9. Claire
9
With every painful inhale, I can see the sweat coating my chest as it glistens in the afternoon sun.
“I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing, you crazy person.”
Holding an arm across her chest in a stretch, Lex sits cross-legged and laughs.
I spy her through one eye as she tips her head back and pulls the spring air surrounding us into her lungs, a smile of contentment washing over her.
“Don’t you feel better, though?” she says. “All that pent-up energy has been pushed out into the universe to make room for the good juju.”
“You need a good juju,” I say as I look back up at the clear sky.
The cool, salted breeze caresses my heated skin. Soft light filters through the branches of the trees that canopy over our little backyard. You can hear the crash of the ocean waves just over the fence line. The candied scent of sweet peas and freesia that Lex planted when we first moved in a few years ago envelops us, forcing me to take a deeper breath, letting the calm wash over me.
Fine, I guess I do feel more relaxed.
“What are you planning to do with the rest of your afternoon?” she asks, rolling through her spine to stand tall. “I’m going down to the salon. They finished the walls this week. Painting and tiling happen next week.” I clap my hands with a smile.
With a guttural groan, I pull my sore body off the ground and roll up my mat to follow Lex as she makes her way back inside. “I want to see how it looks with the classroom and staffroom switched now that it’s properly in place. That damn Lee better hope he was right.”
“I think it was a smart move. There are some cool bars on Main Street. If you’re running night classes, you’ll get people passing the window and wondering what’s going on.” Why didn’t I fucking think of that?
I want so badly for this to go right, for the salon to support me in a way that I can stand on my own two feet. I don’t want to be blindsided by life like my mum was. The salon has to be a success.
I take a seat at the kitchen barstool, watching as Lex pulls various fruits and vegetables from the fridge for her meal prep.
She’s on late shifts this week, which has meant I’ve sat on the couch watching Sex and the City reruns with Uber Eats because I don’t have my bestie here to lead me to better decisions. Or cook my dinner. But as the fabulous Samantha Jones says, “I will not be judged by you or society.” So that’s what I’m rolling with.
She follows that statement up by also saying, “I will wear whatever I want and blow whomever I want as long as I can breathe and kneel.” So basically, she’s the queen I aspire to be.
“I suppose I should finish shifting my seasonal wardrobes over as well, but I enjoy it so much better when we do that together.”
“That’s because my wardrobe takes a quarter of the time compared to yours, and you know once I’m done, I’ll help you finish yours.”
“You’re so good to me. I love you so much.” I perch my elbows on the bench, placing my chin in my upturned palms with an overzealous grin, making her burst out with laughter.
I don’t know how I functioned for the first fourteen years of my life without Lex. I’m quite sure I never had a best friend before her. I was never shy around new people, just painfully direct to the point I probably scared them off before they got to really know me.
I’d never found anyone that I instantly connected with, that I wanted to keep around, until Lex.
She walked into ninth grade English as the new kid who moved up from small town Killara Bay to the big, loud Heart City. We were paired for an assignment, and I knew right away that she needed me. She was destined to be a bright spark, but she had walked in dull and despondent.
My grandmother used to tell me how vibrant and positive my mother was in her youth. She loved to meet new people and learn their stories. A smile lived on her face, and she would always lend a helping hand to people who needed it, whether it was walking the dog for the overworked neighbour, volunteering for community events, or swapping shifts with people at her work.
She was happy with every little thing she did.
Until she met my dad.
He was a businessman travelling from Queens Coast, on the other side of the country, and she was the desk clerk at the hotel he stayed at.
She worked the overnight shift, so they often crossed paths as he was coming in from a long day of meetings, then again as he left for a business dinner and once more when he came back for the night.
He would always flirt with her, and by the end of his week-long stay, he convinced her to have dinner with him. Which led to the production of me.
He was back in Heart City again the next month—before she found out she was pregnant with me—and instead of one night like before, they spent the whole week together. By the third time he visited, my mother was eight weeks pregnant, and he told her he was married and already a father to two children.
That was when my mother became the bitter, independent woman she is today. She swore off men and happily ever afters, and raised me to be just the same.
I didn’t entirely swear off men, not after losing my virginity to the high school bad boy. But I made sure to always keep my emotions in check.
They could have my body, they could serve my pleasure on a platter to me if I deemed them so lucky, but they could never have my heart. The only person I’ve willingly given that to is my girl, Lex.
She is someone worthy of my love and loyalty.
When she smiles at me with a roll of her eyes that I know she doesn’t mean, it warms me to my very core. “I love you too,” she says, then she points her knife at me, a banana slice still stuck to the side. “But you can sort your own wardrobe this time.”
I laugh just as my phone beeps on the kitchen counter. Leaning my sore body over the bench, I snatch it up.
DUDE FROM PARTY: Hey sexy. Been a while. Looking for some fun later?
No recollection of you, sir. Pass. I delete the message and notice another one left unread.
SEAN OR SHAUN?: Hey babe. Looking to have your world rocked again? Hit me up.
Ew. Seriously. Surely these men had more game than this before I gave them my number. This is just sad. I delete this travesty from my phone and my mind while I brace for the last unread message.
My heart races as I take in the name on the screen. The last time he came over, he demanded my phone so he could put his number in there. He was adamant when he left that I was to call him if I needed release. No going to a bar, no looking for other men. If I needed to get off, he was there.
I open the message, and there’s a photo of a lunchbox with what looks like a home-cooked meal. There’s an arm resting on the table beside it, deliciously golden and veiny with a black beaded bracelet wrapped around a thick wrist.
THE ONLY VIKING YOU NEED: Look what I got, Mama’s beef stew. Turns out it’s my second favourite thing to eat. Your beautiful pussy earns the top spot now.
I purse my lips, trying to fight the laugh that wants to burst free. I stare at the words, imagining him sitting wherever he is in his normal life and thinking about me.
ME: Is that all I am to you Lover Boy. A meal?
Dots dance on my screen immediately, while my foot bounces on the rung of the stool.
THE ONLY VIKING YOU NEED: You’re more like an Oreo. I like to split you down the middle and lick out the centre. And one is definitely not enough. I always enjoy some dessert after dinner. Are you on the menu tonight, Bombshell?
It happens outside of my control, the burst of laughter. When I notice the startled look on Lex’s face, I clear my throat, reigning in the fizzing in my stomach.
“Just a funny meme.” She doesn’t look convinced.
ME: I’ll leave the door unlocked *cookie emoji*