Fractures

by M R Field

  Theo: Hey.

  Me: Hey.

  Theo: What are you up to?

  Me: Working hard to make a living.

  Theo: Through the shelter and the rain?

  Me: Dude. Do not start quoting Cold Chisel to me. I’d think we were at bar night at uni or something.

  Theo: Well, I’m being a working class man. I’m around the corner at my project with Daddy-O. Want me to bring you lunch when I have my break soon?

  Me: Sure, I’ll eat anything.

  Theo: I know what I wouldn’t mind eating …

  Me: Oh no, buddy. I need to get the shop sorted so you can enjoy a buffet this weekend.

  Theo: Sounds delicious.

  Me: How’s Daddy-O today?

  For the last couple of months, Theo’s relationship with his father has developed in a positive way. He isn’t really talking to Ko much, but that isn’t anything new. He doesn’t plan to keep in a lot of contact, and for him, I think it’s better this way. I am yet to meet the illustrious Ricardo, with his ten-cups-of-coffee-a-day drinking habit, and his fondness for Theo’s ideas. It isn’t because I don’t want to meet him, but rather while Theo gets to know him and gradually spend more time with him, I want it to be without me, so their relationship can develop without any more interruptions. It would be unfair to come between them. He has gained a pretty full-on family with little sisters who like to badger him to come over for dinner. He’s offered to introduce me, but I am going to wait until the restaurant is finished. That way, I can see the dream that his father wanted to create by the hands of his long-lost son. That will be a pretty epic introduction.

  Theo: Giving me a history lesson on wine. Apparently one of the walls is going to be full of bottles. Like some sort of freaky wine rack with ladders. Walls aren’t fixed yet, so it’s all just dust and scaffolds.

  Me: Sounds weird, but I like it.

  Theo: Thought you would. See you soon.

  Me: Sure. I’m closing up at four. Gotta go into the city. TTE DAY!

  Theo: No prob. I’ll sweeten you up before then.

  Me: Yay! You should be happy, seeing as you don’t buy your own copy and just read mine!

  Theo: Oi! That’s cheeky. Might have to put you over my knee for that.

  Me: Oh, I double dare you. See you then. :)

  Theo: Challenge accepted. Bye, firecracker.

  I smile as I slide my phone into the pocket of my jeans and walk to the mirror near the front. While I had been home, I found some clothing of Mum’s that now took residence in my wardrobe. All part of the healing process and allowing me to remember her like she would have wanted. Adjusting her white peasant top to sit off my shoulders, I turn to check that it sits properly. The long sleeves are transparent, while the chiffon ruffles at the front narrow in on my waist. My cherry blossoms weave over my skin, and the faint signs of my mandalas can be made out beneath the flowy material. My petite frame probably looks swallowed up amongst the soft material, but I love the breezy and carefree feeling it gives me. Plus, it makes me feel closer to her, somehow. I have pinned my hair up in a messy topknot with tendrils that fall to the side of my face. I also stick a red fake Dahlia at the side of the knot. My lips are coloured in a deep red to match. I can’t pull off the rockabilly look like Hazel with her fiery red locks, by my newly red tips that poke out of my messy hair make me feel very fiery and feminine.

  “Always be yourself,” she had written in one of her letters I’d recently read. “If you can’t be her, then you’re denying the world of something wonderful.”

  I am slowly going through the box, making sure to leave most of the letters, but reading the ones she would’ve wanted me to read up until this point. Each is individually labelled for events or moments in my life. My university graduation, starting my own business—both were letters that I shed many happy tears over, despite the ache in my heart. As I’d clenched the letters to my chest afterward, the warm comfort of Theo’s embrace centred me. I’d been a fool for pushing him away all those years. So much time wasted that thankfully we are both now making up for.

  I curl a tendril around my finger to bring some curl to it, but it still looks a bit messy. Just how Theo likes it. I smile. If I didn’t want to leave right on four this afternoon, I would coax him to take me upstairs and smudge this lipstick while I left it in certain places on him. We were close to covering every surface on this warehouse, bar the front windows.

