Chapter 17 Jessie
Jessie
I’ve been informed that we’re going out tonight and that we’re going to have a wonderful time.
It’s one of those times where I’ve literally had the memo, but my brain doesn’t compute.
To me leaving the guest house and spending time around actual people seems like a horrible idea.
Seems like a recipe for disaster. We’re only just managing to keep a lid on things in front of our parents and we’re doing that by avoiding them as much as possible.
The last few weeks we’ve been having dinner and a quick hang-out with them and nothing more.
Wherever possible we tag team around them, taking turns to spend time with them on our own because it feels way easier than being around them together.
We hot-foot it back to the guest house as fast as we can.
The other day I heard my dad say, “The boys are thick as thieves, aren’t they? ”
Rachel said, “Mm…” and I didn’t hear the rest of her response, but even that was enough to make me break out into hives.
Luke thinks I’m crazy. He thinks our parents will be happy for us. “They love us both, of course they’ll be happy for us.”
“They love you more. They’ll be worried I’m going to corrupt you or something.”
“Your dad loves you more than anything.”
“Yeah, right. More than he loves your mom? Get real, he’s been living his best life since the day he met her and every once in a while he surfaces and remembers he had me.”
He eyes me up and down thoughtfully. He does it until I start to think he isn’t going to say anything more. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
He leads me to the main house and into the study.
The room has strong Pottery Barn vibes like the rest of the house, courtesy of Rachel, but it also has a lot of my dad in it.
There are car magazines and brochures left out on the desk and a lot of stray paperwork dotted around.
There are photos of him jubilantly holding up various fish he’s caught in his lifetime, and a couple of him and I on our road trip to Byron Bay.
Luke flicks through a few files in the bookcase and pulls out the one he’s after.
He puts it down in front of me. I start paging through it, flinching internally almost as soon as I do.
The file is at least an inch and a half thick, and every page is a letter or copy of an email to Australian Immigration, the Department of Health, or anyone else who could conceivably have the authority to grant a non-citizen entrance into Australia.
I skim through a few of the letters, they’re desperate and they’re not pretending not to be.
It’s been six months since I saw my son.
I’m begging you to consider my case.
Please, help me. I haven’t seen my son for a year and a half.
Some of them are covered in Post-it notes that have things like Spoke to Tish McDonald.
Seemed nice. Call back next week – works mornings only, scrawled on them.
Each page I turn hits like a punch to the gut.
I was avoiding his calls, slacking so hard I had to drop-out of university, and spending my time trying to think of ways to get around lock-down, while he was going through this.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Your dad loves my mom an insane amount, yeah, but there hasn’t been a single day that he didn’t miss you or fight to see you.”
“Are you trying to make me feel worse than I already do?”
“I’m not trying to make you feel any way. I only want to make sure you have the facts.”
“Oh, you want facts? I’ll give you facts.
” My voice is harsh and a lot louder than usual.
“Here’s a fact; I had to go, okay? I didn’t fucking want to move.
My life was here. I had to go, ‘cause I couldn’t let my mom go by herself.
Her family and friends are here, she has no-one in Sydney.
” I’m spiraling and getting louder and louder.
“You don’t know what she’s like. I couldn’t stay here and fucking well let her go on her own. ”
He stands still and considers me. He looks surprisingly calm, considering I’ve yelled and word-vomited at him.
When he talks, his voice is quiet. Low and melodic, like it always is. It gives no hint of the gravity of what he’s about to say. “So, if she has no-one in Sydney, why’d you think she moved there?”
I’m still on a roll from before, so I don’t pause or think through what I’m saying. “You know damn well she moved there to get me as far as possible from my dad.”
My mouth drops open as soon as I hear my words.
It’s the truth. I know it is. Of course it is.
I’ve always known it. It’s just that it’s one of those things I’ve stepped around for years.
I’ve averted my eyes and I’ve shuffled past it.
