Nine Years: A novel (Beneath the Clouds Book 1)

by Jessica Leed

  They hadn’t looked at suits, nor had they looked closely at photographers, wedding cakes, cars or a venue for that matter. She had spotted at least five or six of the venues from the top ten list she had made. She knew every detail about them all—the setup, the menu, the cost per head, the alcohol packages, the inclusions. She could have been mistaken as an employee there, her knowledge was that solid. She had had years of dissecting each one of them. She was basically an expert.

  She had been discrete in throwing the flyers into their brown show bag as they strolled through. She wasn’t sure if Patrick had noticed, his eyes scurrying left and right as they weaved through the crowd. If he had, he hadn’t reacted.

  Which she put down as a good thing.

  It wasn’t until they were walking back to the car later that afternoon where he continued to surprise her.

  ‘I’ve thought about it and I think we could give counselling a go,’ his tone sure, decided.

  She squeezed his hand. ‘Are you sure you’re open to it? I mean after everything you said—’

  ‘I know what I said.’ He sounded annoyed to have been questioned. ‘But surely it can’t hurt us.’

  She nodded. ‘Did you want me to set an appointment up for us?’ He shook his head, his face suddenly stern. ‘I’ll look into it this week. Let me do some research first.’

  With that he took out his phone and for the first time that afternoon. For a moment she was impressed that he was on it already, researching counsellors. But as she caught his face dissolve into a devious grin as his fingers tapped away, she felt suspicion build inside her all over again. She parted her lips, wanting to ask him what was so humorous, wanting him to share whatever it was that lit his face. But closed her mouth before he had the chance to shut her down.

  Maybe she imagined it, the way he intentionally angled his phone away from her eyes. But within seconds he had slipped his phone back into his pocket and took her hand again.

  Why was she being so insecure? She could understand it any other day, but not today. Not when they had this amazing afternoon together. Well, at least a functional one. If anything, the success of the day stirred a motivation to fight for all she felt close to giving up on. They had a long way to go. She knew that. But she wasn’t going to give up on the man who had looked at her today with glistening eyes.

  Just when she thought they wouldn’t look at her that way again. There was a hope in that single moment. It was the hope she needed for the long road ahead. He hadn’t had a drink in a week, he had complimented her on her appearance, agreed to join her at the wedding expo. And miraculously, was open to counselling. These were huge steps forward.

  And she wasn’t going to do anything that would jeopardise any of it.

  As they reached the car, it was her turn to angle her phone from him as she opened up a new message and cancelled her plans with Ethan.

  Seventeen

  She couldn’t shake him if she tried.

  He was in Lilydale, closer to her than he had been in years. She couldn’t help but wonder what he got up to when the sun went down each day in a suburb where he knew no one. Or why her phone stopped tinging with messages from him when they were just a short drive apart. Did he not think about her the same way her mind was sent in a constant frenzy every time he entered hers?

  What was she doing? She was an engaged woman and Ethan was nothing but a friend. Something inside of her craved his presence, his attention, his company.

  The whole thing was ridiculous.

  And wrong.

  Cancelling their plans to catch up was the right thing to do. But somehow nothing felt right about his silence from that day forward. She had grown fondly accustomed to his messages, enjoying the rush of adrenaline that came from being in contact with him. She could understand why he had backed off, why he had created distance between them a second time. Friendship was one thing but trying to salvage a friendship with an old flame, was another. Just as she suspected, it wouldn’t work. It couldn’t work. Not from her side anyway. Not when her feelings were electrified at the very thought of him, suppressing the throb in her heart all at the same time.

  In a sense, Ethan was like a drug to her. Although now, the effects had worn off and the pain had set back in.

  She thought things with Patrick would have changed. She had honestly believed they would. The way his eyes had found their way back to hers, the way he squeezed her hand tight, had all been convincing.

  Or maybe it had all been an illusion.

  But why? Why would he all of a sudden want to try and then not follow through? It had been over a week now—close to two in fact. From the way things looked, they were no closer to the counselling session they so desperately needed to book in. When she had gently asked about it, he had told her he was still reviewing potential places, making out he had made some sort of a short list. At this rate, their first appointment would take place within the same length as their engagement.

  Or maybe it would never happen.

  And truth be told, she wasn’t too fussed. She had no desire to press the topic further. Deep down she hoped that as long as the whole scheduling of their sessions were in Patrick’s hands, in his control, the better. It meant she finally had something over his head for their next argument. Something she could use against him, as malicious as that sounded.

  But not only that, she was scared.

  What if Patrick had been right about them being broken? What if the psychologist only confirmed it? What if they were too far gone? She wasn’t ready to hear it.

  Not even after five years of turmoil.

  Besides, she doubted things would actually come to that. Couple therapy wasn’t designed for relationships to come to an end, but designed to pick up the broken pieces and find a way to put them back together.

  Their case would be no different because Patrick wouldn’t give up on her. The same way she wouldn’t give up on him.

  It was really that simple when she put it like that.

