Drift

Epilogue

Ada

The twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

I’m the only one in my family who bothered to do any research. That’s how I know this anniversary is a big one. Silver. That’s also the complete opposite of what anyone should expect, given my mother is a world-renowned historian… Well, with five to twelve-year-olds.

The Worst Bits, the online streaming series Mum started—and that took off during the pandemic—is watched by kids. Boys, mostly. The grosser the “worst bit” is, the better. I never got it.

Just like I don’t get my parents sometimes.

They made a truckload of money and never moved.

They still live in the same house my brother and I grew up in by the beach.

Sure, Dad splurged on building a separate studio out back for them to work on the videos.

He says composing music and editing are easier now that they aren’t crammed into the room beside the garage.

And yeah, Mum quit her teaching job. That’s it, though.

They celebrated her channel’s one millionth subscriber by enjoying “a nice steak and a bottle of wine” at the bistro with their friends.

If it’s up to them, they won’t celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, either. Not with a party, anyway. The two of them are so weird. Cool. Nice, even. But so quiet.

They still snuggle up together on the sofa without the TV on.

Dad might pull out his guitar and strum a song.

Mum will read her book. Sometimes, he’ll just sit there next to her, his arm slung over her shoulder, looking out over the ocean.

No phone. Nothing. He smiles a lot when they cuddle like that.

When I was little, I used to climb onto his lap and snuggle up with them. My butthead brother was usually zooming his cars around on the floor, so my ankles were safest tucked up on the sofa.

“Why do you cuddle Mummy so much?” I asked him one time as I traced the edges of his beard.

“Because I love her. She’s smart and funny, and she makes me feel like I’m her hero every day. Plus…don’t know if you noticed…but she tells the best bedtime stories.”

I giggled. She did. She did all the character voices no matter how tired she was.

Mum stuck her finger in her book and nuzzled his neck so he’d turn to give her a kiss. Then, she went back to reading, and he went back to looking out at the ocean with a smile on his face.

Sometimes, they told my brother and me to scoot off to Uncle Cain’s to play with the twins. Uncle Cain claimed they were making me a sister, but I never got one. I guess it wasn’t for lack of trying, though…

I’m standing in the same kitchen I remember from a hundred afternoons after school.

Mum used to stand at the sink, fixing me a snack while she listened to me rattle off every drama from my day.

I had so many. I’m not as patient as Mum or Dad.

How do people stay so still when the world is so exciting? I’ll miss seeing…something.

Now, I guess I am standing still. I’m ticking off my checklist of everything that’s done—and still needs to be done—for the party.

Dad wanders into the kitchen. He stops beside where I’m huddled over the kitchen countertop with my binder spread out.

“Missed you, peanut.” He kisses the top of my head. “What time did you get in?”

“I flew in last night.”

He frowns. “Ada.” He worries too much about me driving at night.

And I know he would’ve driven all the way to Launceston to pick me up, but then he’d see all my suitcases, and then he’d ask questions about why I have so much “junk,” and then he’d figure out I’m planning a surprise party for them.

“I’m a perfectly good driver,” I insist.

“You drove?”

“Yeah?”

“Not that…guy?” I know the word he wants to say instead is dickhead. That’s what he says to Mum when he thinks I’m not listening.

“I left Scott.”

“In Melbourne or…?”

“No. Left. Dumped. Dropped. He’s kaput.”

Dad tries to pretend he’s not elated by this news, but I see the serene smile that tugs at his lips when he looks at the fading Polaroids stuck on the fridge of our family vacations all over the world.

He never wanted a picture of my dumb boyfriend joining the fridge.

He thinks I have terrible taste in men. He’s not necessarily wrong…

I change the subject by asking, “Where’s Master Jacob?”

“Your brother’s still sleepin’ off a late night.”

I roll my eyes. My older brother’s such a manwhore.

He’s trying to reclaim the legendary mystique of Dare before he married Auntie Grace.

Jake’s always having a “late night” and then scurrying home to the safety of Mum and Dad.

He’s twenty-three and still a child. The fact that he’s learning to take over the trawler from Dad is a complete joke.

