17. So clueless
CHAPTER 17
So clueless
Amelia leaves for Wells Spring today, this morning. We talk these days, but our relationship isn’t the same anymore. I pick up Mace on my way to her room. She can’t resist her godson.
I knock once and open without an invitation. Amelia’s back is to me, and her body slouches as she shoves clothes into a suitcase. The material of her top clings to her skin, highlighting how bony she has become. I cough, and she jerks up. Before turning, she throws on a jacket.
“Hey, Cathie.”
“Hey, Amelia Greene.”
Portraits of us adorn her walls. Mace. Mace and her. Mace and I. Mace, me and her. Ashley and Amelia. I force out a breath and cover the gap. Mace squiggles in my arms, and I drop him to the floor. He rolls onto his back, and I help him onto his knees and hands.
“Come on, Macey. Crawl,” Amelia coos.
She smiles. I notice her struggle to zip up her suitcase, so I nuzzle her hand away and do the rest. We sit in silence, watching Mace. I stretch my hand to her and interlock our fingers.
“Can you do something for me?” she asks.
“Anything.”
“Jason is performing today. I can’t be there, but you can stand in for me,” Amelia says. I push a leg onto the bed. She twists her upper body to face me fully, and we interweave both hands. The bed has been stripped of its bedding, leaving only a white cover. “Can you do that for me?”
“Of course.” I bite a corner of my lip, building the courage to say, “Will you be okay?”
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” I whisper. Her dull eyes bore into me. I release her hands to hug her tight. She rubs circles on my lower back, and a whimper catches in my throat. “We can holiday in Wells Spring. I can sleep in your room. I miss that place.”
“No. Jason needs the support.”
I rear back to scowl. “Please, he’s a grown man. He can handle himself.” She flips a fingertip over my nose, her cheeks flaming red. I want her to be happy. But life is a real bitch. My wishes never come true. “He’s not so bad. I may have misjudged him. He’s a mechanic.”
“Yeah. And he sings,” my best friend adds, laughing. “Do you think he sings to his client?”
“I don’t know.” Her laughter transfers to me. Some of the weight leaves my shoulders. We sigh. I wish our lives were like this. Easy. Full of laughter. “But he had better not. He won’t.”
Amelia palms her lower abdomen. I almost go into panic mode until she says, “He makes me feel butterflies here. When he is around me, I want to be in his arms and hold him, you know? He makes my heart feel all sorts of ways. Like it will jump right out of my chest.” That’s a feeling I know so well. “And when he’s not here, I can’t help thinking about him. Always.”
“It’s love.”
“Did you feel that way with Calum?” she asks. My head moves in a nod. I avert my gaze to search for Calum’s junior on the floor. He’s playing with one of the many toys she has in her room for these reasons. “Do you miss him?” On some days. It’s tough. “I’ll miss Jason too.”
“You’re not coming back?”
“I will,” she says. “But I’ll miss him when he’s not there.”
“Can I make you up?” I ask.
She accused me of lacking colours. I can put some on her face. She nods. Our eyes drift to Mace. I excuse myself to get his feeding bottle so he has something to suck on while we work. On my return, she’s seated in front of the mirror. While he sucks, we argue over the type of makeup, choice of lipstick, and even eyeshadow. In the end, we settle for a natural look. My fingers close around the pencil, and my hand trembles as I hold it up to her brows.
I’ll miss her every day.
Worried eyes stare at me. “I’m sorry I shouted at you, Amelia Greene.”
“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”
Our eyes lock in the mirror. “I pushed you,” I say. “I made you cry.”
Tears lock in my eyes, making my blues appear livelier. I’m being strong for her. Until she returns, I will hold the forte. I hug her from behind, and we smile at our images in the mirror.
“Now,” Amelia says, patting my cheek. She releases my arm. “Let’s get this lady dolled up. Make me look like a princess.”
“Yes.” Mace frowns. I skip to him and rub the powder brush over his nose. The feeding bottle drops and milk sputters over his shirt. “You want makeup too? Aunt Amelia is going home.”
Mace chuckles. I grab his bottle and carry him to Amelia, who places him on her lap. She collects the bottle in his tiny hands to do the feeding. I take a picture of them, and when she realises, she poses with a big smile.
“He looks like his father,” Amelia comments.
“Yeah. Not fair,” I murmur, bending until the brush is level with her face. She does her best not to move too much as I apply the primer on her cheeks. “Amelia Greene, I called him.”
“What did he say?”
“He ended the call,” I admit. The atmosphere thickens with disappointment. She extracts her godson’s feeding bottle from his mouth and makes a face. I grab a lipstick from the table, and she pouts for me to apply it. “To be fair, he didn’t know I was the one. I didn’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
Stepping back to inspect my handwork, I grin when she thumbs up. She is pretty. Mace’s head bobs and his eyes droop. He’s half-sleep by the time I place him on her bed in a pillow castle I created. He doesn’t roll as much in his sleep anymore, but we won’t take chances.
I stop behind her chair and place a hand on her shoulder. “The words wouldn’t come out,” I tell her. It’s easy to talk to her. With him, it’s tough. “Maybe he thought it was a prank call.”
“Have you tried again?” she asks. I don’t think I will. “Have you tried texting?”
“Well, I tried to write an email but couldn’t send it.” I fold my arms on my chest. Words pour out of my lips. “It’s harder than I thought. I’m not just pissed. I’m furious. He was out there living his best life, and now he thinks one or two posts can fix us. Who does he think he is?”