  They had a dinner reservation for six thirty. There was no special occasion, just an outing she hoped would rekindle the hope their relationship had sparked. Her choices were limited, with most cuisines not being an option with their excessive calories. She had booked a table at a Vietnamese restaurant a stone’s throw away from Patrick’s work. Apparently, his colleagues all raved about it and considering it was a week night, it made it convenient for him to get to. Patrick seemed more than happy about it, giving her a kiss on the cheek on her way out the door that morning assuring her he was looking forward to their evening together.

  She had pottered around the house after work that afternoon, not quite sure what to do with herself. She wasn’t used to having a spare moment to herself and felt guilty for it. In order to fill time, she had taken out the cleaning products for the third time that week and performed a spring clean of the apartment. Within an hour she had the place looking immaculate. Even more so than before. She then sorted through her wardrobe making a pile of clothes she hadn’t worn, placing them into boxes to donate to Salvation Army, then threw out old shoe boxes that were taking up valuable space.

  It was by the third box where she stumbled across her old journals. She had no idea why she had stored them there, of all places—perhaps she had run out of boxes when they moved last. There had been four or five different journals covering the years 2007 to 2010.

  She opened the journal with the orange hardcover, remembering it being the most recent, and turned to the last page.

  March 28th 2010

  It’s after midnight. Ethan turned up at my apartment tonight, out of nowhere. I hadn’t seen him in months. Not since December last year where we awkwardly stared at each other from opposite rows at the Christmas eve carols service in Passel’s park.

  Anyway, he showed up with lemon chicken risotto, knowing quite well it’s my all-time favorite dish. He kept hugg
ing me, finding opportunities to hold my hand and stuff. Whenever I asked him what he was doing here he kept telling me that he missed our friendship and that it was his duty as my big brother, to make sure I was ok. That annoyed me. I don’t want to be his ‘little sis’, I want him to love me the way I love him. I want it so badly that after a couple of pineapple vodka cruisers, I told him exactly that. I told him I loved him and it had been that way before I got him and Sadie together.

  The next thing I know he kisses me and then I kiss him, empty bottles are going everywhere and I’m full of hope. Then he does a complete 180 and tells me he has to go and that ‘he can’t’ and that he loves me as a friend and doesn’t want to do anything that will wreck our friendship. He caught a taxi to his cousin’s house about an hour ago and I’m left here in tears. Thank god Katie isn’t home, I would die if I had to explain it to her.

  I’m so mad at him. I feel so mislead, so deceived. He wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t think there was potential for us, if he didn’t feel the same. Looks like I have stuffed things up between us, big time. I’m so humiliated, I deleted his number just now and everything. Immature and dramatic of me, I know. I’ll probably regret it, but I feel like I can’t face him ever again.

  It all hurts like hell.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory so vivid as though it happened just yesterday. She remembered how distraught she had felt that night and the months following. Losing Ethan had felt as painful as a death. In a way, it had been just that. A death of a friendship, her identity dying shortly not long after.

  Staying at his parents’ house that September and sleeping in his old room had been the last straw. Every single detail about being home had reminded her of him, with every landmark and tradition, no matter how small, holding some sort of sentimental value. Even the fresh country air reminded her of the days where they would take his parents’ canoes out on Lake Lingfield whenever there was a hint of sun. Her trips home became scarcer after that, once a month, then once a term. After meeting Patrick two years later, her visits became even less frequent. Once a semester, to once a year, gradually plummeting as she transformed into the person she was today.

  Whoever that was.

  She glanced at her watch. 6:22. She snapped the journal shut, stuffed it back into the box and buried it behind her mountain of shoes. The restaurant was a good twenty minutes away, she would be late. She was never late. The thought made her panic. She sent a quick message to Patrick, letting him know that she would be ten minutes late as she flew down the stairs.

  Traffic had been kind, she had missed peak hour and managed to avoid every red light. Not quite understanding her frazzled state, she followed the waiter to their reservation. Patrick hadn’t even arrived yet. She pulled out her phone, noticing he hadn’t replied to her text either. She exhaled, allowing her body to relax as she took a menu and sat down. She allowed the tranquil melody from the talented pianist smooth over her edginess.

  Why was she so on edge anyway?

  She opened the leather-bound menu and ran her eyes over the fancy dishes; Muc rang muoi, Banh gan, Cari ga⁠—she had no idea what she was reading.

  Where was the English translation?

  She skimmed her eyes around the room. The place was fancy. She was underdressed, her white jeans and black turtleneck distasteful against the formal attire everyone around her were clothed in.

  Anxiety began to circle inside her again.

  She had all this time and hadn’t bothered to do her research. Patrick would be arriving any minute in his navy business suit, making her look like more of an embarrassment. He would find a way to have a go at her for sure, amplifying how inadequate she already felt. She sighed, her eyes not having moved from the foreign words in front of her. Maybe if she googled the dishes to get some sort of understanding of what she would be eating, she would feel as though she somewhat belongs at a restaurant like this. She took her phone again and refreshed her web page. At the same time, a text came through.

  Can you cancel? Been held back at work. Meet you at home in a couple of hours.