He can’t even remember a girl’s name, let alone run our family business.

“I’ll go say hello,” I say.

Dad spots my evil grin. He’s got that deep frown on his face again. “Ada, be nice to your brother.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I kiss his cheek.

No way in hell, Daddy.

The hallway creaks as I storm to my brother’s bedroom and throw open the door.

Sunlight floods the room. Jake’s enormous body outgrew the single bed years ago, and his hairy blond legs dangle over the edge.

At least the comforter’s covering his “worst bits” today.

The lazy bum should get his own place already.

“Morning, sunshine,” I sing.

He groans. “Piss off, Ada.” He grabs a pillow and shoves it over his face.

“I love you.”

A grumble is muffled by his pillow.

“What was that, darling brother? I couldn’t quite catch your morning-after rambling.”

The pillow inches away. “I love you too. Mum will be excited you’re home, but…” Jake swats a hand in the air to banish me. “Give me ten more minutes, ’kay?”

He doesn’t emerge from his bedroom until six hours later, when he’s throwing on his blazer.

“The party’s starting in an hour!” he says.

No shit.

Jake races to do up his tie. My parents’ wedding anniversary is about the only time I’ll ever see my brother dress up. He’s so much like our father—always more comfortable in jeans and a flannel.

Almost breathless, he panics, “Where the hell are Mum and Dad?”

I arch an eyebrow.

“Okay. Stupid question. We both know where they are.” He holds out his fist. “Scissors, paper, rock for who has to drag them off the beach?”

“Nah. I’ll let you off the hook just this once. Can you check that Uncle Cain has picked up the cake?”

“What’s your Plan B if he hasn’t?”

I look pointedly at my brother.

“Me?” he squeaks. “Even after what happened the last time you organized one of these damn parties?”

“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to drop two cakes.”

Jake grins. “Do you even know me?”

It doesn’t take long to find my parents.

They never wander far. Mum’s favorite spot is just over the road, under the big tree, in a little alcove that most tourists don’t know about.

I shield my hand over my eyes and squint into the sun.

It looks like they’ve just come back from a swim.

Mum’s laughing and Dad’s toweling her off.

It’s probably just an excuse to get his hands on her.

And I should think it’s gross, but…

My heart sinks. My parents set the bar too high. They still love each other so much. The way Dad looks at Mum… Will a man ever look at me like I’m his entire universe and he can’t remember how he breathed before he met me?

That’s not to say they never argue. They aren’t perfect.

But if I try to pinpoint when or about what the problems are, I can’t.

Hurt feelings never linger long in our house.

My parents talk it over, kiss, and make up.

When my last boyfriend didn’t see me for a week, I got a text that said, “Hey, wanna catch up? I could use a fuck.”

And they say romance is dead…

When I walk closer, I notice someone else standing on the beach. He’s tall, with black curls that shift in the salt air. I arch my neck. Am I crazy, or is that little perv checking out my mum’s ass?

I stomp over. “Are you a history groupie?” I bark at him.

The man turns. He’s…

Wow.

He can’t be much older than me. There are hardly any lines in his olive skin, and he has the bluest eyes that dance with surprise when they land on me.

He won’t disarm me with his boyish good looks. I plant my hand on my hip. “Well?” I snap. “Are you a fan of my mum?”

“What kid hasn’t watched a Dr. Elsie McLeod video?”

“Cute.”

He combs lazy fingers through his hair, smirking. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Modest, too!”

“Usually, more than this. I’m George.” He sticks out his hand. “George Gallo.”

I don’t shake it. “Ada,” I add robotically, blinking up at him.

He says his name like it should mean something. I study him again from head to toe. Gallo. Why do I feel as if I’ve met this guy before? He’s tall and well-dressed. Gallo. Have I seen him around the university? He’s clutching an old notebook. Neat block capitals on the front say Recipe Ideas.

“Gallo?” I say. “Like…the chef?”

“Ah…” This question makes him uncomfortable. His head bows. “That’s my dad.”

“Oh.”

