Just As You Are

by Kate Mathieson

  I thought for a while then said, ‘I think most girls would say they’d be Gaia or Diana, you know, mother earth, or all wise. Some women may want to be Persephone, she of the underworld, with a darker edge, but I’m going to be honest and dig back into my grade six mind, when we studied mythology, and say I’d be that old guy, Cronos. Didn’t he start the world? Or start something. Anyway, I know he ate his sons and all that, and, since I get hungry quite a bit, I think a God-sized snack would really satisfy me.’

  He laughed. ‘Even after a large pizza?’

  I looked shocked. ‘That? That was hours ago. I’ll have you know I’m excited to get tucked into some serious mac and cheese when I get home.’ And I wasn’t joking. That’s it Emma, I thought, talk about eating large amounts of food. It’s very unromantic and a great strategy for office distractions.

  ‘What’s your favourite thing to eat?’

  ‘Maybe a really good burger. Chicken. Beef. It must have pickles. Lots of pickles.’

  Good, good, food was a very safe topic.

  ‘But I haven’t eaten a burger in ages.’ He admitted.

  ‘Really? Why not, if it’s your favourite food?’

  ‘Well … uh, it used to be a thing me and my ex did. Have a weekly burger night. And uh, we broke up two years ago, and it was a bad break up. I haven’t really had a burger since then.’

  I felt bad for him then, I felt like I wanted to tell him about Murray, and being left at the altar, so he knew I understood, what it was like to have a bad break up. It had taken me years to get over it properly. Instead I said ‘I’m really sorry to hear that. That sounds tough.’

  ‘Yeah, it was. We tried again but it’s hard to get trust back once it’s broken.’

  Ahhh Chloe I thought. That must be the Chloe who keeps ringing him. Or maybe that’s his new girlfriend. Or one of many who he likes. Of course Nick would be surrounded by girls. Hot girls. Model girls. Influencer girls.

  For some reason I felt a bit deflated when I thought about it. Of course, he’d never be interested in plus-size, average looking, somewhat ambitious, not very successful yet me. But why was I even thinking about that? Being with your boss, or even liking your boss, was career suicide.

  I mean, how many office relationships do you know that succeed? In my experience, a total of zero. At first, they’re hot and lusty and sexy – meet me in the broom closet, the stairwell. But soon the novelty wears off, and they’re full of tiny arguments and tension – why didn’t you sit with me for lunch? – Who’s that marketing girl you’re spending time with? And then, after a series of larger fights, silent treatment, accusatory glances and needy texts, the romance is over. Kaput. Done. And you must try and avoid the kitchen, the meetings, their desk, your desk. It’s a headache. Every single office relationship I have seen always ends the same way – with one person resigning and leaving the company, and the two never talking again.

  I purposefully switched our conversation back to a safe topic. Work. ‘You know I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straight away about Macabre and not having a theme. I suppose I should also tell you that Donna has asked me to do quite a bit for the event, and I do feel a little overwhelmed.’

  Nick stopped and raised in eyebrows and a glimmer of concern crossed his face. ‘Like what?’

  I told him about the sorbet, the crazy chef, the fabric, everything I could think of that Donna had asked, I rattled off the list.

  ‘You should not be doing all those things Emma. How are you even standing up right now?’

  ‘Today Emma is brought to you by copious amounts of coffee, and the words “Get It Done”.’

  He grinned but then the smile fell off his face. ‘Are you ok though?’ That was the nice thing about Nick, he was always caring. ‘And what were you thinking saying yes?’

  ‘I guess I wasn’t. I just wanted this to be the best event ever.’ I shrugged.

  ‘But you know these aren’t PR tasks at all.’ He paused. ‘Right? I mean how long have you worked as a PR Advisor?’

  I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t. I felt like I would let him down so much. And his words echoed in my mind – it’s hard to get trust back once it’s broken. ‘Four years. In London.’

  ‘Well you should understand then, you need to focus on managing the event and the public image of it, that’s your main job, not working on desserts with a chef. First thing tomorrow, let’s find someone else to do this. Like the designers and the actual chef – since it’s their role.’

