by Tara Marlow
He placed his fork on the edge of the plate and watched her close her books. She needed to get to work.
“Here,” Lowell said, wrapping the rest of his muffin in his paper serviette. “I know you’ve had your head down and you probably haven’t eaten anything solid in days. Take the rest of my muffin. You look skinnier than the last time I saw you.”
She felt heat flush her cheeks. Some days she hated that Lowell knew so much about her home life. She knew he was concerned. He also knew what living in an abusive house was like. His worry came from a genuine place.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll pick up a bag of salad to eat on my break,” she said and took a huge bite of the blueberry muffin he bought her. With her mouth full, she added, “And this muffin will be enough until then.”
“Grace, seriously? You need more than a bag of salad and the occasional muffin. And this stuff going on with John? You seriously need to consider moving in with me. I’ll make room for you.”
“Lowell, please, not today. I get things suck for me right now, but I’m fine. I can handle it.” But was that true?
He reached over and squeezed her hand. She laughed, swatting his hand away. She glimpsed his semi-colon tattoo on his hand near his thumb and remembered what he’d been through himself. Now, he was finding his own way. He had his yoga business, and he was finally living on his own. She would not interfere with that.
“Right. Work,” she said, and devoured the rest of the muffin in two bites. He thrust his own muffin toward her. Knowing he wouldn’t give in, she took the muffin and stashed it in the side pocket. She rose slowly from the chair, ignoring the grave look on Lowell’s face. With fast plans to meet on the weekend, she threw him a kiss and left for work.
Dodging shoppers, she headed toward the escalators, and thought of Lowell’s offer. She would have loved to crash at his place, but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if it slowed him down. There was barely room for one. It was stupid to even consider it. She owed it to Lowell not to stand in his way, no matter what the cost. He was finally on the path he’d dreamed of. She wouldn’t impede that.
Coming off the escalator, she weaved her way toward the supermarket where she worked. Suddenly, the reality of her life came crashing back when a screaming toddler ran out from a nearby shop, tripping her. Stumbling forward, the marble floor closed in, her knee slamming down on the hard surface. Pain shot through to her ribs. She screamed wildly.The child’s mother dashed out, glaring at Grace with scathing judgement, as if Grace was the guilty party in the incident. Bitch.
Slowly picking herself back up, Grace realised whatever was going on with her father, things were getting serious. Lowell’s question reverberated in her mind: Why stay?
4
A week later, Grace was back at her usual table in the café. She was glad work was over. It had been a crazy Saturday morning in the supermarket, mainly with manic mothers picking up organic nut-free snacks and oranges for their kid’s netball or football teams. Some mums were chatty at her register, but others just screamed at their bickering kids. Now, her head was pounding, and she needed more caffeine.
She was meeting Lowell at three. Now, barely past two, the café was quiet but for the sound of the barista manically grinding beans, getting ready for the afternoon onslaught. The aroma of the espresso made her swoon. God, she wanted another cup, but told herself to wait until she finished her assignment. She couldn’t afford to be indulgent.
Grace looked over to the opposite side of the café. There, a guy stared at her, chewing on his pen. His stare was making her uncomfortable. But wait, no. He wasn’t staring at her. He was thinking, deep in concentration. She’d noticed him before. Like her, he came in to work. And, like her, he kept to himself. Sometimes, he worked on his laptop. Today, he was scribbling in his notebook.
She guessed the guy was about twenty-four, twenty-five at most. He’d been in line behind her a few weeks before and had almost knocked him over when she turned around. She hadn’t seen him and spilled her coffee down the front of her work shirt, right before her shift started. The stain had been a bitch to get out.
But that day, she’d noticed every detail about the guy. How his light brown hair was flecked with blonde from the sun, cut short, but still long enough to make him look roguish. How his cornflower blue eyes were rimmed by long, thick eyelashes that curled just at the end. And his laugh lines, how they were etched deeply into his cheeks, making his skin look baby soft. She felt the blush blossom on her cheeks, thinking of their collision. Most times she bumped into someone, they told her to ‘watch out’. But not this guy. He was kind enough to ask the barista for a towel.
