14
‘I ’M about to have one of those vapid teenage angsty existential crises,’ I yell up the stairs to Mum.
‘If you’re going to have a crisis I’m going to need some bolstering.
’ She moves from languid-slow-lunch-mode to full Olympic-gymnast-mode.
She leaps from the lounge, cartwheels to the kitchen, snatches up a new bottle of red, backflips to the sofa while removing the lid with her bare teeth.
Okay, so I might be slightly exaggerating, but it’s time for an existential crisis.
I take a wine glass from the cupboard and sit down opposite her on the sofa.
‘That’s a strange choice for a water glass,’ she says.
‘Are you kidding me? We’ve been having wine with meals since we were newborns.’
‘The meal is long over, and anyway, you don’t solve problems with alcohol.’
‘You do realise you’re being completely hypocritical right now, don’t you, Mum?’
‘What problem am I solving? It’s been one of those lovely, simple, relaxed afternoons that make the work slog and juggle all worthwhile. Anyway, you’re missing an extremely valid point, Cat.’
‘And what point is that, Mother?’
‘The difference between you and I, Cat, is that I’m an adult and I can do what I like. You, however, are not. Not yet. Until then, our roof, our rules.’
‘Ugh! Such a hypocrite! I’ll be an adult in less than a month.’
Dad comes through the sliding door. He takes my glass out of my hand and fills it with Mum’s bottle of red. I look up at him gratefully, until he takes a long, pointed drink. Nice. Parenting 101: always present a united front, even if you’ve missed the context.
‘Paul go home?’ he says.
‘Yep.’
‘Did you ask him to come in?’ says Mum.
‘Nope. He had to go, so off he went.’
‘We’re going to get started early tomorrow,’ says Dad. ‘This was a good move, bringing him on, Angela. He’s a cluey kid. A lot more switched on than I was at that age, that’s for sure.’
‘Hear that, Cat?’ Mum cocks an eyebrow. ‘He’s a looker, and a thinker, that one. Your daughter was just about to tell me about her impending crisis, so drink up.’
‘Is it just me, or does it strike you as strange that a Neanderthal builder guy just spent the day with our family? He didn’t once act like a Neanderthal, did you notice? What’s his story?’
‘Actually, it strikes me as strange that the daughter of a builder could be such a snob,’ says Dad. ‘Why would you call a builder a neanderthal? When was the last time you saw me dragging my knuckles along the ground?’
Mum smirks from behind her glass. ‘I don’t know about knuckles, but I think it’s high time you drag me back to your cave.
’ To my eternal mortification, she snuggles into Dad on the couch with what can only be described as a horny giggle.
I keep down three serves of Nonna’s lasagne.
It should be splattered up the wall like a crime scene.
‘I think you’re missing the point, children,’ I say. ‘Focus! You’re my parents. Aren’t you even a bit concerned about this flip flop? You don’t think it’s all a big act, the nice guy?’
‘What does it matter?’ says Dad. ‘He’s just here to work, isn’t he, unless you like him?’
‘Ooh, Bella, you like him,’ croons Mum.
‘Seriously, are you twelve? And even if I did, which I don’t, shouldn’t you be forbidding me to have anything to do with him? Aren’t you worried about my moral virtue?’
‘Are you one hundred and twelve? Your moral virtue?’ says Mum. ‘I didn’t realise we were back in Elizabethan times. What’s the big deal? He seems like a good kid.’
‘He’s not a total shitbag, I admit it,’ I say. ‘But that’s what I mean. How weird, he turns up, works with Dad, he has lunch with us, and then drives Nonna home. Don’t you think that’s the most bizarre thing ever?’
‘Not really,’ says Mum. ‘I think it’s great. He’s obviously not just here for the build. It’s not the end of the world if you have a boyfriend, Cat.’
Dad darkens slightly. For all his modern-day male feminist vibe, when it comes to his daughter it’s clearly still a struggle for him to fight his inner chauvinistic pig.
‘You know what?’ Mum continues, ‘don’t let your preconceptions stop you getting to know someone who is actually a good guy.’
‘What preconceptions?’ I ask. ‘I know this guy. He’s the leader of the ultimate pack of sexist dipshits.’
‘Easy, cowgirl,’ says Dad. ‘You don’t know him. He’s been through so much shit and still his boss didn’t hesitate before sending him my way. Maybe the Batter’s Cove rumour mill isn’t the best place for you to get your information.’
‘What shit?’
‘That’s his story. He’ll tell you if he wants to. I’m just saying.’
‘And I’m just saying he’s here to work with you, it’s got nothing to do with me.’
‘Come on, Cat,’ says Mum. ‘You can’t tell me you didn’t have a good time today?’
‘I’m serious. Do you really think I have the headspace for anything or anyone right now? I have goals, you know. They’re a bit deeper than a cute guy working at my house.’ I realise too late that I’ve used a word other than Neanderthal to describe Paul, but my parents don’t seem to notice.
‘Bella, you’re 17. It’s summer. Have some fun for a change. It won’t kill you.’
‘It’s easy for you to say, Mum, you’re not the one stressing about your future.’
‘Jesus, Cat, just relax a bit, will you?’ says Dad. ‘You’re going to give yourself a stroke before the school year even begins.’
Mum places her hand on his arm.
‘You know we’re proud of you. There are no words to express how proud we are, aren’t we Mick? We know you’re under a lot of pressure from school, from us, from yourself, but that’s why spending time with someone who’s not caught up in all the ra-ra will be good for you.’
In many ways my parents are opposites and have completely different outlooks.
My mother is a university-educated architect, and my father is the tradie who barely finished high school.
Yet, my mother has a relaxed, optimistic, trust in the universe personality, while Dad is more of an analytical, control-freak workaholic. I wonder who I take after?
‘Yeah, maybe,’ I say. ‘If I see him around, maybe we’ll chat, I dunno.’
‘You’re going to see him; he’ll be literally under your feet. Next time he’s here, see if he wants to go for a walk,’ says Mum.
‘A walk? Now who’s Elizabethan? Why would I do that and why would he want to go for a walk?’
‘Or maybe the movies, whatever.’ She waves her hand. ‘The worst thing that could happen is you’ll have a new friend.’
‘No, the worst thing that could happen is you end up an uneducated, unwed, teenage mother,’ mutters Dad.
‘Jeez, Dad!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Mum. ‘He’s just spent the day watching you use a nail gun. Anyway, they won’t do anything on a walk, and even if they do, Cat’s smart enough to use protection, aren’t you, Cat?’ Mum winks at me.
Dad puts his face in his hands. ‘I don’t think this is a conversation for me.’
‘Mum!’ I’m enjoying this even less than he is.
My reflection in the window shows my face is as red as the tomatoes I feel like regurgitating.
‘Let me get this straight – I’m too young and immature to join you in a casual glass of wine but you’re happy for me to walk on the beach and have sex with any guy who comes to lunch?
Surely HR would have something to say about the boss’ daughter sexually harassing the staff?
This is so insane and backwards it’s not even funny. ’
‘Cat, it’s your existential crisis. We’re just here for the entertainment value.’ She gives me a mock cheers with her glass.
‘I’m glad this is all such a joke to you, Mother. I’m going for a walk. Solo.’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Mum. ‘Paul’s back.’