3. Eden
Eden
Ah, is there anything better than waking up sore and satisfied? Nope, there isn’t. Even though it’s…
“Eden, there’s someone at the door,” Sloane moans into her pillow. My ears adjust to waking life and focus on the doorbell chiming repeatedly.
“I’m going,” I groan out. My body feels like a lead weight, and my brain is fuzzy from a lot of fantastic sex and nowhere near enough sleep.
The bloody bell chimes again, and I’ve just decided I’ll be ripping the fucking thing out later today. What a hideous sound!
Scrambling to find some clothes, I stumble down the hall and nearly kill myself on the stairs trying to dress myself. I almost take the front door off its hinges as I rip it open, ready to tear whoever the hell woke us up a new arsehole.
Instead of an irritating salesman or someone equally deserving of a bollocking, I’m rendered mute when I come face to face with a puffy-faced Pia.
Arin is on her hip, snuggled into her neck, drooling, and Meena is a miniature zombie in a multi-coloured onesie.
Her hair is sticking up in all directions, and her eyes are barely open.
“Pia, what’s going on?”
My best friend’s lip trembles, and a tear falls down her face. “I left him, Eden. I left Todd.”
The world falls silent as I try to process what she’s just said. It’s only when I hear Sloane cursing behind me as she too nearly breaks her neck coming down the stairs. She’s tying her robe, looking half asleep, as she looks from me to Pia.
“Hey P, everything okay?” Sloane asks. Pia shakes her head and begins to sob. Sloane reaches for her instantly. I scoop Arin into my arms before he ends up head-butting my wife as Pia falls into her.
“Come here, little dude,” I say softly as he readjusts himself and promptly falls back to sleep on my shoulder.
Meena looks totally confused, which is fair because I’m feeling it too.
Taking her hand, I pull her inside and towards the living room.
There is a fancy arse fort in the corner that I bought for Meena on her tenth birthday, and she insisted it be kept here, which I’m now thankful for.
Sloane is guiding Pia to the kitchen, so I distract Meena by turning on her fairy lights inside the fort and switching on the iPad for her to binge-watch whatever cartoon she’s into now. I can’t keep up, to be honest.
Arin is totally unconscious, so I creep up the stairs and deposit him in his bed. As I said, the bedrooms are constantly in use in this house. Once he’s down for the count, I check on Meena one last time before joining Sloane and Pia in the kitchen.
Sloane is in full caretaker mode, brewing herbal tea and placing copious amounts of cookies on a plate.
I slide into the seat next to Pia and take her shaking hand in mine. “P, what happened?”
She sniffs, wipes her nose with her hand, and looks at me. “I just couldn’t do it anymore, Eden. I’ve tried for so long, but I’m miserable.”
Pia and Todd’s relationship hit the rocks when little Meena was born, but we all thought they’d worked through it. Tensions were high again when Arin came into the world, but neither Pia nor Todd divulged anything. Hell, we saw them last night, and everything seemed okay.
“He just complies with everything my parents demand. Our life is dictated by them, and Todd just rolls over every time. I’m tired of it, and no matter how many conversations we have, he doesn’t change.”
Pia’s parents are the fucking worst, in my opinion.
They’re richer than God and have a shitty attitude when it comes to the meaning of family.
The only affection they showed Pia was by throwing money at her.
They travelled without her so much that she practically lived with my family during high school.
Even when Meena was born, they couldn’t even be arsed to get on a private jet and see their daughter or granddaughter.
“Ever since Arin was born, they’ve become these ridiculous grandparents,” Pia scoffs. “Because he’s a boy, they suddenly think they have a right to tell me how to live and how to raise my children.”
“Wha—”
“Did I tell you they’ve started planning on sending him to India, to a private school, when he’s six?” she screeches.
“No, you didn’t,” I reply, but Pia isn’t really listening. I can see she’s reliving a conversation that’s making her blood boil.
“I told them there wasn’t a chance in hell my boy was being sent anywhere.
I turned to Todd expecting him to back me up, but he just remained silent with his eyes on the floor.
Can you fucking believe it? This is our son, for god’s sake.
He’s so fucking scared of my parents he’s letting them plan our whole lives! ”
Sloane places the now-steeped tea in front of Pia and sits. “What did he say when you left?”
