WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  I opened my mouth to object but snapped it shut instead. He had a point. Kinda.

  “Ahhh, see?” Chris heaped a massive spoonful of Milo into his mouth. “I’m right.”

  “Don’t double-dip—”

  The shithead double-dipped.

  “Do you have to do that? It’s gross.”

  “It’s all part of my Milo-making process.”

  Grumbling, I didn’t argue with him, because I wanted his Milo-making process to include making me one.

  “You still haven’t answered how geek boy is back on the scene. When did this happen?”

  “He’s not a geek,” I reiterated through gritted teeth. “And just this week. He thinks we’re engaged.”

  Chris dropped the spoon in the tin and stared wide-eyed at me. “Da fuck?”

  “Well, not really. At least I don’t think he’s serious about our childhood Cheezel engagement.”

  “Cheezel engagement?”

  “Yeah. When we were eight-years-old, he gave me one of his Cheezels and asked me to marry him. I said yeah but that we’d have to wait until I was thirty.”

  Chris belly-laughed. “You’re engaged, kiddo. A Cheezel proposal is the real deal.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny.”

  Leaning forward across the benchtop, he offered me a spoon of Milo. “Do I need to keep a close eye on him for you?”

  I sighed and opened my mouth so he could feed it to me. “No,” I mumbled, shaking my head and swallowing the malted chocolate heaven. “I would trust Elliot with my life if I had to. Honestly. Despite having not seen him for years, some things just never change. And although he’s physically changed, I sense he’s still the same Elliot.” Shaking my head, as if to shake the newly formed craziness from within it, I wiped the corners of my lips. “These past few days have just been a bit full on, that’s all. He’s practically come out of nowhere. I’m still processing it all.” I closed my eyes and massaged my temples to relieve the pressure that had begun to build there. “Not to mention he has a big, stupid mouth that told a big, stupid lie to our mothers.”

  As if Mum shared the same psychic ability she thought I possessed, my phone rang her assigned ringtone: ‘She Drives Me Crazy’ by Fine Young Cannibals.

  I glared at the phone and groaned. “Ugh! WHY?”

  Before I could bury it under a pillow, Chris scooped it up from the bench.

  “Noooo! Don’t answer—”

  “Hi, Mrs Cunningham,” he bellowed with a wink. You son of a bitch!

  Chris smiled, proud of himself, but all I could do was drop my head to the bench, lift my hand, and flip him the bird.

  He slapped it away and kept sweet-talking my mum. “Why did I answer your daughter’s phone? Because her hands are busy, that’s why. She’s currently practising sign language.”

  I flipped him some more ‘sign language’, one I liked to call a double FU.

  “I’ll tell you what, Mrs Cunningham. How about I put you on speakerphone? That way you can speak to Dani while she busily practises.” He poked at my phone screen like the cocky shithead he was and placed it back down on the benchtop.

  “OH, THANK YOU, CHRISTOPHER. IS IT WORKING?”

  “Yes, Mum. It’s working. You don’t need to shout. Just talk normally,” I explained.

  “Oh, hello, dear. So, you’re learning sign language as well as getting engaged? Anything else you’ve failed to tell me?”

  I held my fingers to my head in the shape of a gun and pretended to pull the trigger. “No, Mum.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “Danielle Uma Cunningham.” Her tone was low. Disapproving.

  Chris mouthed my middle name with a dirty look on his face then burst into silent hysterics, clutching his abdomen.

  I glared at him.

  “DANIELLE?”

  “Yes, what?” I asked, snapping my attention back to mum.

  “Are you going to explain to me how it is that you’re engaged to a man I didn’t even know you were dating? Look, don’t get me wrong; I think it’s wonderful news. I’m just a little shocked, that’s all.”

  Chris silent-laughed even harder and proceeded to place the back of his hand to his mouth, opening and closing his fingers like a duckbill. What the fuck is he on?