Grace snapped out of the moment when his attention returned to his notebook, and he returned to writing, now furiously. She placed her hand on her burning cheeks, then set back to her own task.
Ten minutes later, a shaking hand placed a mug by her side, coffee spilling over the rim. She looked up. Standing before her was The Guy. He smiled at her, placed a note beside the cup, and walked away. That was weird. She opened the note.
Hi. My name is Daniel. I swear I’m not stalking you. You seemed so intent on your studies that I thought you’d appreciate the caffeine. The barista says it’s your usual. Enjoy.
Grace watched Daniel leave the café. At the exit, he looked back at her, smiled, then he was gone. Huh.
* * *
An hour later, she followed Lowell to his car. They were heading to his new apartment. He was excited to show it to her without all the packing boxes. The shopping centre was a madhouse. It was hard enough on a normal day to walk side by side, but today it was impossible. Kids chased one another through the crowds, their parents yelling after them. Mothers with strollers demanded space, hitting the heels of the unsuspecting when they didn’t comply. Older couples sauntered, holding up the hurried mass behind them, causing havoc whenever they stopped to admire shop windows. With the cold weather, it brought in more people than usual. No one wanted to be outside today. But Saturday afternoons were always like this at Macquarie Centre.
“You know, I noticed this guy in the café today,” Grace finally said, once they stepped on the escalator to rooftop parking.
“Oh, my God, Jelly. You actually noticed a… guy?” Lowell put his hand on his chest in mock shock.
“Oh, shut up. Yes. I noticed him. Most of them are Uni jerks, just looking to hook up. But this guy, I don’t know. He comes in, orders a coffee, then puts his head down to work. He usually stays about an hour. But today, he bought me a coffee. He said nothing to me, but he left a note.” She said it in a boasting tone, happy she’d scored a free coffee.
“Great. That’s all you need. Someone else to feed your coffee habit!” Grace noticed Lowell was careful not to use the word addiction. The last time he’d let that slip, she went ballistic on him. It wasn’t like her coffee was laced with alcohol or that it was as serious as drugs. Snapping to, she realised Lowell was still talking.
“… he didn’t speak to you? Has to be something wrong with him.”
“Don’t be mean. Maybe he’s shy? Maybe he respected I was studying and didn’t want to bother me. Doesn’t matter anyway, he’s too old for me.”
“Like, thirties?”
“No! More like twenty-three, twenty-four? Around your age I guess. He looks like a uni student. I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’s what they consider a mature age student? Like me. Besides, you aren’t jailbait anymore,” he said, when they reached the parking level.
“The guy looks… well, I don’t know.” She couldn’t say hot, even though she’d instantly thought that when he’d left the note. She’d rebuffed so many other guys before and didn’t know why this one was different. Maybe it was because he didn’t try to hit on her. Plus, he was pretty cute…
“Come on, Jelly. Try to describe him. I am sure I would have noticed him before. And I can’t remember any guy sitting at the café I haven’t pointed out to you already.” Reaching the do
or to the parking garage, Lowell opened the door for Grace, then held it for a woman and her three children as they shuffled through, the mother mumbling her thanks. Lowell pointed toward his car.
“I don’t know… he’s there at odd hours. And after school, like me. He’s tall, taller than me. His hair is kind of light brownish-blonde, cut short, and, um, he has these really vivid blue eyes.” She looked sheepishly at Lowell, who arched an eyebrow at her.
“He looks like he works out, I guess. He wears jeans a lot with boots. And long sleeve dress shirts. Oh! Wait! He was wearing a suit a couple of weeks ago.” Lowell groaned. She knew Lowell liked guys in suits, especially pinstriped. Lowell said nothing but unlocked his car with the ancient remote.
“And he has laugh lines, right here in his cheeks...” she said, sighing, and slid into the passenger side.
“Seriously?” Lowell said, slamming his door. “And you snagged him into buying you a coffee? I’m surprised a guy got past your usual rebuff. Hell, I’m shocked we’re even talking about a guy. Talking about hot guys is usually my thing.”
“He is kind of hot,” she whispered, finally admitting it out loud. “And I haven’t snagged him. He just bought me a coffee. It was, I don’t know, sweet. His name is Daniel.” Lowell turned the key in the ignition, and she reached for her seatbelt.
