‘Am,’ I correct, pouring another shot and handing it to her, clinking glasses.
‘Fuck, Nons, I miss you,’ she says, shaking her head.
‘Me too. Of course,’ I tell her, and I do, that’s not a lie, but I’m looking at her and I’m thinking about Beau. I’m thinking about Scotland. I’m thinking about how nothing about being home, or here, feels right anymore.
‘So did you get laid while you were away?’ she asks.
‘You have no idea.’ I swallow hard and laugh, avoiding the question.
‘Are you seeing someone?’ Joan asks, surprised.
‘I was,’ I say, and it pangs hard in my chest. I don’t want that to be the answer. But it is the answer, Noni. So suck it up. You made the right choice. This is the right choice. Get on with it. I smile at her, so she knows everything is fine. It’s not fine. ‘How’s Cannellini Beans?’
‘That’s over,’ Joan says. ‘We were on very different pages.’ Joan doesn’t move. She keeps looking at me.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. We were fundamentally different.’
‘Yeah, but break-ups are shit,’ I say, pouring another shot and drinking it quickly. I offer her one but she declines.
‘They are.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, patting my hand. ‘For, I don’t know, for being you.’
I blush a little, embarrassed. ‘Thank you,’ I say, meaning it. I turn my head and look at her. She rolls her head across her shoulder, looks me in the eye, and I know instantly what that look is. She is going to kiss me. And I’m going to let her.
She does and immediately it feels wrong, but I ignore the feeling. Because I’m sad that Beau doesn’t want me. And Joan does. Any idea that new Noni could prevail, that the stupid pleasure quest could continue to be my life here, was immature and idealistic. That’s not how life works. Because life is tricky and choices are based on more than just joy. Like comfort.
And so I have sex with Joan.
Joan and I know each other so well that the sex itself is good. Great even. It feels different to how it used to, though. Because we’re different, I guess. I’m more dominant and I think she likes that. We both orgasm easily. The sex is easy. We know each other’s bodies so well. But it’s sad. Sad sex that speaks of what we used to be, and confirms that we’ll never actually be again. That’s it. We’re done. And we both know it. It’s just like we had to come back together one last time to really be sure. She kisses me lightly as we face each other. It’s too much staring at her face, so I roll over and we spoon as we sleep and neither of us says anything.
In the morning I lie in bed and I mentally update my sexual conquests list.
People Noni Has Had Sex With: A List
1. Jakob
2. Randall
3. Felicity
4. Noel
5. The British Bartender
6. Othello
7. Debbie
8. Rachel
9. Charles
10. Joan
11. Ruby, the Firefighter
12. Ben
13. Niko
14. The Trumpeter
15. The Magician
16. Molly
17. Beau
18. Gideon
19. Beau. Beau. Beau.
20. Joan
The addition of Joan on the list after Beau shoots pangs of guilt and regret into my chest. You’re so stupid, Noni. What were you thinking? I get up and get dressed as quietly as possible. It feels weird as I look at her and Carson asleep, like nothing has changed. Except everything has changed. The image is so familiar to me, yet it feels completely foreign. Everything feels completely foreign. Nothing feels right. Nothing has felt right since I got home. So, what do you want, Noni? I sigh loudly, not because I don’t know what I want, but because I do.
I sit on the edge of the bed, and touch Joan’s arm. ‘I’m gonna go,’ I tell her, as she rubs her eyes and wakes up.
‘Okay.’ She sits up and looks at me, and she knows. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. Sad. But okay,’ I tell her.
‘Me too.’ She smiles softly. ‘Last night shouldn’t have—’
I cut her off. We do not need to have this conversation. ‘Yeah.’
‘Bye Nons,’ she says and we hug hard.
‘Bye Joan,’ I say. She holds my hand and squeezes it and I leave.