  I glared some more and mouthed, ‘what?’.

  He pointed to me and then kept quacking his hand.

  “Um … Mum, can I call you back?”

  “No! Danielle, I want answers. I’m your mum. I worry about you.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. I promise. It’s complicated.”

  “Not good enough, young lady.”

  “Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back, okay?”

  Before she could argue any further, I ended the call and then tossed a nearby tea towel at Chris. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  “Your initials spell DUC.”

  He laughed and quacked, and then quacked some more.

  “Oh my God. Really?” I drawled, sarcastically.

  “Yeah. D. U. C. Duc.”

  Sliding off the barstool I was sitting on, I climbed down from the breakfast bar and headed toward my room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Bath.”

  “Come on, Dani. I’m sorry. I was just mucking around. What about your Milo?”

  “I don’t want it”

  “Sure you do.”

  I shrugged. “I’m exhausted, and I want my bubbles.”

  “And your rubber ducky?”

  Chris choked on his own amusement, so I raised my hand and flipped him one last bird before exiting the room

  * * *

  Slowly lowering myself into the perfectly heated, scolding water of my bath, I ooh’d and aah’d as my body adjusted to the delicious assault.

  “Yesss … burn, baby, burn,” I cooed, smiling. There was nothing quite like soaking in a hot, luxurious bath at the end of a shithouse day.

  I closed my eyes and savoured the moment until my phone buzzed not too far from my head. Startled, I reached for it to find a message from an unknown number.

  Unknown: I fucked up today. Sorry.

  Elliot. It had to be.

  Biting my thumbnail, I typed a response.

  Danielle: Yeah, you did. What was with that?

  He didn’t respond right away, so I sunk lower into the water and closed my eyes, seeing only his. Their bright contrast to his jet-black hair really was striking. Captivating, even. My god, he’s so damn good looking now.

  Elliot’s looks had never been lost on me. I’d always found them unique, mysterious, and intriguing. But now, with his broad shoulders, slim frame, and perfectly chiselled face, the sight of him — even behind my closed eyes — was playing havoc with my body.

  I squirmed, swishing the bath water. It had been ages since a man had had that affect on me. The last guy to do so was my then best friend turned fuck buddy turned boyfriend, Alistair. He’d been one of the Bomber’s fitness coaches until soon after our split, which was when he traded to another team. He’d assured me that it had nothing to do with our breakup, but I hadn’t believed him.

  I haven’t heard from him since.

  And then there was, Jared: another friend turned sex sidekick turned boyfriend turned mutist. The difference with Jared, though, was that we saw each other practically every day, and practically every day we pretended we’d never even met.

  He served me a Chai latte. I paid him. I left.

  Not awkward at all.

  So, yeah, after Alistair, I vowed never to sleep with and date any of my friends ever again, which was why when Chris and I screwed up and screwed each other, I nipped that shit in the bud. It was the best thing I’d ever done, because neither of us had ever looked back.

  Friends should just not have sex.

  The message ping of Elliot’s response once again startled me, and I nearly dropped my phone.

  Elliot: I’m
putting it all down to nerves from not having seen you in so long.

  A smile played at the corners of my mouth. I understood where he was coming from because seeing him for the first time in seventeen years had shocked me, too.

  Danielle: I was nervous about seeing you as well.

  Elliot: You’re still every bit the chocolate-haired, apple-cheeked Danielle I spent my childhood with.

  His description of my hair and face jogged a memory of when we were younger, when we were sitting on the branches of a pine tree and eating his birthday cake together. He’d told me my hair reminded him of the chocolate curls covering the icing, and I’d thought it was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever said to me.

  Still do.

  Heat flushed through my body, and not because of the temperature of the water.

  Danielle: And you’re still the tall, dark and handsome, giant elf who lived next door.

  I hit send and instantly regretted it, never before having told him I thought he was handsome. Shit!

  Before I could type a friendly fob-off message, such as, “Gotta go. It’s late. Talk soon. Bye”, he replied.