“There’s nothing sweet about it, Jelly. Especially if he’s older. Be careful. And a guy who looks like that? He has an agenda. He’s definitely looking to hook up.” She doubted that, but he was cute. How bad would it be if she went out with him? She shook the idea from her head. No. Her life was complicated enough without throwing a guy into the mix.
“Well, he can want all he likes. I’m not an idiot. He won’t get far; I can promise you that. And let’s be honest, if he is interested, he’ll be just like the rest of the guys. If he’s as old as I think he is, once he finds out I’m seventeen, he’ll run for the hills.”
“Just be careful. I mean, I think you should date, but if he’s older, that may be more than you’re ready for. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. And a guy with moves as smooth as that? He sounds slick. You need to be on the lookout for what’s next. Just keep in mind that if a guy is buying you a coffee, what does he want in return?”
5
Lowell dropped Grace at the intersection near her apartment around seven that evening. Driving her directly to her front door was too much of a risk. Blend in, words her father often repeated, popped into her mind again. Her friendship with Lowell was one she kept secret, so she always insisted on being dropped at the corner. There would be hell to pay if her father ever found out about Lowell.
Waving goodbye, she was amused by his concern for her safety. If only he knew about some of the situations she’d been in before. Like the time an old guy started groping her in a brothel, while she waited for her father. The old guy couldn’t keep his appointment after her retaliating kick to his groin. Or the time her father got mixed up in a bad drug deal and she had a knife pulled on her. She’d sweet-talked her way out of that, saving both her and her dad. Walking home at this time of night was like heading to the library on a Saturday morning. People were everywhere. She could fend off an attacker if she needed to. Just not her father. He was different.
Walking up the cracked concrete footpath, she thought of Lowell’s plans for the night. He was heading out on a date with a swimmer he’d met at the local pool. She chuckled, thinking of his harried pace as he got ready. He was so nervous about what to wear, but eventually settled on jeans, a button-down shirt, and one of his much-loved vests. She loved that he was giddy. But who could blame him? He was getting on with his life. It had been a rough start for him. Being in the closet wouldn’t have been easy. But now, out of his father’s dictatorial clutches, the life he dreamed of was just beginning for him. The new guy sounded hot, but Lowell was also extremely talented in describing a guy’s physical attributes, sometimes in too fine a detail. She only hoped he didn’t fall in love too quickly this time. The last guy devastated him, dumping him a month after they’d met.
But then, what did she know about dating?
She climbed the grungy stairs at the entrance of her apartment block, thinking of the possibility. Yeah, she’d plenty of interest, from both guys and girls. Some even asked her out, but they were probably foolish dares, especially from the guys. Dating was definitely not part of her plan. Nope. She had a goal.
Fishing her keys out of her backpack’s side pocket, she thought of Daniel. Hmm. She would consider a date with him. He was very... what word had Lowell used to describe his date? Fi…Fine. That was it. Would she describe Daniel as fine? No, not really. He was too rugged for that, then thought about what Lowell had said earlier. Something about Daniel having an ulterior motive. Maybe she’d risk it. She thought of Daniel’s blue eyes and his soft laugh lines. Yeah, those things could suck you in.
At the front door, she shifted into stealth mode, listening for any sign her dad was home.
“Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home,” she said in an inaudible whisper. She listened intently. Quiet, thank God.
She put the key into the rusty keyhole. She opened the door to the dark apartment and hit the light switch. The empty beer bottles sitting on the table made her heart pound. Still, she heard no sound. Her eyes scoured the small apartment, but she held the door open. She was ready to run if she had to. She turned her head to see into her father’s bedroom. The bed looked like it hadn’t been made in a month, and his stained clothes from the night before lay in a heap. Otherwise, the room was empty. The bathroom door was also open, and she heard nothing coming from the kitchen. She released her breath and gently closed the front door, hearing the quiet click behind her.
Her mind raced. Her father had been home at some point during the day for this many bottles to be laying about. Hints of her father’s mood were hard to find. She picked up the empty Tooheys beer bottles from the white Formica table. Traces of white powder lay on the surface. She felt her heart drop, and her hands shook. Shit. Beer and ... something that looked like cocaine. That was not a good sign.
