Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Danika
Mirza’s happy to watch the girls. Sylvie’s delighted too, and Mirza says Cami and Bella can stay over if they want.
Danika rings Kim from Mirza’s place to check, and she hears Bella in the background saying she’ll just die if she can’t stay over with Cami and Sylvie.
With the girls catered for, she turns her attention to where to go with Kim.
“The Overlander has a traffic light evening,” Mirza says. “You wear red if you’re taken, yellow if it’s complicated, or green if you’re available.”
“No way.” That sounds terrible to Danika.
Mirza’s searching on her phone for places to go. She’s more invested in this than Danika. Danika is already having second—and third, fourth, fifth—thoughts. She doesn’t want to date. Even this baby-step feels too much too soon. She’s not sure why she even suggested it to Kim.
She knows single mothers have hook-ups—how ridiculous to think because someone has a kid they are no longer sexual.
It’s not that. But even back in her free and easy days, she wasn’t a hook-up kind of person, more a short relationship kind.
She’d find occasional partners for a week or two, a month maybe, before they drifted off back into their own lives.
Short and intense. But not single-night short and intense.
Still, she’s going on her own terms. The old-fashioned way. See someone who interests you. Buy them a drink, or they’ll buy you one. Talk. See if you’ve got anything in common, or there’s any red flags. Arrange a date. Or not.
She’s not sure what Kim’s after.
There’s something uncomfortable in her stomach when she thinks of Kim meeting someone, dating someone, going home with someone, and she’s not sure why.
Ridiculous.
Her phone pings with a text.
Suggestion. As the girls are staying over with Mirza, why don’t you come to St Kilda?
There’s wine bars and gin bars, or if you want loud music, there’s lots of choices too.
You can stay over if you want, although it would be a choice of staying in Bella’s room or a rather uncomfortable sofa bed in my office.
Danika reads Kim’s text to Mirza, who immediately throws her phone down on the couch. “That’s a much better idea. All I was coming up with around here were eighties cover bands, which are usually fairly dire, or nightclubs that don’t open until eleven, and you are so not the demographic.”
“I guess.” But she doesn’t want to lie awake on the sofa bed listening to Kim having sex.
That sounds like a much better idea. But what if I spoil your plans? You won’t want me hanging around if you want to bring someone home.
The answer comes in a flash.
NOT happening. To be honest, I was having second thoughts, anyway. Not going out with you, but the whole going-out-to-maybe-find-a-potential-date thing. Would it spoil your plans?
Danika grins at her phone and then shows the text to Mirza.
Same as you. How about we just have an adult evening out by ourselves? In which case, thank you, I’d love to stay over.
She gets a thumbs-up in reply.
“Great,” Mirza says. “Although I was looking forward to reliving my single days vicariously through you.”
Mirza’s husband, Danil, works on oil rigs, and he’s away a lot—like now.
Mirza says it’s a bloody miracle she got pregnant as he’s away so often.
Danika tries not to think of Chris and all the times he was supposedly working interstate, but Danil really is away.
Despite the oil rig being far more remote than South Australia, Danil video chats with Mirza most nights and shows her backgrounds of stormy ocean and seabirds, and his tiny, messy bunk.
Chris always told her the connection in South Australia wasn’t good enough for video calls, and hence the message service was the only reliable way to get him.
In hindsight, she should have questioned him about safety, and satellite phones or internet services.
While Mirza potters around her kitchen, Danika cuddles baby Ashwin. It must be hard for Mirza, with a three-month-old and Sylvie, but she doesn’t complain. Danika holds Ashwin close and drops her face to nuzzle the top of his head, inhaling that powdery baby smell.
As Mirza cooks a lamb and eggplant dish for their lunch, Danika texts one-handed with Kim.
Wine bar rather than noisy music venue. She’s happy to take an Uber, dinner out sounds great, and she’s not a fan of Greek or Lebanese food, but other than that she’s happy with anything.
By the time Mirza puts lunch on the table, and Sylvie and Cami have appeared from the garden to eat, the evening out is all sorted.
She half listens as Sylvie and Cami chatter about their new interest of hobby-horsing, which at least is a cheap hobby. They ride their stick horses around the yard, jumping elaborate courses, and pretending to shy and buck and snort.
“I wonder if Bella has a horse?” Cami says.
Danika agrees to text Kim to ask.
The following Friday, Danika drives to Mirza’s house and leaves her car and Cami there. Kim will drop off Bella, and then Danika and Kim will drive to St Kilda together.
