Forty
Standing at a crossroads
The compass knows
But I don’t
Which way should I go
‘Crossroads’ from Roses
I promptly kick everyone out of the party. Faye and I start cleaning up. It’s gone midnight, and I am exhausted.
‘What happened to Kira?’ says Faye, picking up bottles and cans and putting them in a bin bag, as I try and bleach the inside of Mum’s vase.
This is a pretty disgusting job. Michael’s vomit was nearly entirely red wine, and the smell of the wine mixed with sick is nearly making me retch.
‘We had an argument,’ I say. ‘About the Secret Sender. And other things.’
In all honesty, I am starting to feel a bit bad about what I said to Kira. I don’t think she’s self-obsessed, and I know it’s her way of looking out for me. But I don’t think she sees things from my point of view at all.
‘I see,’ says Faye, tying up her second bin bag. ‘I don’t want to get involved. But I would say there’s two sides to every argument. So just try and think about that.’
‘How are you so even about everything?’ I say.
‘I don’t mind saying difficult things sometimes, but I’ll only do it if, one, it needs to be said, and two, I really believe it. I think both you and Kira say things you believe . . . but you probably hold them back too much, and sometimes Kira says too much.’
I stop scrubbing the vase and look at her. ‘Wise words from Faye.’
Faye shrugs. ‘Maybe I should have studied psychology after all.’
‘Haha, no – the fashion world needs you.’ I point at her dress, which is ethereally moving with her like water. Highly glamorous for the task at hand. ‘How did you even make that?’
‘A lot of time and patience. You know what my cranky teacher says?’
‘The seamstress?’
‘Yeah, she says, “what artists need to learn is you never get it right the first time”. I think we artists can be a bit impatient.’
‘“We artists”?’ I say, smiling. I pick up the vase and look at the inside. It’s a weird brownish colour, but I think that’s because it’s wet. It should be all right once it’s dry.
‘Well, you’re a writer. That’s a type of art.’
Writer. That’s what Ty calls me. All at once my chest hurts.
‘Are you okay?’ says Faye.
‘Fine, a bit tired. It’s not how I imagined spending my eighteenth birthday.’
‘Hey, as the cranky seamstress said to me when I complained about the trek to her workshop: growing up is dealing with the consequences of your actions.’
I exhale slowly, thinking about everything that’s happened tonight. There are going to be a lot of consequences, for sure.
***
I sleep on the sofa while Ollie snores on my bed, fully passed out. It didn’t feel right to sleep beside him, despite us doing it all the time as kids. As soon as we grew up a bit, there was never a need, because our houses were next door to each other. Now our bedrooms are hundreds of miles apart.
I wake up, my eyes stinging and dry, my mouth feeling rancid. I go upstairs to the bathroom, brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, take a few deep breaths and then head downstairs again.
Ollie is sitting at the kitchen table. Two mugs of coffee in front of him. I feel a rush of feelings when I see him. Annoyance mostly about last night, but also a bit of concern, considering the state he was in.
‘Hey,’ he says.
‘How are you feeling?’ I say, sitting opposite him. I take the coffee, not meeting his eyes.
‘Like I’ve been hit over the head. And then run over by a truck.’
I shake my head, finally looking up at him. ‘What’s happened to you? You used to be so serious.’
He looks wryly out of the kitchen window, into the garden.
‘I was, wasn’t I? And I was a serious kid. I always made us follow every rule of the games we had.’
‘Playing Monopoly with you as the banker was a nightmare!’
‘That’s because you tried to rob the bank.’
I shrug. ‘I was low on money.’ I know I sound distant, but honestly, I don’t want to talk to him. I just want him to leave, and I can have my memories of my friend I used to have.
‘Selena,’ he says, hesitating. ‘I shouldn’t have said the things I said last night. I think I came across . . . more callous than I wanted. But you have to know, I think the world of you.’ He touches my hand.
I look into his eyes, and I know he’s not lying. He does love me, as a friend. But he doesn’t know me. Not in the ways that really matter. And the way he sees me – well, I know that’s not me.
I hesitate, but I have to say it. ‘What you said last night, about me having no ambition? It was hurtful, Ollie.’ I rush out my words, knowing once I say it, I can’t take it back. I have never told anyone they’ve hurt me before. Let alone Ollie.