Panic filled her. She thought of calling Lowell to ask if she could stay the night. No. No, she couldn’t do that to him, especially when she knew how much he was looking forward to his date. Maybe her dad wouldn’t be back? Sometimes he’d be gone for days. Maybe this would be one of those times. Hope clouded her judgement. She thought to Lowell again and realised she had a shift the next morning. Even if she could stay, Lowell’s place was too far to make it for her seven o’clock start. Sure, she could take the train, but she’d be relying on a connection, and she read maintenance was scheduled for that train lines over the weekend. Plus, the buses were on limited runs at that time of the morning. Crap. She would just have to risk staying.
Grace grabbed the kitchen cloth, rinsed it under cool water, and then looked at the coke on the chipped table. She laughed grimly, thinking some cokehead would still get a buzz from what remained. She wiped it away. She didn’t care. She didn’t want it anywhere near her. She knew what it did to people, the destruction it caused. And if it was her dad’s coke? Maybe this would teach him a lesson for leaving traces behind. Ha. Who was she kidding? He wouldn’t even remember it was there.
She burned a few matches to get rid of the rank smell from the stale beer, dreaming of how nice it would be to have a vanilla scented candle. Just a simple scent, she mused, something to take away the dank smell of the place. But they cost money she didn’t have. She ran water through the soiled cloth. Someday she would fill a room with lots of scented candles. She was sick of the smell in this apartment. It was burned into her nostrils. But whatever this crap was, the smell that overlayed the mouldy dank? She hated that more. She was sick of dealing with her dad’s bullshit.
She walked back to her bedroom, then stopped, looked around. It was so different from Lowell’s space. His place was inviting, theirs stark. Her bedroom was basic, cold, and she could see mildew growing out
of the crack along the ceiling. Lowell’s apartment was on a quiet, tree-lined street and it felt peaceful as soon as you drove on to the street. Grace could hear honking from impatient drivers rushing home from work, even with their apartment in the back half of the building. She hated this place. Sick of the discarded food wrappers that found their way into the hallway, blown in from the street. Tired of sidestepping vomit on the footpath from drunk University students. Tired of tripping on the cracked step going down to the laundry. She was even over the dirty washing machines in the communal laundry, breaking down as soon as they were fixed. She was ready to move, but as she looked around, she knew she was lucky to have a dry place to sleep. Hell, lucky to have a space that was hers. That hadn’t always been the case with them moving around.
She tossed her backpack on to the single bed, pushed up against the wall lengthways. She took off her jacket and threw it onto the wobbly brown wooden chair, now sitting in the corner. Beside it was the scratched-up dresser, left behind and graffitied by the previous tenant, which held her entire wardrobe: two pair of pants, a pair of jeans, a pair of shorts that were way too small for her now, a handful of t-shirts she’d found at the op shop, and her work uniform. She considered herself lucky to even have the drawers. Her clothes and books were normally stuffed into her stained duffel, the one she’d found abandoned on the side of the road.
She looked at the walls and shuddered. The walls in Lowell’s new apartment were painted a soft grey with large, framed prints hanging on them. Her walls were off-white and stained from God knows what. And that ever present mildew that seemed to grow every day. She avoided the walls at all costs. Lowell’s space was fresh smelling, like clean laundry. Grace had scrubbed their place so many times, but no matter what she did, the dank smell remained. Her apartment was at the other end of the spectrum from Lowell’s. She learned not to move her dresser. She’d tried a few weeks after moving in, and a mass of tiny cockroaches came scurrying out. There was no bedside table. No wardrobe to hang anything and there were no blinds. It looked like they moved in with only their bags. Which was close to the truth. They moved in with one box that held a stained set of sheets for each bed, two thin worn towels, their sleeping bags from camping, and some basic kitchen supplies. The rest she’d picked up from op shops and council pick up days. She knew they were lucky to find a place so cheap, so she couldn’t complain too much. It was better than living out of her dad’s rusty, ten-year-old car. It stank worse than the apartment.