  Elliot: Does Chris know you think I’m handsome?

  No, and he wouldn’t care, either. In fact, he’d probably laugh and childishly chant for us to get it on.

  Not knowing how to respond, I screwed my nose up and hovered my finger over the keypad. He can’t know I’m not dating Chris. He has to believe it’s the real deal so he can get this ridiculous engagement scenario out of his head.

  Danielle: No. And that’s a good thing. He’s incredibly jealous.

  Elliot: He didn’t seem jealous tonight.

  Danielle: That’s because you weren’t a threat.

  Elliot: Why wasn’t I a threat?

  Sucking in a deep breath, my stomach churned at the lie I was about to type. I didn’t want to type it. It was bound to bruise his ego and make him think less of me, and, deep down, I didn’t want Elliot thinking less of me or thinking I’d grown into a heartless bitch. But, I had to thwart his obnoxious advances — nothing good had come from them … apart from a very delicious kiss.

  Danielle: Because he knows you’re not my type.

  Once again, I hit send and waited, my throat dry, my heart pounding like a ticking clock within my chest, each beat louder and louder until the beep of my phone broke the count. What I’d said was uncalled for and blunt. Even worse was that it was untrue. Elliot was very much my type. He always had been.

  Elliot: I guess some things never change then.

  Staring down at his response, my bottom lip curved and trembled.

  Yeah, maybe they don’t.

  Chapter Six

  Danielle hadn’t changed. She was still trying to bullshit me just like she had when we were younger, except this time, I didn’t know what her reasoning was. When we were kids, she’d never wanted to be my girlfriend because she’d wanted to be my friend more. I’d even tried convincing her otherwise, promising that she would always be my friend, no matter what. But she’d never listened. Forever stubborn. Once that girl got an idea in her head, there was no way of getting it out. Not even with a chisel. And trust me, I tried … sans the chisel.

  She’d always insisted that I was her only ‘true friend’, one that didn’t backstab or lie to her because, according to her, “that’s what girls do — they trick you and tear you down.” She’d explained that having girls as friends was a vicious cycle she just didn’t want to be a part of, which was why she preferred hanging out with boys instead, except she didn’t really hang out with anyone but me.

  The part about her not trusting or not wanting to be friends with girls wasn’t what I’d always thought to be bullshit, because I’d bared witness to how often she would be ridiculed at their expense: “Shortcake. Tomboy. Caterpillar face”. So yeah, I’d believed her when she’d said I was her only true friend. I just hadn’t believed her when she’d said she didn’t want to date me. Just like I don’t believe her now when she says I’m not her type.

  And that’s not because I was a cocky bastard who rated himself, even though I was a cocky bastard at times. It was because you couldn’t fake a connection like ours, just like we couldn’t fake it when we were younger. It was impossible. Our laughter, our shared secrets … our sleepless nights — because we’d had so much more to talk about and couldn’t due to the impatient setting sun stealing our time together — none of that could be dismissed as just childhood friends. We’d been so much more. So much more.

  And I knew she knew that too.

  Stepping away from my floor to ceiling window, overlooking the lit buildings surrounding Docklands, I climbed into bed. But what are her reasons for bullshitting me now? Why is she lying about Chris? Not knowing was pissing me off. Clearly, they weren’t dating, because if they were, he certainly didn’t know about it. And, clearly, I was her type, because she’d blushed at least three times today.

  A smile stretched face, and I folded my arms above my head to rest upon. She was even more beautiful than when we were kids, albeit fundamentally more muddled, flustered, and so damn cute. But why she was already building a barrier between us and fighting getting to know me again was beyond me. We’d only just reconnected.

  Okay, so granted, I’d inadvertently fucked up and landed us in hot engagement water, but surely that wasn’t the reason as to why she was knocking us down before we’d even had the chance to walk … to the altar.

  Kidding.