Pia laughs. “He said I was overreacting, and that I should see it from his point of view. See what my parents have done for us, and by that he means him, because my parents haven’t done anything noteworthy for me since I was born.”
My heart sinks. Todd is a lovely guy, but he’s a sheep. Always has been. He does as he’s told, even when it’s not right, and for once, I can’t stand up for him. Not when he is willing to let Arin be whisked away to another fucking country.
“I called them before coming here,” Pia continues. “I told them they were cut off. That they are no longer welcome in mine or my kids’ lives. I snapped,” she chokes. “How can they treat my kids like this and think it’s okay?”
“They can’t, sweetie,” I say in a soothing voice.
Pia scoffs. “They said they’re going to cut me off financially, which is fine. They’ve never paid attention, so they think I’m this silly little girl who can’t look after herself. I’ve still got enough money for my kids to live comfortably. Fuck them, and fuck Todd!”
My head swivels towards the lounge. I know Pia is upset, but Todd is still Meena’s dad. She’s ten going on forty, so she’ll soak all of this up with a level of understanding way beyond her years. Thankfully, Meena has her headphones on and is totally engrossed in whatever she’s watching.
“You’ll stay here,” Sloane says. “That’s non-negotiable, Pia.”
Pia hiccups and nods. “I’d hoped you’d get all white knight in shining sneakers.” She chuckle-sobs. “I don’t want to be on my own, but I can’t be in the house with him.”
“Good, cause you’re not.” I squeeze her hand for emphasis. “You’ve already got beds here, and you can have a lie-in for once instead of being jolted awake by the world’s loudest toddler.”
Pia wants to protest, I can see it ready on her lips, but exhaustion wins. She sags into the kitchen chair, staring at her chipped manicure. “I’m supposed to be the adult now, but I can’t stop feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught shoplifting tampons.”
Sloane snorts, sliding the plate of cookies closer. They are the expensive ones, made with three types of herbs and sold to us under the pretence of a “healthy household treat.” We both know that’s a lie, but they’re Pia’s favourite.
“You can nap after you eat something. Then we’ll make a battle plan.” Sloane says this gently, but her eyes are hard and bright. She’s already running through every future scenario, typing up lists in her head. I love her most when she’s ready to go to war for our friends.
“Meena needs to get to school,” Pia mumbles. “She’s got a spelling bee today. She’s been practising all week.”
Who the bloody hell plans a kids’ spelling bee on a Saturday morning? Monsters, that’s who!
“I’ll take her,” I say. “You rest. And if Todd wants to pick her up, he can meet me in the playground, and we’ll do it like a hostage exchange.”
That gets a laugh out of Pia—a real one, not the brittle, manic giggle of the sleep-deprived. “You’re a terrible influence, Eden.”
“Absolutely. It’s why you love me.” I grin.
The tea cools. Pia sobs a little more, then lets Sloane walk her upstairs. I give her a minute to get tucked in. Then I clean up the kitchen—automatic, no thought needed because I’m a homeowner now and my life is cleaning shit up constantly until the day I die.
I check on Meena. She’s curled up in the fort, headphones clamped tight, watching a show about animals that use friendship and elaborate songs to solve minor crimes.
The world outside is still dark but with just the faintest hint of sunrise at the edges, and the living room is bathed in the blue light of cartoons.
“Hey, Mini-Meena.”
She looks up, blinking. “Is Mom okay?”
“She’s fine. She just needs some sleep, like we all do.
” I squat next to her, careful not to tip over the small pile of plastic unicorns she’s lined up at the door of the fort.
I want to ask her why she’s shaved all their manes off, but I’m not sure my brain can handle the complexities of Meena’s little brain this early in the morning.
“How would you feel if I took you to school today?”
Meena shrugs, then nods. “Can we get hot chocolate?”
“You bet. You want marshmallows, or are you going to go full adult and skip the sugar?”
She screws up her face. “Marshmallows.”
“Good answer.” I will be doing the same.
She gets up and stretches, then shuffles past me to the stairs.
We reach the upstairs hall, and there’s a moment where she hesitates, looking at the closed guest room door where Pia is probably already snoring, but she doesn’t knock.
She just stands there, arms loose at her sides, and I realise she’s more tuned in than any of us give her credit for.
I want to say something wise, something that will make all of this easier, but I’m not that kind of adult. Instead, I reach for her hand. It’s small, but her grip is fierce.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you ready for your spelling bee.”