“Calum Dissick?” Amelia supplies. I chuckle, my head falling back when she imitates his famous pose by flipping invisible hair to the back. Her hair is in a neat ponytail. “Lead singer of Mending Hearts and one of the most loved men on earth. That’s who he thinks he is.”
“Stop it.”
She flashes me her teeth. I smile.
“Just keep drafting the emails. It can be your mini diary,” she says. My eyes drift to the window. We are sandwiched between two houses, so all I see is the short fence separating our houses and the brick structure of our neighbour’s. “When you think your heart can handle it, maybe send them? He wouldn’t know what hit him when he sees all the angry emails directed at him.”
“They are not angry emails.”
She snickers. “Oh, please, Cathie.”
I squat by her chair and hug her as best as I can. “I love you very much, Amelia Greene.”
“I love you too, Catherine Jenkins.”
The black around her eyes, combined with the eyeshadow, makes her look like a princess. I touch her cheek, careful not to smear the foundation. “You look so pretty,” I comment.
“Thanks to you, mademoiselle.” She pinches my nose. “I want to go to Paris.”
“We can plan it,” I tell her.
Her eyes mist. “Really?” Instead of replying, I interlock our pinky fingers in a promise. “I can’t wait.”
With a smile on her lips, we finish packing. Her phone rings, and she grins. Jason. It must be.
She curls a piece of hair around her finger. Biting her lip, she says, “Jason. He’s here.”
“Don’t move.” I waggle a finger at her. She tries to protest when I scoop Mace into my arms. God forbid I’ll let him be the cockblocker. They deserve privacy. “I’ll get him. And for the love of God, say yes. You know you want to be his girlfriend. You’re in love with the man.”
“Shut up, Cathie.”
She flips her ponytail, and I struggle to stifle my laughter. That’s usually my line of defence. I exit her room with a big smile. Mace suckles on air, his lips puckered. I kiss his forehead.
Jason knocks again, and I rush to open the door. “Hey.”
“Hey, Jason,” I reply. Shutting the door with his hip, he waves at Mace, and I turn to the side to give him a glimpse of my son’s sleeping face. “He’s asleep. Come in. Amelia’s waiting.”
His hands slide into his back pockets. “All right. Are you okay?”
“We are cool now,” I tell him. He claps, and I laugh. “You should take her on a date.”
His face loses colour, and his smile vanishes. He points at the floor. “Today? Oh God. I should. You’re right. We haven’t had real dates. But today, she’s going home today.”
Boys. So clueless. I watch him panic for an extra minute, his fingers pulling his hair in all directions. His mouth moves, but I hear nothing. He paces to the living room and runs back to me.
“Cathie,” he whispers. “What do I do? Help me. ”
A small laugh escapes me. I think I know why Amelia likes him. He matches her quirkiness.
My gaze roves over his body. He’s wearing a jeans jacket with a white shirt beneath. October came with a stronger breeze. “Your outfit will do,” I say. It matches Amelia’s pink dress. He mutters his thanks, and my chest swells with usefulness. “A date doesn’t have to be the whole day. I’ll think of something. She’s in her room. Go there and don’t come out until I say so.”
“What are you plan—”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.” Jason eyes me sceptically. He nods his jaw towards her room. “I’ll go see her.”
Once he’s gone, I breathe regularly again, and the weight on my arms registers. Wait, a date. What does Amelia like? I tuck Mace in his crib first, then head to the kitchen. My cooking skills haven’t improved over the months, but I make a mean spaghetti Bolognese now. Luck must be on my side because I have everything needed to make it. The spaghetti is cooking when I text Dad to stop by our house with a bottle of white wine. Three dots appear from his end after my text delivers. I state in all caps that the wine is for Jason and Amelia.
I’m old enough to drink, but that’s a talk for another day. Dad replies with an omw . I slap a hand over my mouth, my eyes darting in the direction of Amelia’s room. He’s learning, and he used it correctly. Once he learns to use emojis right, he will officially become a woke grandpa.
My phone vibrates twenty minutes later. Dad’s here. His house is only a few minutes walk from ours. I hurry to the door and kiss his cheek. The wine bottle pokes my belly. He takes one cautious look at me, sniffing the air as he asks, “What are you cooking?”
“Food?”
“Food, huh? Amelia let you?”
I smack his arm. “Dad.”
Laughing, Dad plants a kiss on my hair, and we head to the kitchen. While the food simmers, I’m tempted to tell him about my first date with Mr Dissick. We wrap things up once the food is ready. I set the dining table with Dad’s aid and queue some music from Amelia’s playlist. Dad stops me from adjusting the tablecloth again. It’s not my date, but I’m anxious. I take a few pictures and send them to Jason. The idiot replies with some blushing emojis.
A foot away from the table, Dad plants his hands on his waist. “It looks good.” I agree. I walk him to the door. He opens it but doesn’t leave. “Will you be available tomorrow or Sunday?”
“I think so. Yes, I will,” I reply.
“What’s your schedule for next week?”
“Why are you asking?”
Dad frowns, and I list my schedule, which mainly involves the office or the house. I’m taking Amelia’s advice. I’m trying to live, even if it means going to the office to do a job I grow less passionate about daily. Dad leaves, and I text Jason to let him know the coast is clear. Wells Spring is three hours away. She can make it by evening if she leaves this afternoon. But more than that, I hope the date makes her feel half as good as she makes me feel on my bad days.