Cami barely listens to Danika’s instructions to do as Mirza tells her and not to stay up all night talking. When Bella arrives, the inattention is one hundred times worse, and the girls race outside, Bella with her brand-new hobby horse, which is dapple-grey and called Cloudy.
Kim gives Mirza a hug and a box of Italian cookies, plus an overnight bag for Bella.
“Thank you,” Mirza says. “I’m hiding these cookies from the girls. These are all for me.”
Danika and Kim head out to the Subaru. Danika gets into the passenger seat, fumbles for the seat belt. It’s strange being in a car with Kim. Such a usual thing, but it seems to add another layer of normal to their friendship.
With a start, Danika realises that she seldom now thinks of Kim-and-Chris, or Kim as the woman who inadvertently stole her husband. She’s becoming just Kim, her new friend. And Cami’s sister’s mother.
“I thought I’d drop my car at home first,” Kim says. “You can drop your overnight bag and make an informed decision about Bella’s bed versus sofa bed.”
They chat as Kim drives along Wellington Road through Rowville, through the densely packed outer suburbs. Where Danika lives is lush and green, and often wet, on the edge of the Dandenong Ranges, a place of mist and tree ferns.
Once in the inner suburbs of Caulfield and St Kilda, Kim slows to navigate traffic.
Danika looks around at the tightly packed shopfronts.
That’s one thing she loves about Melbourne; there are still shopping streets and corners, not just bland shopping centres.
There are still family businesses and restaurants, not just chain stores.
Finally, Kim noses her car into the parking for her apartment. Danika takes her bag, and they go up to the third floor.
The apartment is messier than the last time Danika visited. That’s a good sign; it implies Kim is comfortable with her. After all, Danika doesn’t tidy the house before her close friends come over.
“Bella’s room.” Kim throws open the door. There’s a single bed with a doona printed with mermaids, and posters on the wall. “I changed the sheets this morning. You might find it a bit cramped though.”
She leads the way to the office and points to the couch. “That folds down. I’ve been told it’s not the most comfortable, but it’s not unbearable.”
“This will be fine,” Danika says. She can pretty much sleep anywhere, and Bella’s bed seems like one imposition too far.
She dumps her bag on the couch in the office and follows Kim back to the kitchen.
“I booked a table at a Sri Lankan place near here,” Kim says. “I hope that’s okay. It has meat and veggie options.”
“That sounds great.” Danika’s mouth is watering already. “There’s nothing like that in Belgrave, just ordinary Indian food—although I’m not sure of the difference.”
“More coconut and vegetables in Sri Lankan, I think,” Kim says. She indicates her colourful loose pants and silky boat-neck t-shirt in soft turquoise. “I wasn’t going to change. Do you need to?”
Danika looks down at her olive-green shift dress.
It seems dull and staid compared to Kim’s clothes, her hair too ordered when compared to Kim’s thick and crinkly plait that hangs down her back, wisps already escaping.
But she has brought nothing else to wear for the evening, just some casual shorts and a t-shirt for the morning.
As if sensing Danika’s moment of self-doubt, Kim says, “You don’t need to change. You look lovely. Elegant, but casual with it. You’re a beautiful woman, Danika.” She brushes Danika’s arm with a fleeting touch.
“Thank you.” She pulls self-consciously at the waist of the dress, settling it better on her body. “I’m still too thin. But Sri Lankan food may help that!” She smiles and is relieved when Kim grins and agrees.
Kim picks a bottle of red wine from a small rack in the corner and together, they leave the apartment.
It’s only a few minutes’ walk to Acland Street, where narrow bars and funky restaurants jostle together with the European cake shops that have been there for decades, before the street became trendy.
Kim leads Danika into a small restaurant with a bright neon sign and gives her name to the server, who seats them alongside the dark-panelled wall.
The menu is a single laminated sheet. Danika peruses it as the server returns with two glasses for the wine. Kim pours and pushes across a glass.
“To us,” she says. “To friendship, and to making our strange situation work for us and our girls.”
“To us,” Danika echoes. She sips.
The server returns to tell them about the specials, and Danika mentally changes her order.
Goat curry with mustard greens sounds different, something she wouldn’t cook for herself.
Kim orders a lentil dish and a green bean and coconut relish.
Danika sticks with the goat curry, and they order vegetarian samosas and rice and green mango pickle.