  I suddenly felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. ‘Oh that is such a relief. Thank you, Nick, you don’t know how good I feel hearing that.’

  ‘Well good, just let me know if there’s anything else on your mind. I’m here to help.’ He smiled reassuringly.

  We kept walking in silence for a little while. The last of the summer crickets were buzzing in the bushes. The night was beautifully warm, but the breeze was starting to whip through and grey clouds were gathering overhead. I peered up, and the stars were all covered.

  ‘Isn’t it funny,’ Nick remarked, ‘how this is the first time all week we’ve been able to properly talk to each other?’

  ‘You do realise we talked pretty much most of today.’ I looked over at him strangely. ‘And some of yesterday too. Or did you forget that already? I hear early onset Alzheimer’s is a thing.’

  He laughed. ‘I didn’t know you were keeping a log of our conversations. And apparently the trick to knowing if you have Alzheimer’s is to smell peanut butter. I had some on my toast this morning, and the verdict is – I can taste and smell it.’

  ‘Peanut butter?’ I said incredulously.

  ‘Yep, it’s one of the first signs of getting Alzheimer’s – you lose that particular scent,’ he said, nodding.

  I stared at him dubiously.

  He held up his hands, as if to say, I’m just the messenger. ‘I bet I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re going to tell me this isn’t true at all. Then you’re going to get home and open up the jar in your pantry, and take a deep whiff. You’ll be relieved you can smell it. After that, you’re going to investigate to see if that’s an actual fact, because you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Pretty much, except I may investigate first, save me from having my nose in a jar.’

  ‘Suit yourself. I bet you’re too curious though, you’ll have your nose in a jar anyway.’ He grinned at me. ‘Anyway, what I meant was this is the first time, without people around at work, that we can chat.’

  I braced myself for a serious talk, but instead he was looking at me with a slight smile on his face.

  ‘Tell me, what do you think about us working together?’ he asked as we walked past the rose garden.

  The blooms smelt sweet as sugar, and – WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS? A romantic movie? I looked around me. Since when was Hyde Park suddenly so wonderfully set up for a lovers’ tryst? This was extremely distracting, more so because Nick looked very hot under this light, under any light for that matter. His lips were full. His eyes were crinkled as he smiled. His broad swimmer shoulders looked wonderful underneath his slightly see-through white shirt. I could have put him in one of those blue-lit-can’t-find-your-vein public toilets, and he would have made it look like a high fashion model shoot.

  I focused very hard on looking around at the grass for things that were not so romantic and felt relieved when I saw a really large dog poo, and further down a discarded old wine bottle, and some cigarette butts. Poo. Bottle. Butts. I repeated it like a mantra. Poo. Bottle. Butts.

  ‘Um, it’s fine.’ And even though it felt far from fine, in fact it felt rather … rather … I couldn’t put my finger on how it felt actually. Strange? Ridiculous? As if fate was having a good old laugh at me. Let’s send you a really hot guy that you totally connect with, but we’ll make him your boss. Totally off limits. See how you go with that ‘How do you feel about it?’

  ‘Well, I never thought my new job would deliver this kind of surp
rise.’ He laughed. ‘And it was a surprise. It’s not often you find a free spirit trapped inside an office.’

  Oh, yes. That. My face suddenly flushed red, and thank goodness it was dark, so he couldn’t see it.

  ‘How’s Alaska going?’ he asked wryly. ‘Seems quite warm for winter this time of year. Snow hasn’t kicked in yet.’

  I laughed. ‘OK, OK, I’m not in Alaska, yet. I didn’t say I was going right away, just I was going. Am going. Just need to save up a little more. One day. Soon.’

  He looked at me with his eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Soon-ish?’ I wheedled. Then remembered. ‘But apparently you’re meant to be in London? So that doesn’t look like Big Ben, does it?’ I said pointing to Centrepoint Tower. ‘Or London Bridge?’ I pointed off in the direction of the harbour bridge.

  ‘You’re pointing to Darwin, so, yes, further north west, that is vaguely in the direction of both those iconic structures.’

  I felt like playfully swatting him, but I couldn’t do that. Thankfully, I stopped myself – you couldn’t go touching your boss. Not when you’d seen his penis. He’d think I was trying to, you know, insinuate something.