  Reaching the counter, I position the vases at either end Theo had given them to me after we returned from our trip back home. He told me the geisha one symbolized the artist in me, as geishas are known for their intelligence and creativity, while I know the cherry blossom one is for my arm tatts, and they symbolize hope, humility, and optimism. Having them on my desk brings a calmness to the area that I really like. Even more so now, as I had a bouquet of red gerberas and sunflowers delivered to fill them. Just like my mother would have done.

  Bending down to the front counter, I press the volume higher on my iPod dock as the tune of Colbie Caillat’s “Fallin’ for you” fills the warehouse floor. Humming along, I sway over to the side racks to tidy the rails while also taking note of what I have and what I need. Since knee-length dresses are the rage these days, many sketches of them line the pages of my notepads. As I adjust one of my A-lines to face towards the front, the jingle of the bell rings against the front door.

  “Good afternoon, I’ll be with you in a minute,” I say, as I straighten the other dresses. The sharp clacking of heels sounds and for a moment, I panic that Bridezilla has unexpectedly dropped in, knowing that her wedding is only just over a month away. Her “surprise” visits often make me want to jam a pin in her side. The handwoven beading I finished and had sewn onto her dress was spectacular, even though she tried to find a fault with it.

  Shaking my head in agitation, I turn my face towards the sound to find Brit, the bystanding bully, marching towards me with a stern frown on her face.

  Before she reaches me, I roll my eyes before turning back to the dresses to avoid looking at her. “The last time I saw you, I told you to fuck off.”

  “You hardly let me speak,” she huffs as her feet stop nearby.

  “Do I need to? Honestly, you can’t be that dense.”

  “If you could just let me …” she begins, but I shake my head at her and soldier on.

  “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it …”

  “I’m not selling, I’m hoping to buy … from you,” her voice pleads, the words rushing out like water from an unsealed tap. “Like, I mentioned last time. I’m getting married. I want you to make my wedding dress.”

  My hand grips the rail for a moment before I lean back to face her, wondering if she’s gone mad. Again.

  “What makes you think that I’d change my mind from last time? What could possibly possess me to want to do that?” Bloody hell. I’d take another fitting with Bridezilla over this bitch.

  “You’re one of the best, who’s making a name for herself. I’ve heard great things, and seeing as I’m a paying customer, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.” Her head tilts to the side as she rests her hand on her hip. The hell? Is that what she thinks?

  “So, my cheerful disposition from our last conversation didn’t raise any doubt?” I raise my eyebrow, “You ran out of here like your arse was on fire.”

  “I wanted to give you time,” she rubs her lips together. “Maybe, give you a chance to think about how good my order would be for your business.”

  “Oh, no, my dear.” I flick my tongue against the roof of my mouth to tut at her. “If you are so well-researched, you would have discovered that I have a waiting list, and I specialise in certain fields. One is bridal, the other formal. If you also had fun chasing my name on Mr. Google, you’d find that I also specialise in not dealing with pretentious bitches, as I can say no.”

  “This is hardly high school.” She holds her palm up to turn around and gaze at my warehouse. “We’re not in the playgroun
d, and here we can conduct ourselves like adults. Surely, as a female entrepreneur, you can conduct business appropriately.”

  “I think you’ll find that many female entrepreneurs wouldn’t be so quick to bow down and conform. We take risks, we work our arses off, and we have the right to pick and choose depending on what we see fit in respect to our business. Now, are we having a business meeting or something? I honestly don’t want to waste my fucking time any further with you.”

  “You can’t be serious—”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t feel this way, if an honest, kind customer came in. I’d give them careful consideration. But make no mistake—I don’t forget, Brit. What you girls did to my bestie in high school was beyond psychotic. You are lucky I don’t throw you out on your”—I lower my gaze to her chest—“newly made fun bags. Though you’d probably bounce straight back up from the size of those monsters.”

  “I don’t know how many times I can say I’m sorry.” She adjusts her cardigan to cover her chest. “It was such a long time ago.” She sighs. “I honestly thought we’d moved past that. I’ve apologised to her. I thought that was enough. I even stopped being friends with Stacey and Kristen.”

