Chapter 9 #2
Harlow suddenly appears at my side, snapping me back to the present. She leans past me, peering into the pot on the stove, then gawps at me, her mouth a wide O.
‘Penne all’arrabbiata? That’s my favourite.’
‘Really? I had no idea. Oh,’ I say, smacking my palm against my forehead, ‘that’s why I had Coco teach me how to make it.’
‘You’re hilarious, Mum.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Lo. Now please set the table.’
She breaks out an impressive tut-and-eyeroll combo – either at my joke or the chore, maybe both – and sets the table while I dish up. I bring over two pasta bowls, then sit opposite her and tuck in. It’s actually quite good.
‘I had so much fun today,’ Harlow says, loading her spoon so high the penne topples back into the bowl. She tries again and stuffs a big bite into her mouth. ‘Mmm,’ she moans. ‘Nearly as good as Coco’s.’
‘Hey,’ I say, laughing, ‘you’ll keep.’
She laughs along, her dimpled cheeks filling me with warmth. Then it hits – a pang so powerful bile rises in my throat. She can’t help it – and I wouldn’t want her to – but when she laughs like that, Harlow is all Daniel.
‘Mum…’
‘Mmm?’ I reply, gulping down the grief.
‘You’re really good at mini golf.’
Whether she knows it or not, she’s cast me a lifeline and I snatch it up.
‘You’re pretty good yourself. I only beat you by four strokes.’ She nods, chewing another bite. ‘You and Maisie seem to get along well. Are you thinking you’d like to hang out with her again?’
‘Definitely. She’s really nice. And funny – even though I don’t think she knows she’s being funny sometimes.’
It’s an astute observation. Maisie’s a thoughtful, kind child, but her earnestness is rather amusing.
Like when Drew missed an easy shot, which I suspect he did deliberately, and Maisie coached him.
He took a practice swing and she watched closely, then nodded approvingly.
So sweet. Whenever I missed a shot, Harlow howled with laughter.
‘And I like her Uncle Drew,’ Harlow adds after a few moments. She moves her penne around her plate with her spoon, then looks up. ‘Don’t you?’
Wonderful, we’re back on that again.
‘Like Drew?’ She nods again. ‘Yeah, he’s…’ Hot, not a total arsehole, most likely a sex god. ‘…nice.’
‘And handsome, don’t you think?’
I wondered if Harlow’s meddling would lead to questions like this.
Doesn’t make me any more prepared though.
I don’t want her thinking their little plan worked, that Drew and I are going to get together.
Because that is so far from the realm of reality, it’s laughable.
Even if Drew were interested in me, which I seriously doubt – I come with a ready-made family and he’s a diehard bachelor – how would it even work?
We’re colleagues – that’s all.
You just questioned if he was boyfriend material.
Let’s call it a moment of weakness, I tell myself. Or straight-up delusion.
But Harlow’s budding friendship with Maisie seems worthwhile pursuing; I wouldn’t want to stymie it.
Especially as Harlow’s closest friend at school – Annabelle – is a whiny know-it-all (like her mother).
I’ve been waiting for their friendship to die a natural death – no luck so far – but if Harlow makes a new bestie in Maisie… What’s not to love about that?
And I know her parents, so it’s not like I’d have to see Drew for Harlow and Maisie to hang out.
‘Mum! You zoned out again.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Maisie’s Uncle Drew,’ she says with a small huff. ‘He’s really handsome – well, for an old person.’
I’m caught off-guard by a burst of laughter and Harlow grins at me. ‘You cheeky sod.’
‘He-he-he,’ she sniggers. ‘I know he’s not old. He’s only twenty-nine.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Mm-hmm. Nowhere near as old as you are.’
‘Okay, Harlow Ivy Reid.’
She grins at me then finishes her last bite of pasta.
‘Can I go on the iPad?’ she asks, not making eye contact.
‘You’ve already had screentime today, so no.’
‘But I told Maisie I’d play Monster Mashup with her after dinner.’ Oh joy, there’s that whiny Annabelle tone.
Still, I want to foster her friendship with Maisie – and it’s Saturday night.
‘Thirty minutes.’
Harlow leaps up and wraps her arms around my neck. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She shoves her pasta bowl into the dishwasher – right side up – and races out of the room.
‘I’m setting a timer, Lo!’
‘Okay!’
I don’t set a timer, but I do check the time. It’s only 7.20 p.m. and now I’m at a loose end. I’d thought that Harlow and I could watch something together – maybe Home for the Holidays. I suppose I could watch it on my own, take notes for next week, then share it with Harlow some other time.
Decided, I clean up the kitchen then pour myself a second glass of rosé and climb onto the sofa, surrounding myself with throw pillows and draping a blanket over my legs. Harlow calls this ‘building my fort’. I call it ‘getting comfortable’.
I find the movie on the third of the three streaming services we subscribe to – always the way – and start it.
All through the credits, I try to recall the other time I’ve seen it.
I reckon it would have been on DVD with Mum, Dad, and Steph when I was around twelve or thirteen.
I have a vague memory of Steph complaining how babyish it was.
I also remember liking it – although, I was one of those Aussie kids who was obsessed with all things American.
All I wanted was to go to high school in America, with their locker-lined hallways and cafeterias and pep rallies. We lived in a semi-bogan suburb of Melbourne and the closest I came to the American high-school experience was buying a cheese and salad roll from the tuckshop every Friday.
The movie opens with a series of shots of a traditional home, all the rooms decorated in red and green, practically shouting, Christmas! It’s early morning and everyone’s asleep except for Stevie – Max’s character – who’s instant messaging his uncle on the computer in his room.
This is the set-up – the beginnings of their plan to surprise the rest of the family with his uncle’s homecoming.
The next couple of scenes establish the family dynamics.
Stevie is the youngest child, bullied by his older brother, sneered at by his older sister, and constantly chided by his mother.
Seeing it fresh, they’re a really shitty family.
Until Stevie’s dad seeks him out to break the news that his brother – Stevie’s uncle – isn’t going to make it home for Christmas. The scene is endearing, poignant even, and there’s something about his dad that reminds me of Daniel.
He was always so sweet with Harlow, the gentle giant who worshipped his little girl. And she will never have that again.
A sob escapes.
I do my best to swallow it down, but another follows. And another. And in moments, I am silently sobbing into a pillow so Harlow doesn’t hear me. I scrabble for the remote and turn off the TV, letting the tears roll down my face.
How can I collaborate on a Home for the Holidays ad campaign when I can’t get past the first ten minutes without sinking into grief?