  ‘So, we’re both here, even though we said we wouldn’t be,’ he said. And I couldn’t tell if there was something he was trying to hint at. He stopped for a second. ‘It’s a little weird, isn’t it?’

  I stopped too and he turned to look at me, so we were staring at each other. Did he mean weird good, or weird bad? I couldn’t tell. The trees overhead started rustling, the breeze sent cool air over my bare skin, and even though it was still summer I shivered with anticipation. I couldn’t help but imagine if someone saw us from afar, they’d think we were together. I knew it was Nick, my boss, but also it felt a bit as if he were my boyfriend. And I found myself shocked to realise – I liked it.

  Suddenly, the sky let out a swift sound, like someone cracking a whip. And then, before I could look up, heavy rain started pouring down, soaking us in seconds.

  ‘Over here!’ Nick yelled, pointing to a small awning, but I could hardly hear him from the downpour. We ran towards the small stall, a pop-up pancake place, already closed for the night, but thankfully, offering a small alcove, about two metres or so, of protection from the rain.

  We huddled beneath the very small awning as the water gushed around us.

  ‘That was unexpected!’ I said, laughing, crossing my arms across my chest to keep warm, and trying not to look at him. Was my make-up running? I tried desperately to remember if I’d worn waterproof mascara or not. Had I? Or did I have panda eyes? And was my foundation still in place, or was it running off my face, and revealing my tired, sleep-deprived eyes?

  ‘You’re shivering,’ he said, quickly taking his jacket off. I could see what was about to happen: he was going to put his warm, woodsy-smelling jacket around my shoulders – and that was the ultimate distraction. It would feel as if we were on a date. Worse still, I noticed with his jacket off, it exposed everything. His white shirt was completely soaked and sodden and clinging to every part of his perfect body. Nothing was left to the imagination. Smooth skin. Warm suds.

  He was walking straight into my personal space, and part of my mind was going all gooey and melty, and the other half was yelling, GET OUT. RUN. NOW. God, was he going to kiss me? I wasn’t drunk. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. Would it be like before? Was this about to happen?

  Suddenly, I knew what would happen next. Because he was so lovely, and smart, and gorgeous, and such a gentleman. Once he’d put his jacket on my shoulders, I’d completely melt and would have to use every inch of my willpower not to say, Let’s get coffee. Let’s get married. Let’s make a baby with a vanilla-scented head. Then it occurred to me that if we didn’t keep moving, if we stayed here standing, staring at each other, under the canopy of oak trees, we might have started, I don’t know, kissing or something.

  He was my boss. I was his employee. C’mon, Emma, I thought. Get a grip.

  To kill any mood – if there even was one – I opened my mouth and said the first thing that came out, which happened to be, ‘So giant lizards didn’t kill me!’

  He stopped in his tracks, his jacket hanging on his hands, with a look of genuine incomprehension on his face. ‘Giant lizards?’

  ‘Godzilla!’ I said hastily. ‘You know? Before?’ I tried to laugh, but didn’t quite pull it off. I looked at my watch. ‘Gosh! Is that the time? Wowser. It’s late. I better be going! Tootaloo!’ Tootaloo!? Who the hell said that? But I needed to get out of this Nick vicinity and immediately.

  Even though it was absolutely pouring with rain, I started almost jogging, well, sprinting really, as fast as I thought I’d ever run, towards the entry to the station, which was about fifty metres away.

  Nick called out above the rain. ‘Hey, Emma?’

  I spun around, in the rain, breathlessly yelling, ‘Yes?’ Don’t let anyone ever tell you jogging in flats is easy – it is very hard, and can lead to exhaustion after just ten steps.

  ‘Thanks for your help today,’ he yelled kindly, raising his hand to wave. ‘Get home safely.’

  God, he was so nice. Which meant I had to chant this on the entire train ride home. No distractions. No distractions, No distractions.

