by M R Field
“Hey.” Her grip tightens. “Dad and I can stay in the driveway while you go into your house, if you want?”
I shake my head. “No, I need to do this. Your house isn’t far if I have to walk there. I’ll be alright.”
“You sure?” she asks as we step through the revolving door.
“I have to be,” I reply sullenly, keeping my eyes focused ahead. I don’t want to see her pity. It will weaken me. Heaven knows I need all the help I can get.
Forty minutes later, I knock on the front door as the reflection of Felix and Trinity in his car shimmers against the side windowpane. Shuffled footsteps sound against the carpet that I remember is inside, and the door slowly opens to reveal my father, Ko. He stares at me for a moment, clutching the doorframe as though I’m an apparition. I guess after being ignored for so long, I’d wonder if I were real, too. He still looks the same, with only a few wrinkles here and there.
“Theo.” His jaw twitches as he nods. Clearing his throat, he steps to the side to allow me to enter, the tension thick in the air.
I turn to look over my shoulder and wave to Felix, and my eyes dart quickly over to Trin, who is leaning forward, ready to jump out if I need her to. I’m glad I’ve left my bag with her and won’t be staying long. I give her a thumbs up and wink before turning around, exhaling to expel any excess nerves. Time to get whatever this is over with.
“When are you going to forgive yourself, baby girl?”
Love, M
TRINITY
“I can’t let him go in there alone.” I grip the dashboard as Theo enters his old home. “His father will eat him alive.”
“Baby girl, you have to let him go. He’s a grown man; I’m sure he can handle it.”
“How about we go to a café around the corner? I can message him and tell him that I’ll S.O.S. him in ten minutes or so? I could make up that I was getting attacked by a wild gorilla or something.”
My dad chuckles beside me as he puts the car into reverse. “Considering we are a good five-hour drive from a zoo where there are gorillas, I think you’ll be safe.”
“Ugh.” I slouch back into my seat. “This sucks.”
“Sorry to be the fun police, but let’s head home and wait for him to contact us if he needs to.”
“Okay, Mr. Word of Reason. But I’d happily go for a chocolate thickshake before that anyway.”
“And a choc chip cookie?” My father smiles knowingly. When I was a kid, we spent most Friday nights after his work finished going into town and having a thickshake and cookie. We continued it into my teens.
I nod and straighten in my seat. “Sold. Take me to the goodies, Daddy-O.”
He shakes his head and puts the car into reverse, leaving me to watch Theo’s house, slightly less heavy hearted than I was a few moments ago. I hope he’s alright in there.
As we drive away, I face forward and watch the same streets that I passed as a kid, marvelling at the subtle changes to houses and buildings. Even though change is inevitable in these country towns, it’s still warming to see a couple of places maintain their original charm.
My abdomen clenches as a cramp weaves through me. I wrap my arm around my stomach in effort to calm it. Yep, that time is approaching again. The dreaded painful hurricane. Next week, I will be wondering what type of demon has infiltrated my body while trying to break out of my vagina. If being a girl during this time of the month isn’t bad enough, the crippling pains from my endometriosis have me curled into a ball of hurt. And if my recent appointment with my gynaecologist was anything to go by (as in, from shit to hell), it seems this pain is a lovely reminder of my window of conceiving getting smaller and smaller. Every time a pain seizes me feels like a brutal reminder that my odds of achieving motherhood someday are most likely nil.
I breathe in and out slowly, conscious of my father next to me. Talk of pains can sometimes send him into over-protective mode. And after watching my mother die of ovarian cancer, any talk of the nether region sends him into high alert. If he knew when I saw my specialist, I was sure he’d fly down to make sure that the tests were clear. As much as it sucks that being a mum might not be in the cards for me, I’m lucky that it’s nothing worse.
We pull into the café Bica, and I smile. The cramp lessens as I move apprehensively back in my seat. My dad parks the car by the fence near the jacaranda tree that instantly makes me wants to turn my hair a shade of purple. The blooms are a bright purple-blue, and I love how at home these trees make me feel. We step out as a gentle breeze sends some blooms floating down onto the bonnet.
