to say, and the comments about sage and energy healing should have been my clues to avoiding the misstep.
Nicole sighs. ‘When’s your birthday?’
‘January 12.’
‘Hah! Typical Capricorn.’
I have no clue what that means.
‘What are you going to tell Bee?’ she asks now. She’s not looking at her phone anymore but directly at me. That’s how I know this conversation is taking a serious turn.
‘I know it might make me a coward,’ I begin, ‘but I kind of want to leave first and talk about it later. I don’t trust myself to not crumble. I just generally don’t want to deal with her reaction and my inevitably shitty reaction to her reaction.’
‘I think that’s a perfectly reasonable step to take.
You have to protect your peace. Besides, she’d probably do the same to you.
’ This isn’t the first time that I’ve heard a sentiment like that.
Would she do the same for you? I’m not sure it makes me any less of an asshole for ghosting.
But it certainly does help me justify it.
Then I remember something. ‘Question, are your parents planning to pay your rent while you’re away?’
Nicole looks confused. ‘Yeah. Why?’
Oh, right. It’s just assumed. Must be nice. ‘No reason.’
She hugs me again, knocking over an empty bottle. ‘This is going to be awesome!’
Let it be said that it is super easy to plan a stealth escape when your housemate was never very interested in what you do in the first place and is actively avoiding you now.
Reg and Nicole, kept up to speed on any new developments in my frosty apartment, have started taking bets to see how long it will take for Bee to even notice that I’ve left. Then Stewart joins and puts his money on a full month.
When she’s at the gym I sneak some boxes into my room that I snagged off the online community forum.
I remove my contribution to the kitchen—a Pantone mug I got in a Kris Kringle years ago—early on.
I choose to leave behind the shitty Ikea table; in exchange I pinch the garlic crusher just to be petty.
With my door closed, and the knowledge that Bee will never be curious enough to open it, my packing is safely hidden away.