Chapter Seven #2
A sweetly scented breeze finally flows into my flat as I shake all thoughts of Moaning Michael and that evening from my head.
I pop the last segment of juicy melon into my mouth.
Mia made the decision that was right for her and I was both emotionally and physically behind her.
Picking up my plate, I drop it in the sink and rinse it.
I have a ton of beading and hot brooch work to do on Kathleen’s bridesmaid dresses before I leave for the Stella.
Settling myself at my sewing machine, I click into my Spotify.
I select the Walking Down the Aisle playlist I love to listen to as I design.
Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’ plays out as I gather the gold material for Kathleen’s dress.
I drape it across my knee as I install the appropriate needle for this fabric and securely insert it into the machine.
I wind the braided gold thread onto the bobbin, guiding the thin strands through the upper threading part.
It’s a solitary job, but I never feel lonely doing it.
As I work, I think about Donal and that woman running out on him on their date.
Her granny’s cat up a tree, I ask you! He must have felt lonely.
I can just picture those kind eyes of his and the sad look in them.
I lift the presser foot to facilitate threading my needle, and all I want to do is sew for a few hours and get lost in the music and my work, until it’s time to meet Mia.
*
Inside the Stella cinema, makeshift fans blow cool air around.
Delirious diners sit in minimalist clothing, as they fan themselves with the stiff laminated meus.
I’m demolishing my cheeseburger and parmesan fries in record time as Mia slowly eats her hummus and olive plate, dunking a carrot stick with as much enthusiasm as a sloth in a sprinting competition.
She’s on a diet, but I don’t know what for, she looks great, stylish in her colourful Adidas Spezials, patterned knee-length skirt and T-shirt combo.
‘So, go on, what’s this exciting news you texted me about.’ I squeeze the last part of the burger between my hands, bending my head to lick the juice from my thumbs.
‘This date you want for my party.’ She smirks sitting back, twirling a gold hoop in her ear that’s so large a trapeze artist would feel right at home.
‘Oh yeah. Any luck? I really think it’s for the best and I’m good company, aren’t I?’ I search for the paper straw in my soda water with my mouth and hoover up the fizz.
‘Sure. Who wouldn’t want to date you? You’re empathetic, kind, loyal, funny, a great listener – they should be so lucky, lucky, lucky!’
I raise a comical eyebrow. ‘You left out sexy as hell,’ I tell her as I dip a chip in my ketchup.
‘Oh yeah, sexy baby.’ Mia nods rapidly in agreement.
‘If it wasn’t for these pesky hetero genes, I’d be all over you!
’ She winks playfully, then stares at my chips as she gnaws her way down a limp carrot baton like a deranged rabbit.
‘Although, you can burn a boiled egg, can’t keep a cactus alive and have overstuffed drawers that would give Marie Kondo a panic attack, but you’ve still a lot to offer.
I also know you want to share your life again, but with a regular, low maintenance, down-to-earth guy?
’ Mia knows me so well, but I wonder if she knows I secretly want her brother back.
I pull at the neckline on my maxi dress to avoid a direct answer. ‘You know me. I just want to eat great food in nice restaurants, have sneaky Sunday afternoon pints in The Long Hall, go for walks, movies and melted Minstrels in the dark.’
‘Hey! That’s our thing!’ She waves an olive at me that’s wedged between her finger and thumb.
‘Okay, well, Netflix and nachos, then. Look, I just want a date for the party . . . a friendly date, I don’t want to go on my own, it’s awkward.’
Mia nods, popping the olive in her mouth and swallowing it whole.
‘Anyway, so to my exciting news – because your timing last night was impeccable, my friend.’ A huge grin spreads across her ridiculously pretty face.
She unzips her miniscule designer purse and slides a yellow Post-it across the table towards me.
I shove the water glasses to one side before I pick it up. ‘What’s this?’
Mia flicks her post-Michael shorter, blonder curls over to one side, click-clacks her nude nails across the Post-it.
I notice she’s started to do a liquid wing with her eyeliner, too.
‘It’s a dating site for people like you who are looking for a real match.
People who are fed up with being judged on their looks by arseholes who just wanna park and ride; people fed up with feeling eyed-up like a rookie solider on an inspection line out. ’ She knocks out a salute.
‘I’m not joining a dating site for fu—!’ I recoil, shake the ice in my drink, prod it with my soggy straw and stare down at the Post-it.
A queue of cinema-goers forms opposite us for the next screening, Dr Strangelove, eyes drifting over to me. The sound and smell of hot, freshly popping corn envelops my nostrils. The movies are my happy place. Logan only liked theatre, he hated the cinema.
Mia lowers her voice. ‘This is not Tinder.’ She stabs the Post-it.
I make the sign of the cross. ‘Praise be to the lord,’ I whisper.
But Mia leans in closer. ‘But friendly date for my party aside, you must want to meet someone again, Grace? Find a genuine connection with someone? Fall in love again? Right?’ She raises a curious, shapely brow.
‘Eh . . . yeah, sure . . . I mean what even is lust? What is beauty? What is sexy? After a while, why is it important? God knows, I was brainwashed by Australian soaps and American teen dramas, dreamy Netflix shows. I looked for the beautiful because that’s what I was programmed to do.
But what is behind the eyes? If they don’t have character, if they don’t have soul, your impression of their beauty is going to fade quickly.
’ I roll the tension from my shoulders hoping she will drop this.
‘You’re preaching to the converted, babe.’ Mia crosses her arms and rolls her eyes back at me.
‘Sorry, I know. Humour matters, too. Massively.’ I prod the ice to one side with my finger.
Mia leans so far across the table it looks like she’s cut herself in half. ‘Okay! So welcome to Beyond Looks, a dating site with a difference.’ She beams like she’s told me the secret of youth.
I pick up the little square piece of paper; the top edge sticks to my finger. ‘Okay. Sounds intriguing. How’d you hear about this site?’
‘Well . . .’ As she sits back, her eyes suddenly dart to a server passing carrying a tray of ice creams, ‘I’m starving, though. Fuck this diet shit, I’m gonna need dessert. Why’d you let me order that tiny but delicious hummus and olive plate?’ She stabs a finger at me.
‘Because you told me to only let you order that tiny but delicious hummus and olive plate or you’d punch me.’ I wrinkle my brow.