“It’s lucky your hair is that shade of blue; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to spot you,” my dad jokes as he closes his door.
“Hardy har-har.” I scrunch my face up and wiggle my finger at him. “Keep one eye open while you sleep, old man, or you may find the same shade in your hair in the morning … you know, the four wisps of it.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if you tried,” he adds, as we walk side by side to the café. As we reach the entrance, he grabs my arm and looks directly at me. “Are you okay?” His eyes travel to my stomach and back to my face. Concern lines his brow as wrinkles that I hadn’t noticed last time appear.
“Yes, it’s just normal ‘women’s things.’ ” I pat his arm as his mouth tightens. “I promise, I’m okay. If anything, be grateful my trip was this weekend and not the next—you’d need to fill both your fridges with chocolate and stock up on rom-com DVDs.”
Instantly, his mouth loosens, and he sighs in relief. Wordlessly, he opens the door and we make our way past the cake cabinet to the far corner, closest to the couches. Being the au fait café enthusiasts that we are (not really, but we pretend) taught us that we can people-watch better if we sit at our regular table. Facing the windows. Eyes on the prize.
“I’ll just run up and order.” Dad motions with his thumb to the front counter. “The usual?”
“Yep. Don’t hold back on the choc chips or the full cream. None of that half cow crap.” I nod as he strolls over.
Reaching into my bag, I retrieve my phone and check for messages. Nothing. I quickly open a new text and write to Theo.
Me: If you need an S.O.S, I can come and sing ABBA outside your front door. Just give me a text.
I hold the phone in my palm and wait. Nothing. I place it on the table, and my dad returns soon after. Glancing at my phone, his brow raises. I had forgotten how much he hates phones at the table. The schoolgirl in me wants to reach up and grab it, but I can’t miss a text from Theo.
“Sorry,” I quickly explain. “I just sent a message to Theo. Can I just leave it there, just in case?”
He frowns but quickly gives in. “Okay, but what did you say to him?”
“I asked if he wanted an S.O.S. Offered to sing ABBA if needed.”
My dad clutches his chest in fake surprise. “What?” he gasps. “He does know that you can’t sing? Is he prepared to retrieve all the lost dogs that go bolting out of the neighbouring yards in fear?”
“I’m not that bad,” I argue.
“No, you’re worse.”
“Dad …” I warn.
“No, honey. We can’t have you singing. Maybe you could mime or something. I’ll just turn the car stereo up loud. It would help humanity.” He squeezes his shirt more, and I stare at him for a moment. He sure is chipper this morning.
“Someone is a bit cheery today.” I tap my phone as I stare at him. He wiggles his eyebrows as the waitress nears.
A soft wave of relief flutters over me. For a long time, I’ve kept phone calls short with him, as I couldn’t handle his melancholy. I know that it is mostly on me to accept the blame for what I missed, but the grief from losing my mother still compounds into my basic thoughts sometimes. Seeing Dad crack a joke is both a blessing and a curse. I want him to be happy; I know that mum would want that also. It’s another thing that makes me miss her so much. Yet, I wasted our last time. Will she ever forgive me for …?
“I have a chocolate thickshake and skinny latte?” The waitress leans forward, and I straighten in my chair. She attempts to slide the latte to me, but I halt her by rotating my fingers in the air.
“Just swap them, please.” I smile, while she frowns. “I have a sweet tooth,” I inanely add, watching her slide her eyes quickly over me, probably wondering how many reps I would do tonight. None, lady. None. Another waitress walks over with our cookies, and I’m grateful that this one doesn’t have Judgy McJudgy pants on.
That is the thing about small country towns. I don’t miss the way people judge you. This city may be small, but it has more hairdressers and gyms per person than Melbourne. I am surprised the stench of fake tan isn’t smelt in the room.