  “Well some of us don’t give two shits what you want or what you ended up doing. You were just as much the bully. Your wants and desires are not welcome in my shop.” I gesture with my hand in front of me toward the door. “Honestly, my previous, ‘fuck off’ still stands. Watching your ring leader torment an innocent girl and do nothing makes you just as guilty.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Her foot stomps loudly onto my hardwood floor.

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve realised, but I still can’t do it.”

  “Please, Trin,” she begs, as both her hands meet at her throat to plead. “I volunteer for Prider’s Estate. I help run benefit dinners for women’s shelters. I honestly have changed. I know I was a fool for participating rather than stopping it back then, and I regret it all. I work with my fiancé in his organisation to help others.”

  “Isn’t Prider’s Estate a bunch of Stepford Wives who have more money than sense, trying to help the homeless while they wear their posh leather gloves? Heaven forbid, you may touch something you don’t like!”

  “No, it’s about a bunch of people who have the means to make a difference.” Her eyes narrow at me. “That day in the lab, when Stacey hurt Trin, I learnt that I was in the wrong. I was a weak, pathetic bystander. Now, I work with all cases. I’m not just in that group; I’m a social worker.”

  I blink in shock as her words take me aback. Part of me is grateful that she’s stepped away from that psycho bitch she was in high school, but the other is so fiercely tethered to loyalty for Trice that I can’t see past what those bullies caused.

  “It would mean a lot to me if you made my wedding dress, Trinity.” Brit’s soft voice breaks my reprieve. “My dear friend Virginia has been raving about your work with her. I know she has excellent taste, and—”

  I snort loudly, as Brit’s shoulders startle. “Virginia? My bridezilla sent you to me to make your dress, when all she does in our sessions is point out my faults?” I chuckle. “Priceless. This little chat is getting better and better. Look, I just can’t help you. My loyalty lies with my friend Trice.” I take a step towards her. “Even after all these years, I can still see the blood dripping from her wrist”—I point down my left wrist, where the scar lies on Trice—“and her heartbroken face when she realised Alex, her long-time crush, was dating her enemy and bully Stacey.” Brit’s face falls in recognition. “So, please. Save the sanctimonious bullshit. My business, my rules.”

  She nods in defeat as my chest tightens uncomfortably.

  “I can give you another designer or two who will be perfect for you. Please. I’m not going to yell or bitch at you to get you out. I can give you the details and ask you to please leave.”

  “Here I was thinking you had grown up,” she mutters.

  Oh, no. She fucking didn’t go there. “Here I was thinking you actually did change,” I throw back at her. Straightening my shoulders, I lean closer. “So, tell me. Does your fiancé know?”

  She flinches, and I smile knowingly. Gotcha. Like that, an idea strikes me. “Okay, here’s the deal. If you tell your fiancé about what a lying, bullying bitch you were in high school, I’ll make your dress.”

  “That’s unfair!” she cries, her eyes widening in anger. “But I volunteer and help others! I was only a bystander.”

  “Like that fucking matters. You obviously have not learnt your lesson then, despite whining to me over and over.” She cringes as I continue “You are equally to blame if you allow your friends to hurt others. Even if you were only a bystander.”

  “He’ll never forgive me,” she whispers, “He thinks the world of me and is so proud of how much I do for the company already. This would ruin us.” Her lips tremble as her eyes fill with tears. “Why are you being so mean? Are you deliberately trying to get revenge on me?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “But something so pivotal from our lives is not something that can be easily washed away, like the blood from Trice’s wrist.”

  Her head jerks from my painful reminder. Part of me wants to relent, but I can’t. The bloodstained bandage from that day still occasionally makes its presence vivid in my mind.

  “I just can’t, Brit.” Pointing to the door, I add, “Now, please leave. If you want those numbers for other consultants, I’ll give them to Virginia when I see her later this week.”

  Brit pulls the strap of her bag across her shoulder and her tear-filled gaze stares back at me. “Keep those contacts. I’ll sort it out myself. You know, you’re not so perfect yourself,” she hisses.

