AUDREY
‘ M ONDAY ? W HY SO SOON ?’
‘It’s just the way things worked out. If it’s a problem, then I can get a train from the airport—’
‘No, no problem!’ Mum says quickly. ‘I couldn’t be happier that you’re coming home, Dree. Just – everything’s all right, isn’t it? Nothing’s happened?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I just – I figured it’s time.’
‘Are you – are you done with the modelling now? Or …’
‘No,’ I say flatly. ‘I am not done with the modelling.’
Marika glances up, then averts her gaze just as quickly. We’re sitting on a bench in Central Park, taking a break mid-jog – she’s made me promise that I won’t give it up and I’m slowly coming around to the idea. It clears my head, which is nice, and it doesn’t make me feel like puking any more – also nice. But a consequence of that aforementioned clarity was the realisation that I desperately owe my parents a life update.
‘I’m not trying to be critical,’ Mum says slowly. ‘I just – I wonder if you might have got swept up in the idea of being a model, and the reality—’
‘Mum, I really don’t want to have this conversation right now.’
‘You don’t want to have any conversation. This is the first time I’ve heard your voice in a week.’
‘I – it’s been hard.’
‘Hard? Hard how?’ she asks, sounding panicked.
‘Hard like – different,’ I amend. ‘But it would have been different if I’d gone to uni as well, so …’
‘I don’t exactly think the two are comparable.’
‘ Mum ,’ I say, my voice pitching upwards. ‘Can’t you just be happy that I’m coming home? Do you have to try and make me feel bad?’
I feel Marika stiffen in my periphery. She’s the one who urged me to call my parents instead of messaging, but I guess she’s paying for it now. I get to my feet, walking over to a nearby patch of grass to spare her the second-hand stress.
‘I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Audrey,’ Mum says stiffly. ‘I just think that this was too much, too soon. Too much pressure, too much responsibility.’
‘Maybe,’ I admit. ‘But it was my choice and I don’t regret it.’
Neither of us says anything for a moment. Then:
‘Well – we’re almost done with the renovations on this one,’ she says. ‘It’s just the main bathroom left to do.’
‘Then what?’
‘… What do you mean?’
‘Are you staying?’
‘Of course. For a while, at least. We’ve had a few interested locals enquiring, but nothing’s set in stone.’
‘Right. I guess was hoping that you guys would like this one enough to stay for good.’
‘Oh. Well, you’ve hardly been here, Dree. I’m surprised that you feel attached.’
‘That’s just it, though,’ I say evenly, steeling myself for what comes next. ‘I want to be. Attached, I mean.’
‘To this house?’
‘To anywhere. I mean – being here’s made me realise how nice it would be to go home and just feel … home. But instead, I’m coming back to another half-empty house that I don’t really know, and – I mean – you always talked about the forever home , but … it feels like it’s never going to happen, and – and it’s kind of too late, now. For me, anyway.’
I feel sick after I’ve said all that. This is a conversation I’ve wanted to have for such a long, long time, and the distance has finally made it possible. Mum is silent on the other end, and I press my lips together to stop myself from saying anything else.
‘I – I think you’re old enough to understand that even parents don’t have it all figured out,’ she says finally. ‘We make choices without knowing the outcome, just like everyone else. And we’re not always right.’
‘I know,’ I say, staring down at my feet. ‘I know that.’
‘Your dad and I – neither of us have roots. Not like other families.’
I know that too – they’re both only children, and Dad hasn’t seen his parents since he was a teenager. They live in Australia, and to this day I’m not sure if they know that I exist. I think that’s probably intentional. He doesn’t talk to them, and I’ve always innately understood not to ask why.
‘The houses … it started out as necessity,’ Mum continues. ‘After your Dad lost his job—’
‘When was this?’ I interject, totally lost.
‘Not long after we said goodbye to Grandma,’ she says, voice wavering slightly. ‘Selling the house – it was meant to be a short-term solution. But working on it meant we got to spend so much time with you – neither of us wanted to let go of that. Only now you’re gone, and this place feels so empty.’
She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.
‘It’s fine,’ I say quickly, rubbing away my own tears. ‘I’m coming back.’
‘We waited too long.’ She sniffs. ‘You’re all grown up – you’re starting your own life, now, and we – we’re sorry, Dree. I’m sorry.’
Hearing her finally admit that – it’s all I needed, I realise. The anger, the resentment – it evaporates in an instant, and all I feel is tired, small, and like I really want my mum and dad back.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, voice wobbly. ‘I just – I’ve really missed you guys.’
‘We’ve missed you too, Dree. So much. Your dad – I can’t wait to tell him. Unless you wanted to? He’ll be back in an hour or so.’
‘You can tell him.’
‘We love you, Dree. Stay safe. And keep in touch. Please?’
‘I will. I love you,’ I say, and then it’s over. I feel breathless as I lower the phone – still a little nauseous, but overwhelmingly relieved and surer than ever that I’m making the right decision.
I don’t expect things to be perfect, once I’m back. I doubt Mum will come around to the modelling any time soon, though I know now that she’s right to have reservations. I also know that one phone call isn’t enough to expunge six years’ worth of repressed resentment, but today, it’s enough. And it’s like Mum said – I’m starting my own life, now. It can be whatever or wherever I want.
I walk back over to Marika, who’s watching me expectantly.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Just about,’ I say, dropping back on to the bench beside her. ‘My mum – well, you heard.’
‘Is she happy you’re heading home, at least?’
‘Yeah. Is yours disappointed that you’re off to Switzerland?’
‘Uh-huh. I got a half-hour lecture about the dangers of skiing.’
‘Nice.’
‘Yep. And I told her about Nicole, which was a mistake – she’s demanding I bring her home for Christmas now.’
‘Oh, that’s sweet!’
‘Sweet, yes. Realistic, no.’
‘I thought you guys were going to try long-distance?’
‘Sure,’ Marika replies flatly, staring up the sky. ‘But Nicole has a great life here, and I can’t be a part of it. Not properly.’
‘Don’t you remember what you told me, though? About not closing yourself off to things because you’re scared you might lose them?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘So, you see the point I’m trying to make, right?’
‘That it’s easier to give advice than follow it?’
I laugh. She inclines her head towards me, fixing me with her cat-like gaze.
‘What about you?’ she asks. ‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘And – that’s different.’
‘Is it?’
Of course it is. Marika should know – I told her everything, including the awful parts. The fact that I looked at his phone. That I screamed at him. And that for a moment, I wanted to hurt him for no other reason than that I was hurting.
‘He never reached out,’ I remind her, ignoring a stab of pain at the memory. ‘And it’s too late to do anything now.’
‘Okay,’ Marika says mildly. ‘If that’s what you think.’
What I think is that I miss him. That I maybe, probably loved him. And that no matter what, I was always meant to know him. The universe was sure of that, even if I wasn’t. But none of that stopped me from ruining it, so …
‘Yeah.’ I say quietly. ‘I do.’