I look down at my dad’s piece of fruitcake and cringe. Old habits die hard. “Geez, Dad. You couldn’t have ordered something that was covered in chocolate? I just got the fatty fatty boombah look from that waitress.”
“No, firecracker. She was just looking for the invisible barrel for where you store it all.”
Being small usually means that I am at the butt end of jokes, but in my body, I could eat what I wanted, when I wanted, and not gain weight. Take that! Arsehole. The drawback is I am petite and have small boobs. I throw enough sass, though, to be almost mistaken for an emo-looking teenager. I take a sip of my thickshake and enjoy the rich chocolaty taste.
Laughter from a nearby table initiates fond memories of being here with Dad as each memory slips into focus. Us, laughing over stupid things or people. Watching couples and adlibbing their conversations (mostly with accents) while trying not to stare at weirdly dressed residential freaks. Great times. It was also a place for us to talk about the serious times the world had hurt us and let us down. When Mum’s diagnosis ripped our lives apart, we came here in the comfort of the café after leaving many hospital visits, to have our moment to curse the world and call it an arsehole. My eyes travel to the couple over the other side and automatically, it makes me miss Theo.
“So,” Dad interrupts my perusal of the touchy-feely couple in the corner who haven’t realised that people can see under table tops. Perverts. “What’s going on between you and Theo?”
“What?” Is he psychic? I grab the cookie from the plate, avoiding his eyes. I flip it over in my hand, counting the choc chips.
“Your old man isn’t blind. So, what’s going on?” He leans forward until his presence fills the space in front of me. It’s too intense for café hour. I slump in my seat before sliding my eyes to him.
“We’re friends, Dad.”
“And the rest,” he adds. “You dating?”
“It’s complicated … We’re just enjoying the moment, I guess.”
“Back in my day,” he starts, and I bite into my cookie to avoid rolling my eyes, “we courted a girl.”
“Dad …” I groan. “Not the birds and the bees talk, seriously.”
“Let me finish.” He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, moving his face back avoid steaming up his glasses. “I know you want to have fun, but why not have both?”
My face heats, and he smiles at me.
“Don’t tell me my shy little flower is uncomfortable with this discussion?” He points to my face.
“Just cut out the sex talk, Dad. I’m a bit old for it. Should’ve had that a long time ago …” Maybe when I lost it in the back seat of a dickhead’s car at a bonfire party. The day after I found out mum had cancer.
“You might be too old for that talk, but you’re not too old to talk about love.”
I freeze in my seat as my hand shoots up in front of me. “Whoa!” I wave my hand quickly from side to side. “Now, where the hell did that come from? You can’t just throw that word out there like that. Give me a heart attack.”
“I find it very hard to believe that you’re only friends.”
I lower my hands as I glance down at my phone.
“Stop checking your phone. He’ll call when he’s ready,”
“I know, just …”
“It’s complicated?” Dad asks, raising his eyebrow at me.
“Yeah.” How can I possibly explain it to my dad when I can barely understand it myself?
Since leaving the café, the conversation has turned down to a murmur between us. We arrive in the driveway of our old weatherboard home, and the nerves that I thought were controlled begin to swirl in my stomach. Five years later and I still feel what I did then. I stare at my lounge room window, and I can see our friends and family in there, sipping cups of tea while I struggled to stand. To breathe.
My car door opens, and Dad stands outside, holding my bag. His mouth twitches as he struggles to hold his emotions back. I close my eyes for a moment to push out the pain that continues to strike me like a shard across my chest. I puff out a breath quickly to flush out the nerves. I can do this. Opening my eyes, I unclick my seatbelt and climb out of the car. I have returned home on a few occasions, and I felt the sting that held me down each time. This time, it feels worse.
We walk along the paved path as Dad’s hands shake the keys next to me. My bag brushes along my leg, and I control each exhale from my trembling lips. Get your shit together.
He fumbles a little, before sliding the key into the lock, then unlocking and pushing open the door. Our silence continues as we enter the lounge, and he drops my bag onto the floor.
“Trin, it’s okay.” His lowered voice fills the sadness in the room.