39
The voice in my head repeats the same loop it has for the last six months. How dare you be so self-indulgent? Who do you think you are? Other people have lives like this, not you. But my life was like that. For six whole months. And I loved it. And I was happy. I leaned into the pleasure quest because I could justify it as an irresponsible six months, a pleasure-filled blip before the return to normal programming, and I’d stuck to that because I’m a woman of her word, and I’d promised to come back. But to who was I promising? No one. Only to the unshakeable idea I have in my head of who I am supposed to be.
I’d done everything right. I’d ticked every box. I studied. I got a good job. I worked hard. I bought a house and a dog. I committed to someone with my whole heart. I got pregnant. I kept my mouth shut. I stayed in my lane. And I was miserable.
And then I tricked myself into believing that a six-month interlude of being led by joy could somehow alleviate the burden of being myself, because the person I was being, I realise now, was fucking exhausting. I didn’t want any responsibilities. I wanted to escape my life. I wanted to escape myself. I wanted to play at being frivolous, and sexy, and passionate. I wanted to pretend. But what I understand now is that I felt more myself when I was being led by pleasure than I have ever felt being led by what I thought was right. I wasn’t pretending at all. I was being real. I was trying my real self on for size, and I fell in love. And now that I’ve seen what life can look like, what it can feel like, I can’t go back to what my life was like before. It would be so desperately unfair. And stupid. And I’m not stupid. I know that now. I know. I know. I know.
I know that the voice in my head telling me I’m stupid and fat and reckless and wrong isn’t my own, not really. When I get still and really pay attention to what I want, to what will make me happy, to what I know, the voice is entirely different. It knows I need to be kinder to myself. It knows my body is perfectly fine the way it is on any given day. It knows that I don’t like my job. Not anymore, and that I don’t want to spend any more time pretending that I care about it, because I don’t. It knows that I don’t even like my city, anymore. That the only thing I like about being home is being close to Lindell, Graham and the kids. That’s it. And that’s not enough for me to stay.
I thought that the pleasure quest had to end, that coming home and injecting more joy into my life here was what would bring me joy, because I wanted to do the right thing. The responsible thing. But I realise now that coming home was the wrong thing, because, once again, I’ve forgotten to follow my heart.
So, what do you want, Noni?
I want to go back to Scotland. I want to be with Beau. I want to work with Lil. And I want to work out what I want next from there. I want to be led entirely by what feels good. I don’t want a pleasure quest, I just want to live my life on my own terms. Simple.
‘I don’t fucking know why you came home in the first place.’ Lindell clutches the steering wheel tight and drives faster than he should be, but I’m okay with that, as he’s been tasked with getting me to the airport in time.
‘Now you tell me. I’m sorry for leaving you with all the shit to sort out.’
‘It’s some boxes. It’s fine.’
Lindell yells as he beeps his horn at a black BMW that nearly cut us off. ‘You piece of shit dickhead wanker, you are not fucking with me tonight. Do you hear me?’ He stares into the window of the car as we speed past. ‘We are on a mission.’ He beeps the horn again for good measure, as he weaves in and out of other cars.
‘Thank you for not telling me you think I’m craz
y.’
‘I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re amazing. I think you’re brave. I think you are the coolest fucking person I know.’
I tear up. ‘It just feels…right.’ I hear the words come out of my mouth and they stun me a little bit, so I say them again to be sure. ‘Lindell, it feels right. I’m doing what feels right.’
Lindell whoops and then he starts to cry a little bit too. ‘Yes. You. Are. Baby! Yes, you are. I fucking love you.’
The tears keep falling. ‘I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re the only thing I care about leaving.’ I sob hard, and we both cry for a while. Lindell indicates and cuts in and out of lanes with such focused precision I can’t help but cheer when we pull into the drop-off bay exactly like we had seven months ago, only everything is different now. I am different now. I am myself now.
I kiss him on the cheek and he squeezes me quick and tight. I jump out of the car and grab the one haphazardly packed bag I put together after I booked my ticket. I don’t even know what I packed, I was in such a daze. I booked the ticket. Called Lindell. Packed a bag. And now we’re here.
‘Go! I love you. Update me when you get there.’