  Chapter 16

  It began the way all mature dates should. With fancy expensive wine from Portugal and Bordeaux, and slabs of blue and smoked cheese arranged on a very small platter in a tres-chic Sydney wine bar. I was dressed in a silk green chiffon, three-quarter-length dress, with mid-thigh slits for a bit of mystery. I loved the way the dress fluttered in the breeze when I walked – I was sure I looked Italian, walking on a cobbled little Florence laneway, rather than waiting at the lights at George Street, and avoiding mud puddles from the recent rain, in miserable Sydney.

  Peter was tall and broad, with a nice face and brown hair that had a cowlick at the back. He wore a heavy brown coat and tweed-like pants with a crisp white shirt. He looked positively English even though he was from somewhere outside Brisbane. He arrived before me and was waiting at a small table in the corner of the bar.

  ‘Peter.’ I smiled.

  ‘Emma,’ he said.

  I went to shake his hand, but he leaned in to kiss my cheek and so I awkwardly stuck my hand into his slightly soft stomach. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I laughed and blushed a deep shade of red. He leaned in and tried again, landing a slightly wet-lipped kiss on my right cheek, which I immediately wanted to wipe away. Instead I tried to feign I was brushing my hair out of my face, whilst using my pinkie finger to gather the drying saliva. Gross, I thought, wiping my hands multiple times on my napkin.

  ‘That’s a nice shirt,’ I said, sitting down as he pulled out the chair for me, then sat opposite me.

  Peter looked down. He seemed pleased. ‘You know Tarocash?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded, thinking that was where my nineteen-year-old cousin Brad shopped for his first business outfit, because he got a full suit for forty-nine dollars.

  He smiled at me. ‘This is it.’

  I took a large gulp of wine and Peter filled up my glass. He smiled. ‘How long have you been single?’

  ‘A long time.’

  ‘Me too. Five years. It’s hard dating in Sydney.’

  ‘Yes.’ I took another sip of wine.

  For a few minutes neither of us spoke. I didn’t know what to say, so finally I said, ‘So, do you watch much TV?’

  ‘I love that series about a drug dealer, in Columbia. You know it?’

  I shook my head.

  He grinned. ‘And, guilty confession, I like Star Trek. You?’

  ‘Um, Kamikaze.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know that one.’

  ‘It’s Japanese, people compete on water obstacles, but mostly land in the water, awkwardly.’ I gave a strange laugh. ‘That made me sound like a sadist.’

  He nodded and there was another long silence.

  ‘I’m not a sadist,’ I quickly said. ‘Jus
t to clear that up.’

  More silence.

  Peter smiled awkwardly. ‘Are you on any dating apps?’

  I shook my head. ‘You?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve done most of them – Tinder, Plenty of Fish, RSVP.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, a lot of first dates, some second ones, but nothing has really stuck.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah, still looking.’

  There was more silence.

  ‘What hobbies do you like doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, um, I like swimming in summer. Movies. Dancing badly.’ I laughed. ‘You?’

  ‘Football and car racing.’

  More silence.

  ‘And you work in PR?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, in fleet and overseas luxury cars. And you?’

  ‘Yes, PR, and Events.’ I waited for the rush I usually got when I said I worked in PR, but strangely it didn’t come this time.

  He nodded. ‘More wine?’

  I nodded. We sat there in strained silence for ten minutes before I excused myself to go to the bathroom. When I came back my wine glass was refilled – he really was attentive – and we tried to talk about pets. I used to have a dog. And he wasn’t allowed any, and now had allergies to most animals. Even, he said, prawns.

  ‘Even when you’re swimming around in the sea?’ I said teasingly.

  ‘No, on my plate,’ he said seriously, totally missing my joke. ‘I have EpiPens.’ He opened his jacket pocket, showing me where he kept them.

  I nodded politely and swallowed a lot of wine, and made hmmm noises, as if it were very good wine. Then I had to use the bathroom. Again. To his credit, he stood every time I left the table. Which was a lot (at last count – three). I have a teeny bladder.

  In the bathroom for the third time, I texted Tansy.

  On date with Peter. Bad conversation. Have almost run out of topics.

  She wrote back immediately.

  Is he cute? Is he nice? Has he ever been in jail?

  I wrote: Kinda. Yes. I doubt it!

  She took some time replying and with it came a list of questions to ask on a first date.