  “Never said I was.” I glare back at her.

  “I remember what a bitch you were to Theo in high school. He followed you like a puppy and you trod all over him. You two were thick as thieves, and then you were the mega bitch in senior year.”

  My back stiffens as the pounding of my heart increases and sounds within my eardrums in an angry rhythm. I cross my arms in front of me. I need to keep them that way, before I box this bitch out the door and onto the other side of the road.

  “I’ll admit that I wasn’t the nicest to him during our senior year, but we’ve worked through that.” Relenting against my grip, I unfold my arms as the tension becomes too much. I jab a finger in the air towards her. “But make no mistake—he and I worked through our issues, and unlike some people we know, I never, ever, ever bullied him or left a scar on his body. Not one drop of blood has been shed out of malice. He is part of my world. Always has been.” I signal with my head to the door. “Now, fucking leave.”

  She tosses her hair over her shoulder and storms off as the gentle chords of the next track, “Lucky,” fill my warehouse. As Jason Mraz’s voice slowly builds in the confines of the room, the erratic beat of my heart begins to slow from its irate pace. I wasn’t lucky back then, but I sure as shit know my luck now that I have Theo in my life in the right way, and now I’ve accepted my faults.

  Gazing at the clock, I hope that Theo will be here soon. After all, I have a few naughty sketch ideas to create, and why wait until I am on the tram when I can pick at his wicked brain?

  The panel shows the broken tree with branches starting to bloom.

  TTE

  THEO

  Firm hammering across the walls sounds as I march across the floor’s protective coverings, the thick plastic crinkling under my boots. The latest sketches tap against my thigh with every step as I near the dining area. As I approach Ricardo, who is at the end of the room, the smell of dust and drying paint filters through the area. Another weekly visit, and like the others, it’s showing another slow but steady progression, bringing an amalgamation of our ideas into a pretty fantastic fruition. The floorboards are already sanded and polished, ready to be danced on, while the structure has become more restaurant and less old, musty warehouse. The plaster walls are up and freshly painted wit
h their undercoat, while the alcoves carry etchings to mark where the artwork that Ricardo wants there will go later on. A thrill passes across my shoulders as my project visually takes shape. It is no longer just sketches on paper.

  Ricardo stands with his phone to his ear, a deep frown lining his face. I study him for a moment, and track his eyes that were focused on a worker in the corner near him. His face tightens as he watches the section of uncovered floor and sharp tools lying nearby. Rookie mistake.

  I’m still getting used to his mannerisms. Coming from a father who was stoic and impassive, these wayward hand gestures and expressive facial movements all make me take more notice of him. I have caught myself a few times almost mimicking him in childlike fascination, quickly halting my movements to avoid looking like an idiot.

  Ricardo’s presence in the room is what catches my attention the most. Not his gestures or his voice, but the way in which he stands. It commands attention. He radiates an authority, but for some reason is also able to hold warmth. While he summons his workers to complete their tasks, he values the integrity of the project without demeaning or ridiculing. Sure, he could be a tyrant if there were clusterfucks, but his hard work ethic is really respected. He greets his clients and staff with strong handshakes whilst inquiring how they are.

  Not once does he stand behind them and watch them work.

  Not once does he demand perfection.

  Not once do I feel the need to mimic his gestures to please him.

  As the months have passed, I can’t bring myself to resent him. I try to keep a distance, but his aura draws me to him. He bulldozed his way in, and there is no way to dig myself out. I am stuck and, surprisingly, content with it.

  His hand moves from his pocket, and he clicks his fingers in the direction of the worker while maintaining his phone conversation. Once he gets the guy’s attention, he points to the sheet and flicks his finger in a gesture indicating he should cover the corner. The workman shakes his head in shock and quickly covers the area, while Ricardo turns his back to him, all the while continuing his conversation. Without speaking, and after being summed by just a finger, the worker moves faster than I’ve ever seen. There is no anger—just a silent understanding. Ricardo ’s presence is known, but not overbearing. My admiration for the worker’s respect shown by quickly resolving the matter to please Ricardo is unlike anything I ever felt for Ko.