  Fuck! I had to figure it out, and the only way I knew how to figure things out was to use facts and to use them to my advantage. Most people didn’t know how to argue facts, but I did. Quite well. And I was going to. It was what I did for a living. I was also going to start my process of discovery by deploying a defence tactic I called ‘you want what I have’ by withholding information from her, or at least appearing to. I was going to give her the cold shoulder, to an extent, until she confessed her reasons for sabotage.

  Yes, Danielle Cunningham was a case I was going to crack.

  * * *

  When I woke the following morning, I’d initially had grave fears that day two of Operation Let’s Fix Hillier Community Garden/Crack the Case of Danielle Cunningham was going to be cancelled due to wet weather. Thankfully, the clouds were on my side and had decided not to piss on my tactical parade. And, now, I couldn’t wait to further test my theories where Danielle was concerned, starting with me being her type and not the other way around.

  I had to get under her skin more than I already had. It was how you broke a person, how you cracked their shell and peeked inside. And fuck did I want to peek inside Danielle. I wanted to explore that woman like a Where’s Wally Book.

  Knowing most women liked a well-dressed man who took pride in his appearance without overdoing it and ultimately looking prettier than she did, I figured I’d start my exploration assault on her eyes. I wore tailored suits day in and day out. Power clothes. Designed to lower the defence of your counterpart. Unfortunately, I couldn’t wear a suit while gardening so instead chose black loosely fitted jeans, a black woollen turtleneck, coat, and steel capped boots, hoping it would add to the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ effect she’d confessed to liking. Thanks to that little text message she sent me the previous night, I was now armed with the knowledge that my appearance did appeal to her. She couldn’t take that back. I had hard copy evidence.

  Thank you, digital age.

  Pulling up to the garden at the crack of dawn, my plan was to get there before she did and busy myself with the task at hand, ignoring her and seemingly emphasising I was there for one purpose and one purpose only, to fix the garden.

  No one else had arrived, so I got to work right away, tearing down the rotted wood shed with a sledgehammer, which, thankfully, wasn’t all that crippling considering I hadn’t been to the gym in weeks. I’d been too busy. Plus, I much preferred running along my local dockland paths as a means of stress relief and exercise.

  As a youngster, I’
d never been the sporty type. Team sports had just never interested me. I’d preferred exercising my brain and exploring nature by climbing trees and walking nearby tracks, instead. As an adult, though, I’d learned to appreciate the benefits of a gym, I just didn’t benefit from it as much as I should.

  “Wow! Have you been here all night?” Mum asked, as she stopped just short of where I was bent over, picking up planks of wood.

  I straightened and leaned over to kiss her cheek, its bitter cold touch icy against my lips. “Good morning. You’re cold. You should put a warmer jacket on.”

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. Crisp, morning air is good for you.”

  “Not if you have an existing respiratory condition, it’s not.”

  She rubbed my shoulder and laughed. “Well, luckily, I don’t.”

  “Yes. Still, I think you should put another layer on.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Who’s the parent here?”

  “That doesn’t work anymore, Mum.” I chuckled at her cuteness and continued to pick up wood.

  “Sure it does, and it always will. You’ll see.” She nudged my shoulder. “Because when you and Danielle have kids, you’ll feel the same way.”

  I nearly dropped the wood on my foot. “Mum! Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a little?” Shit! I really need to tell her the truth.

  “Not at all. First comes marriage, then come babies … or so the nursery rhyme says,” she mumbled. “So it’s only a matter of time, really.”

  The smile that beamed from her face was akin to a brightly lit lighthouse. It sank my stomach like an anchor. I really need to tell her. I REALLY need to tell her.

  She squealed and threw her arms around me in a vice-like grip. “I’m so thrilled for you, Elliot. You’ve waited so long for this. I’ve always known you and Danielle were meant to be. Call it Mother’s intuition, whatever. I’ve just always felt it within my bones that you’d both find a way back to one another.”