  Sorry?

  Hot tears prickled in her eyes. Was he serious?

  ‘Madam, can I entice you with a beverage while you wait for your guest?’

  She looked up at the waiter who had wheeled in a neatly presented array of wine and champagne.

  She blinked back the tears and smiled. ‘That would be lovely, thank you. What do you recommend?’

  He selected a bottle from the silver trolley and began a rehearsed sales pitch. His voice quickly turned to white noise against her paralyzing thoughts. Her ears however, sharp enough to prick up at familiar words like ‘Vintage’, ‘Moet’ and ‘Chandon’, so she agreed before he had the chance to finish. It wasn’t until she opened the bill half an hour later where she had a mild heart attack at the damage.

  $106.53.

  That was one expensive glass of champagne.

  Probably the most expensive glass she had ever had, and Patrick would lose his head over it. It was a shame she wasn’t able to appreciate it as an anger intensified with every costly sip. Without a slither of remorse, she opened her purse and placed her card on the receipt. She hated that the waiter looked on with sympathetic eyes as she finished her drink alone, before waltzing away with her card to take care of the bill.

  In a blink of an eye, every insecurity and worry weighing her down, lifted. She suddenly didn’t care that she was dressed for the pub as she swung her handbag over her shoulder and marched out of the restaurant with a poise she could hardly own—given the elaborate setting. She was sick of being disappointed, sick of the never-ending supply of tears, sick of wanting to be wanted. What could be so important at work that couldn’t wait? How had he not had the decency to let her know ahead of time? She read the text again as she slid into the car, her head spinning madly as she fastened her seatbelt.

  He wasn’t sorry at all, he didn’t even care.

  The next thing she knew, she made a turn right instead of left and pulled up out the front of Cortex Consulting. She turned off the engine and casted her eyes over the carpark in hope to locate his black BMW. It was now 7:26 p.m, and the only cars that remained were the ones that belong to the cleaners. She drove around the back, then along the streets bordering the building. His car was nowhere to be seen.

  He wasn’t there.

  He lied.

  She was tempted to call him then but didn’t trust that she would be upfront with him. She didn’t trust that she would actually say everything she wanted to. He would come home eventually and when he did, she would give him a piece of her mind. Well, that was the way she saw it in her head even if it wouldn’t play out that way. She hovered her finger over his name in her call list. It took everything inside of her to resist hitting his name on the screen. Instead, she scrolled down a bit further and called the one person whose face refused to leave her mind. After seven rings she reached his voicemail.

  ‘Hi, you have reached Ethan Kahler, sorry I’m unable to take your call right now. Please leave your name and number I will return your call as soon as I can.’

  She took a breath. ‘Hi Ethan, it’s Sienna. Just want to let you know that I’m completely in love with you and we should run away together, get married and live happily ever after.’

  Thankfully she hung up before the beep and didn’t voice a word of it. Not that she meant it anyway. She was just upset, yearning for the comfort of her oldest friend whom she hadn’t heard from in weeks.

  And it felt like an eternity.

  After stopping off at Macca’s to slam down a large double cheeseburger meal and an apple pie, she decided to go home. She spotted the familiar BWM as she squeezed into the narrow parking lot beside it. She didn’t know what caused her to feel more ill; the fact that he was home, or the burger that nested uneasily in the pit of her stomach. She felt herself almost running up t
he stairs, adrenaline driving her every step as she turned the key and swung open the front door. After a couple of very heavy strides she found him in the lounge room sprawled out on the couch, his feet resting casually on the coffee table, shirt untucked, laughing through a phone conversation. She leaned against the door frame watching him, her eyes raging. He seemed to have read her body language and ended the phone call swiftly.

  ‘You look pissed.’ He lowered his feet to the floor.

  She didn’t budge, not even a little bit. ‘It would have been nice to have known you wouldn’t be there so I wasn’t sitting alone, dateless.’

  ‘We were called into a meeting and I didn’t have my phone on me. I let you know as soon as I could.’

  Bullshit.

  ‘But you’re home now.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We could have done a later dinner somewhere.’

  ‘We still can if you want.’

  ‘I’ve already eaten.’ She threw her hand bag down on the coffee table with a little more force than she intended and turned for the kitchen.

  He took her arm before she had a chance to brush past. ‘What do you mean you’ve already eaten?’ His grip held a possessiveness she no longer wanted to tolerate.

  She shook him off. ‘While I was there I thought I might as well go ahead and order the banquet. Your friends were right, the food there is incredible.’

  He just stared at her.

  She inhaled. She couldn’t hold down this lie. ‘Ok, so I just ordered a glass of wine and left as the waiter pitied me for being stood up. I went to Macca’s.’

  He looked disgusted. ‘You went to Macca’s?’

  She nodded confidently. It felt good, actually. ‘Where did you go?’ She felt as though she had every right to ask.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I stopped by your work on the way home, you weren’t there.’ There, she said it.

  His lips buckled together. She could almost see the stream emerge from his ears. ‘You checked up on me?’ He was on his feet now.