The drive to school is quiet, save for the steady drip of rain against the windscreen and Meena’s soft, rhythmic spelling drills from the backseat. She’s got a battered practice sheet in her lap and a purple gel pen she keeps flicking between her fingers like a magician.
“Can you spell ‘pharaoh’ for me?” I ask, glancing at her in the rearview.
She doesn’t even look up. “P-H-A-R-A-O-H.”
“Nice. What about ‘catastrophe’?”
She hesitates, then rattles it off with a confidence that would have made Pia proud. I let her run through the list until the parking lot is in sight, the words growing harder and her voice steadier with each one.
At the curb, I pull a U-turn and double-park, earning myself a disapproving honk from a parent with serious minivan energy. “Rules are for people with less important business,” I mutter.
Meena gives me a side-eye. “You sound like Mom.”
“High praise.”
I grab her backpack and umbrella, then walk her to the gate. The air is thick with the smell of rain and crushed leaves. I’m pretty sure I look like I just rolled out of a ditch, but Meena is pristine in her school uniform and fresh braids.
She pauses at the gate. “Are you coming to the bee?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say. “I’ll be the one in the back, throwing up victory signs.”
She grins. “Mom says you’re not allowed to shout.”
“She’s right, but I can make a mean silent fist pump.”
That gets another smile. She hugs me—brief, bracing, and entirely her own—and then she melts into the tide of noisy kids.
I stand at the gate for a while, watching the teachers herd all the tiny humans indoors, then fish my phone out of my pocket. There is a string of missed calls from Todd, which I ignore. There’s also a text from Sloane.
Sloane
Pia is asleep. I’m making soup.
I sit in the car for a bit, letting my mind wander. There’s that feeling again—like I’m fifteen and hiding in the art room, waiting for the bell to ring so I can sneak out the back and find Pia. We’ve always been like this, two rats in a maze, running from disaster and towards each other.
I think about the future: Meena and Arin sleeping upstairs, Sloane reading on the couch, Pia curled into a blanket fort of her own. Oddly, it’s a comforting picture. I’ve always felt better with my family close by.
After the spelling bee—which Meena wins, obviously—I take her for the agreed upon hot chocolate at Benny’s. The rain has stopped, and the diner windows sweat with condensation from the crowd of parents and kids.
We snag a booth and order two mugs, each topped with a cloud of whipped cream and a criminal amount of marshmallows. Meena has her trophy in one hand, the base already sticky with chocolate, and she’s beaming so hard I wish I could bottle the feeling and send it to every unlucky child in the world.
“I did good, right?” she asks.
“You did amazing.”
She pokes her mug with a straw. “Do you think Mom is okay?”
“Yeah, kiddo,” I say, meaning it.
Meena chews her straw and then lines up three marshmallows in a row on her saucer. “Are we going to live with you now?”
I freeze, the question catching me off guard. “You can stay as long as you want,” I say carefully. “We’ll make it work.”
She looks satisfied, then resumes dunking her marshmallows one by one. Some part of me wants to reach for Sloane’s hand under the table, but she’s not here, so I just grip my thigh.
Back at the house, I find Sloane in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration over a massive vat of lentil soup that smells, somehow, like comfort and reassurance. There’s music playing—Fleetwood Mac, the soundtrack of every minor crisis in our relationship.
Pia is at the counter, hair damp from a shower, wrapped in the robe she always steals from us. She looks a hundred years older than yesterday, but she’s smiling at something Sloane just said. Her hands aren’t shaking anymore.
“Spelling bee champion, reporting for duty!” I announce, and Meena holds up her trophy like a torch. I fucking love the animalistic war cry she gives just for effect.
Pia’s smile breaks wide and real as she laughs and opens her arms. Meena bolts across the kitchen and buries her face in her mother’s shoulder. I let myself watch for a beat longer than strictly necessary.
Sloane catches my eye, eyebrow raised, a question in her gaze. I shrug, then make a face to say: it’s going to be okay.
She smiles, just a little, then ladles out three bowls of soup and sets them on the table.
I join them, grabbing a spoon, and sit while Meena and Pia talk over each other about the spelling bee, the monsters in the fort, the hilarious moment when Arin farted so loud the neighbour’s dog barked.
I reach for Sloane’s hand, and she squeezes mine.
We’ll manage.
We always do.