‘I love you. I will. Wish me luck,’ I tell him, slamming the door.
‘You don’t need it, baby,’ he yells as I sprint into Departures and scan the board for my check-in desk.
‘Have you got luggage to check?’ A blonde woman with bright red lipstick looks me up and down and I shake my head, indicating my carry-on. ‘You’re lucky, you had one minute before this closed.’ I smile so ferociously I can no longer see out of my eyes, and tears pummel my cheeks. ‘It’s okay, you made it,’ she says, looking at me with a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re gonna make it. Everything is going to fine,’ she says, which makes me smile and cry more.
‘It is. It absolutely is.’ I nod as I take my boarding pass out of her hand.
40
Everything is not fine. Everything is far from fine, because I’m a giant fucking idiot. I’ve made a terrible mistake. Another one.
‘Fuuuuck,’ I scream, staring at the locked door.
The thing about the core of your joy being a twenty-four-hour plane ride away is that you have a lot of time to think, and to plan.
I had a two-hour stopover at Singapore Airport, from where I sent an email to Niko officially resigning, which made me feel equal parts sick and exhilarated. I then emailed Pam and booked my old unit for two nights, because as excited as I was about declaring my love for Beau, my vanity would not allow me to do it without first taking a shower and changing into a pair of knickers that I hadn’t been wearing for a full spin around the sun.
I’d meticulously created a three-part plan. Part One of the plan was get to Pam’s apartment, shower, eat some food and breathe. Part Two was Operation Declare Love and True Pleasurable Intentions to Beau. Part Three, of course, was Live Happily Ever After. Easy.
Except I hadn’t counted on the food delivery man not coming inside and upstairs, despite my buzzing him in repeatedly. I hadn’t counted on my mindlessly opening the door to my unit to run down and grab a bacon fucking butty, of all things, and letting it close behind me. My gut plummeted to the ground the second I heard the automatically locking door click shut. You fucking idiot, Noni. I didn’t have my phone. Or keys. Or shoes. I didn’t even have underwear on.
‘Noni?’ I spin on my heel. A young delivery driver holds up a brown paper bag and looks at me.
‘You asshole,’ I scream, and swipe the bag from him.
He winces slightly, like I’m going to hit him. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t get the door to—’
‘Oh, god, I’m sorry, not you. Me. I’ve locked myself out—I can’t get back into my—’
‘Whatever, lady.’ He storms back out the front door of the building.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ I scream into the hallway, quickly banging on the three other unit doors, but there’s no answer. Of course there’s no answer, because it is 9 a.m. and everyone is at work, or living their lives, not standing in a hallway without any underwear on trying not to panic. I have no idea how to contact Pam. I don’t know anyone’s phone number except Lindell’s house phone from when we were kids.
I could go to Lil’s. Yes. Go to Lil’s and she will…be in South Africa visiting her family. Shit. I grit my teeth and groan loudly, pacing up and down the hallway. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
Beau will be at work in an hour.
This is not the plan. The plan included a dress and flowers and perfect winged eyeliner. The plan was not damp hair, saggy boobs and untrimmed bush on full display through the faded, oversized ‘Cowboy Butts Drive Me Nuts’ t-shirt that Joan bought me when we first started dating. It’s the most comfortable thing I own, threadbare and holey. I should throw it away, but it is sacred to me. I stare down at it and shake my head, tugging at the shirt, willing a solution to appear. I sit with my back leant against my locked door, eat the butty, flatten my hair with my palm, and realise that there’s only one choice, and that is to move directly to part two of the plan. I have to tell Beau how I feel and what I really want. Exactly as I am.
My head is foggy, my heart is pounding and every insecurity is firing, but I decide to fake it till I make it, and make my current predicament look as intentional as I possibly can. I power-walk up the street, willing a better plan to formulate in my mind. Some boys in a car honk at me and I give them the finger, which makes them crack up laughing. Slowing down, they yell, ‘Nice legs’ and whoop as they drive by, and I shake my head, trying to assert some kind of authority, but I know it’s pointless.