I’ve made a point of not looking directly at it and not talking about it.
I’ve avoided it for so long and so hard, I’ve allowed myself to forget it exists.
Luke leans back against the desk. “It has a name, you know. It’s called parental alienation. It’s a type of abuse.”
Rage engulfs me so hard and so fast, I can hardly get words out. “My mother…never abused my dad. You don’t fucking know her. She…”
“She hurt your dad, but that’s not what I mean. You’re the one she abused.”
I’m so angry I can’t see. My hands shake as I push past Luke. He follows me back to the guest house, trailing a few feet behind me, calling my name. I slam my bedroom door and when he knocks, I press my back against it and slide onto the floor.
“Don’t come in.”
“I won’t, but I’m here if you need me, Jess. Take all the time you need.”
I sit there for ages. Hours. Not moving.
Mind racing. I stay there until I hear him go into the main house when our parents get home.
I feel tired. I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been tired for years.
I’m tired in the base of my neck and in my skull.
When I finally get off the floor I lie down on my bed and close my eyes.
That makes it worse. It makes my thoughts louder and uglier, so I open them quickly.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. I send my mom a couple of messages.
She doesn’t reply.
I wait for a while. I give her as long as I can. Longer maybe. Longer than it’s reasonable to wait when someone you love leaves you on read.
Then I start googling parental alienation.
It’s late when Luke comes back to the guest house. He heads straight for the shower and when he’s done, he raps on my door and says, “Time to get ready, Jess, Chase is going to pick us up soon.”
I don’t answer and I don’t move. There’s no way in hell I’m going out tonight.
He moves around his room, crashing into things and closing doors loudly, like always.
I know the sounds he makes when he gets ready so well now, I recognize the individual creaks of each of his wardrobe doors.
He opens the middle one first. That’s the one he keeps his underwear in.
He opens the one near the door next. That’s pants and jeans.
I try not to picture him getting dressed, but I’ve seen him do it so often, it’s hard not to.
He does this ridiculous thing where he steps into his underwear with one foot and pulls them up a bit too high.
It makes it hard for him to get his other leg in, so he has to do this little hop to get into them.
He does the same thing with his pants. I’ve been meaning to rib him about it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.
I’m smiling because it’s stupid, okay? Not for any other reason.
He taps softly at my door. “You ready?”
“I’m not coming.”
The door handle dips down.
Fuck! I knew I should have asked my dad to put a deadbolt on the door.
I sit up and swing my feet onto the floor. “I’m not in the mood, okay, Luke? I don’t feel like being around people. It’s not a big deal. I’m completely fine, I just…”
My throat goes bone dry and I lose my train of thought completely. Completely. Like, totally. I can’t remember what I was saying, or what I was thinking.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” My voice spikes up at least two octaves.
He shrugs lightly, but the subtle movement ripples down his side, engaging his abs and making one pec swell and relax.
He looks pale. The light overhead is bright and the black mesh of the tank he’s wearing contrasts strongly with his skin.
The top clings to his chest, tiny gaps in the fabric form a delicate web over his upper body.
His jeans are black too. Ink black. Form fitting in a way that highlights his hips and hints at the musculature of his legs.
“I, uh…”
“I just wanted to check how you’re doing. Chase will be here soon. We have to pick Gould up. He’s running late, it’s this whole big thing.”
Gould?
Fucking Gould?
I get up and grab the white grandad T hanging over the back of my chair. I pull it over my head, push up my sleeves and drag my fingers through my hair. I give myself a spritz of cologne and I’m good to go.
“Are…I thought you said you weren’t coming?”
“You’re fucking insane if you think I’m going to let Gould anywhere near you dressed like that.”
He laughs, but tries not to, so it comes out through his nose in a dry snort. “So, does that mean you like it?”
I take a long stride towards him, standing too close, crowding him on purpose, struggling to get back to a place where he’s the one looking at me with doe eyes.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I like it. I like it a lot.”