He looks at me and blinks. Then he says, ‘I’m sorry, Selena.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘We see things differently too. More differently than I’d realised, maybe.
I think we might have been changing for a while now and we’ve not really seen it.
On both sides. I think there’s a side to you I didn’t see before, and there might be other sides to me you haven’t seen either.
It doesn’t mean they’re not there.’ And as soon as I say it out loud, I realise it’s true, and it’s kind of a relief to admit it.
He looks thoughtful. ‘I see what you mean. We’ve always been around each other, so it’s easy to hold on to the people we were. And maybe that’s not fair on either of us.’ He gives me a smile, one that used to melt me, but now feels ordinary. ‘I’m excited to see the person you become too.’
And although I’m sad for the Ollie I’ve lost, I feel relieved to have said what I think and be heard. ‘Thanks, Ollie.’
He looks at his phone. ‘I’ve got to get my train. Say hi to your mum for me?’
‘And say hi to yours for me,’ I say, opening my arms into a hug. He may not have been the person I thought he was, but he’s still my friend.
And at the rate I’m currently losing them, I should hold on to that.
***
I feel quietly optimistic that I’ve erased every part of the party and Mum won’t know what happened. Soon after Ollie leaves, she comes home in a good mood, all zen and relaxed after the spa.
I’m getting ready to go to lunch, when I hear her scream from downstairs, ‘Selena!’
I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mum yell. She’s been short. She’s definitely been angry. But I’ve never heard her raise her voice. Even as a child I don’t remember a time when she yelled at me.
‘Selena, why has the inside of my vase been bleached?’
Oh shit. She shows me the inside, and, yup, it’s pretty discoloured. Then I see some bleach fingerprint marks on the outside of it. That’s what must have given me away.
I’m silent. I don’t know what to say. Tori’s boyfriend chugged a bottle of wine and threw up in it? It may be true, but it doesn’t sound good.
‘Selena,’ says Mum, now shaking. ‘This is an antique. Not only that, this is something . . . something so important to me. It’s a reminder of who I once was, of how far I’ve come. You know the story of this vase. So I’m asking you to explain to me truthfully – what happened?’
For a moment, I am frozen. But I know there’s nothing to do but confess.
‘I had a few more people over last night than I might have made out,’ I tell her.
Mum’s eyes narrow. ‘How many?’
‘Maybe fifteen . . . twenty?’ I try to look nonchalant and it’s not working. I feel like throwing up.
‘And who out of the twenty to thirty people did this?’
‘Well it was me, but via Tori’s boyfriend. I tried to hide everything valuable out of the way, but he found it and threw up in it, and then I tried to bleach it,’ I say, my voice getting squeakier.
Mum looks like she wants to throw up.
‘Tori’s . . . boyfriend,’ says Mum slowly. ‘So not only did someone throw up in my vase, it was some random person you don’t even know?’
I nod, wincing at the painful facts.
‘Selena, do you know how irresponsible this is? You hosted a bunch of people, some you don’t even know, in my house, without telling me. What were you thinking?’
‘I wanted a proper party,’ I say, quietly. ‘To feel grown-up, I guess.’ The words don’t sound any better out loud.
‘Why didn’t you ask me?’ says Mum. ‘Because I would have said no?’
‘Well . . . yeah,’ I say, looking at my feet.
‘I wouldn’t have said no,’ says Mum, so sternly it forces me to look back at her. ‘You shouldn’t assume things. If you had genuinely told me you wanted to host a bigger party, I would have said yes and supervised it.’
‘But you love this house,’ I say.
She raises her eyebrows. ‘And I would have been concerned about it getting damaged? Yes, I would have been worried, but I would have helped you out. Because I trust you.’ She shakes her head. ‘But now, you’ve broken the trust.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say, the disappointment in her voice killing me.
‘No, Selena, you’re an adult now, this is not how it works. You can’t say sorry and try to fix things. You need to sit with your mistakes, bear the consequences of your actions. It’s time to grow up now.’
And with that, she leaves with the vase tucked under her arm.
The cranky seamstress was right about being an adult. And it sucks.