“I know,” I whisper. “I just wish I wasn’t such a mess in here still, you know?”
He steps closer to me and squeezes my shoulder. “We all have to face these battles head on. You’ve just learnt to fight them on your own. When you haven’t needed to.” He tilts his chin to the couch. “Come on. I need to talk to you about a few things. Let’s get this over with so we can enjoy the rest of the weekend.” I flinch under his fingertips, but he holds me still for a moment. “Come on, firecracker. It all will be okay.”
I nod and walk over to our plush couch.
Growing up, my parents were really alternative. Taking a seat in the crushed red velour is a reminder of that. I run my eyes along the far side of the room, where the fireplace is. The mantelpiece holds many family memories. Mum’s smiling face tears at my heart as she clings to me in one of the photos. That day, we had been to the beach at Apollo Bay, and it was freezing. I can remember her warm skin cocooning my shivery frame, protecting me against the harsh winds that flew our hair across our cheeks. From the smiles on our faces, you wouldn’t know that I had slipped on a rock two minutes before or scrunched my face as the accidental taste of salt water. We’d laughed in that moment, enjoying the trepidation of any wave coming to push us over. The thrill of the unknown held us in its jubilant mercy. It was a photo of pure joy. If I thought about it more, I’d smell the sweetness of the berries of her shampoo. Everything that was her.
Swallowing the lump that gathers in my throat, I peruse the remaining photos. One more recent one sees me standing in front of my warehouse, jumping in the air with a champagne bottle in my hand. My legs are bent, and my back is arching. I look like a goofball, but it helps to soften the lump that falls in the pit of my stomach.
“Trinity.” My dad’s voice beckons me to turn to him.
“Okay, whatever it is, hit me with it.”
Facing me, he rests a hand on my leg. “I’ve been thinking lately about what I want to do in life. I’ve got my long-service leave coming up again, so I’m going to be taking on some new things and making some changes.” The lump begins to roll into my stomach. I feel my house is going to be slipping away from me, but I can’t hold onto it anymore. My dad’s happiness has to come first now.
“Of course. You should think about you, Dad. I hate that you’re in this house all by yourself, miserable. You need to get out more.”
“Trin.” His hand taps my knee. “I’ve got a few big changes that I need to tell you about.”
I squirm on the couch cushions and wait patiently.
/>
“For starters, I’d like to get back into painting.”
“That’s great, Dad! I’d love to see you pick up a brush again. It’s been ages.”
“But in order for me to do that, I’d like to create a workroom. The garage isn’t where I want to sit and paint. I need great light and comfort and …”
“So, you’re going to build an extension?”
“Not exactly.” He pushes his square glasses up on his nose before returning his hand to my leg. “I was hoping to do some internal remodelling. Maybe change your old room into my new art studio.”
My head jolts as I blink in surprise. “But that’s my room,” I say, feebly.
“Baby girl, this will always be your house, but since you have your new place, I was hoping to do a few things for me.”
“I know, I know. I’m just being silly.” Irrationally, I begin to tense up. My dad is right. This is his house, yet why do I feel a sense of abandonment? Surely moving my old things shouldn’t be too hard. And then I remember what lies in my bedroom.
“There’s something else I’m going to do.” His hand moves from my leg to the back of his neck as he begins to rub it, his brow creasing in concern.
“What?” I turn, eager to hear him and block out the thoughts that just overtook me.
“I’m going on a few cruises in a month. Through Europe, the Caribbean, and hopefully flying
back this way to do some trekking through Asia.”
“Wow, Dad!” I shrill. “That’s awesome! Of course you should go. Can I fit in your suitcase?”
“Ah …” He clears his throat as his hand holds the back of his neck. “I already have someone coming with me.”
“Oh, nice. Is it Brett from work?”
“No, honey. It’s Samantha.”
“Who’s that?” My voice quietens.
“She is a friend from work.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “Is she a girlfriend?”
His hand squeezes my leg, and I wait. “We have been seeing each other, but taking things slow.”