Luke Gallo isn’t just a celebrity. He’s an institution. Everyone in Melbourne knows him and his restaurant. You have to book months in advance just to sniff a table. Some of my girlfriends say “would” about Luke, even though he must be pushing sixty, like my dad, by now.

My eyebrows pinch together. “Is your…dad…a fan of my mum’s?” I ask. Otherwise, why is George here? I’m so confused.

“You might say that.”

He opens the notebook and flips past what looks like scrawled ingredients and recipes to stop at a dog-eared page. He holds it out. Oh, he wants me to read it? I lean over.

Dear Elsie, I learned your name today…

I stare cluelessly up at George. He simply smiles and passes me the notebook.

I flip through the pages. “Are you suggesting… My mum hooked up with your dad?”

“I am.”

“Like a summer fling…or…?”

Dear Elsie, I remember the first time we made love…

I snap the book shut. “Shit! Trigger warning!” I don’t need any of those details.

George laughs. “Thankfully, he doesn’t go into too much detail. Until a couple of months ago, I never knew…” He shakes his head as he looks out over the ocean. “I mean, I knew of a woman.”

“How would you know?” This is not the type of thing I talk about with my parents!

“After my parents divorced, I’d find Dad out on the back deck sometimes. He’d be sipping wine and smiling at nothing, and he’d say, ‘George, if you find a gorgeous woman with a pert little mouth, just marry her.’”

Pert little mouth, indeed! “My mum’s an angel!” I huff.

“I never knew he meant her. She’s like…my idol.

Her thesis on the contrast between the industrialization of England and Australia’s gold rush was so clever and so insightful…

” George sighs. “And then, there’s my dad.

He’s something else entirely. A force to be reckoned with.

A woman inspiring him to write love letters? It gave me—I dunno—hope.”

I snort. “Like you have any trouble finding a woman.”

“You’d be surprised.” He sighs. “How do I find someone who just sees me and not him? Our world is so transactional. It’s nothing but status and influence. There’s no substance. I want a real connection.” He flashes me a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Once I get started…”

“No, it’s… God, that’s so true.”

“I’m not like him. People think I am. I’m more like her…” He nods in Mum’s direction. “I’m studying history. I was even before I stumbled on the Dear Elsie letters.”

I roll my eyes. “You history nerds are everywhere.”

He grins. “You say that as if you’re not one.”

“I’m absolutely one hundred percent a bona fide law student. I’m in my final year at Monash.”

“Yeah? I’m finishing my honors thesis at the University of Melbourne.”

“We’re practically neighbors.”

“Basically on each other’s doorsteps.”

“We’ve probably walked past each other and never realized.”

“Unless you’re secretly hiding in the classics section of the library, you would probably never see me.”

“Oh, come on. You must explore a little.”

“I want to explore the entire world, but…so far…not much.”

“Parties?”

His face almost turns green. “I’m usually terrible in social situations. I get tongue-tied and nervous, and I can never think of what to say… But for some reason, I seem completely fine with…”

His eyes lower to mine, and I know he feels it. There’s a pull there between us. I’ve already stepped closer without even realizing it.

“You,” he finally finishes his thought.

And now his cheeks are as pink as mine. I can’t breathe. The butterflies have taken over, and me, the motormouth who never shuts up, can only sneak a look up at him. We exchange nervous smiles.

“I wanted to meet her, but… Forget the stupid letters.” George stuffs the notebook under his arm, and his other hand gets shoved into the pocket of his pants. “Maybe you…and…and me…? We could, um… You know? Get a drink or…something?”

I look over at my parents. Dad’s arm is slung around Mum’s shoulders, and she’s nuzzled into her favorite spot beside his neck.

They’ve changed, grown older, and his hair has strands of white mixed in with all the blond, and hers is highlighted with new wisps of grey. My proud, strong dad and my beautiful, clever mum. The one thing that’s never changed is them. Together. They’re still so in love after all these years.

“I can’t tonight,” I say to George. “I’ve got plans.”

I glance back to the ocean just in time to see Dad kiss Mum’s cheek. That same hope of a lifetime of love flutters in my chest for the very first time.

“But please say you’re free tomorrow…”

The End