As I get closer to the tattoo shop I try and find that feeling, that knowing, which makes all of this right. And even if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll be okay, because then I’ll just do the next right thing.
I take a deep breath before opening the door to the shop. The same Australian girl who was there the first time I walked in smiles at me. ‘Noni! I thought you’d gone home?’ She looks flustered.
‘I did. But, I’m back. Can I…I need to talk to Beau,’ I say.
‘He’s not here. He’s got a day off today, he’s sorting out all—’ she stops.
I sigh. ‘Right. Shit.’ I crumble a little bit and sit hard on the bench seat in front of the desk, carefully pulling my shirt under me.
‘Noni, you okay?’ the girl asks, coming around the desk. I start to cry-laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation is, so I tell her everything, and within seconds an entire shop of tattoo artists and people being tattooed are listening. They find the unit listing online and message Pam, but she doesn’t reply.
‘We can just try breaking into your fuckin’ unit, Noni,’ Rob, the owner, says seriously, and a few others nod.
‘I think I just need to see Beau, like now, before I lose my nerve,’ I tell them, standing up. Lip gloss and perfume are thrust in my direction, one of the guys gives me his denim jacket, another gives me a clean pair of socks out of his bag, and one of the girls asks me what size foot I have and is handing me the ankle boots that she’s wearing. I cry harder. ‘You’re all being very lovely to me.’
‘Of course, we love Beau and he…’ The girl who gave me her shoes pauses. ‘Is gonna fucking lose his mind when he sees you.’
I assess myself in the mirror and I look kind of punk, cool even.
‘It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, Noni,’ Rob adds. ‘Trust me. He won’t care.’
I get out of the taxi, take a deep breath, and buzz Beau’s apartment.
‘Hello?’ he says.
‘Hi. It’s me. I’m back. I’m here and I’m all in—’
‘Noni—’
I cut him off. ‘Don’t say anything, just listen. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I got scared, I got scared about following my heart, about being in love with you, about going all in, about doing what I’ve been taught to believe was reckless and wrong. But I haven’t followed my heart, pretty much my whole life, and I did with yo
u, and it was the best decision, and you are so fucking amazing. I love how you just go all in, even if you’re scared, and I want to be like that, I want to be with you, ’cause Beau, I am so in love with you, so I’m here and this morning has been—’
Then my heart plummets to the floor. I hear him before I see him. His laugh fires a sensation up the back of my spine, tingling in my neck, which makes me turn, and I see him. With his arm around a woman. A beautiful woman. She is holding Shaquille’s leash in her hand. They are laughing as they walk across the street. They are happy.
‘Noni? Noni?’ I stare at the speaker. ‘Noni, Dad’s not here.’
He didn’t hear the speech. He doesn’t know I’m here. ‘Zep, don’t say anything. Don’t say a thing, okay?’ And then I start to run. Away. Away from Beau and the beautiful woman he’s with.
I run down the hill, scooting around people going about their day. I run and I panic. I run and I wince from the breeze, from the stupidity, from the shock. I run and I pant and then all of a sudden I’m no longer running, because I’m tripping, and tumbling and skidding down centuries-old Scottish cobblestones, slipping and hitting the ground hard. Skin tearing as my hands scrape along the ground, and my knees follow, the jacket and my t-shirt flying high as I kneel like a bare-assed bleeding sprinter squatting awkwardly about to start a race. Two women gasp as I grunt in pain, trying to get my bearings, feeling the breeze on my backside and sitting back, wincing at the sight of my hands.
‘You okay, love?’ An old man wearing an entire outfit of beige stares at me, startled.
I shake my head, staring at my bloody hands and my gravel-rash knees.
‘Noni?’ Beau yells.
I look up the hill and there he is striding fast, hair billowing behind him, the wind embracing the fabric of his shirt and pasting it to his chest, and the image makes me laugh because I think he might actually be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I shake my head. No. There’s no way. Not like this. I’m not having this conversation with him like this. I stand up.
It's Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake Page 28
