by Sean Kennedy
“Looking back I can see that maybe it wasn’t very supportive—”
“Clarity! Hindsight!” Emma was close to yelling, but she didn’t want to make a scene. She had the feeling the other people in the café were already aware some sort of drama was going down between them. “No. Like I said, you just couldn’t ever see anybody else doing the same thing as you, and maybe someday even being better than you.”
“Is that what you’re saying? That you’re better than me?”
“I’m not. Because I don’t know yet. But I could be. People need encouragement, and I gave that to you when you needed it. So don’t stand there and pretend you don’t even think I’m capable of getting an interview and photo shoot. It’s a group shot. It’s not the bloody Patricia Webber Gala.”
Trish stared at her for a long moment. “I guess you still do have issues about our breakup.”
Emma laughed. “Oh, man, it’s always about you, isn’t it?”
By now the American girlfriend had come over to stick her oar in. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Trish mumbled.
Emma stuck out her hand. “Emma Goldsworthy.”
She shook it limply. “Kelsey Franklin.”
“Great!” Emma said. “See you both at the shoot!”
She walked out before anything else could be said, although she did hear Kelsey saying to Trish, “She’s going to be in the shoot?”
Why was that so hard to believe?
But it was done. It was over. Trish and Emma had finally crossed paths, and now it wouldn’t be so bad when they met up again at the shoot. Emma had even introduced herself to the girlfriend.
But if it was all good now, why were her legs still trembling, like they would betray her and let her crash onto the grass outside the café? Emma decided if she did she would just lie there until the night came and darkness could let her make her way home with dignity. She would just pull out her phone and headphones and listen to music. Passersby could just assume she was another student chilling out on the lawn.
But she made it home and rushed to tell Alya everything.
“Do you feel any better now?” Alya asked, once the story was told.
Emma shook her head and stretched her legs out on the couch, wishing it would swallow her whole.
“Not even a little bit?”
Emma repeated her head shake.
“Are you going to be able to tell me anything about what just happened?”
Another head shake.
“Was it really that bad?”
At least Emma’s head did something different this time. It nodded.
“Okay,” Alya sighed. “We’ve entered full catatonia.”
Emma wasn’t much better the next day, but she could talk again. Alya didn’t think it was as bad as Emma had made it out to be, but Emma thought she was just trying to be kind. She was kidding herself if she thought it made her feel in any way more prepared for seeing Trish at the photo shoot.
Except this time, she wasn’t nervous. She was angry.
What Trish had said about her had burned. Emma could accept she wasn’t perfect, but Trish’s steadfast refusal to accept any blame, even if only a slight acknowledgment for her own actions about the breakup, spoke volumes about the differences between the two of them. She had no comeback for her lack of support about Emma trying to get into the AIS. Emma had always been on #TeamTrish when it came to her dreams for the future; when it came to Emma’s, Trish was on #TeamYou’reNotGoodEnoughSoDon’tGetYourHopesUp. That was a hell of a hashtag.
Emma was fully aware she was spending far too much time dwelling on all of this. It wasn’t even like a retroactive apology from Trish would make her feel any better about the past, but at least it would show she had developed and matured a little more. It seemed she was the same old Trish, except now she was out and being touted as a pioneer and a role model even though she was probably one of the worst candidates you could have. Unless you wanted her to teach fellow inspirationals that they would never be as exceptional as her and should get an office job or something instead.
But Emma would rather be angry than heartbroken. She knew any remnants of feelings she had for Trish were gone. She just didn’t like that they had turned even more destructive, and sooner or later they would turn back on her, while Trish would go on being the same as ever without even noticing Emma had eaten herself up inside.
So Emma had to go back to cool, calm, and collected Emma Goldsworthy—even if it was all simply a big act that even Meryl Streep would have trouble pulling off effectively.
THE DAY of the shoot dawned without any remorse, and Emma was pleased when she found Alya waiting in the common room to send her off with cheery best wishes.
“Thank you,” Emma said. “I needed that.”
“No worries,” Alya replied. “I owed you after how much of a bitch I was.”
“That was you being a bitch?” Emma asked. “Sorry, hon, you’re not very good at it. Don’t worry, I’ll give you lessons.”
Alya snorted. “You’re not very good at it either.”
True, Emma wished she was better at it.
She had never had a car “sent” for her before. When it pulled up she was disappointed to see two other girls were already in the back. Had her delusions of grandeur been that, well, grand? She’d had visions of her having the entire car to herself while she feasted on roasted peanuts and bottled mineral water from the minibar.
Still, it was a new experience. The silver lining was she didn’t have to share a car with Trish. The other girls were friendly enough. Sharon was a netballer and Hanna snowboarded, which Emma thought must have been one of the hardest sports to ever take up in Australia, of all places. Kind of like beach volleyball in Antarctica.
When the car arrived at Corin Dam, situated on the Cotter River, Emma could see Micah standing out amongst the crowd milling around the pop-up gazebos and tents where equipment, clothing, and food were stored for the day. His face brightened when he saw her get out of the car, and he ran across to grab her in a bear hug. The girls Emma arrived with did a double take, as they looked like lovers reuniting in a romantic setting. Or a dam. It did look beautiful, though. The lake’s waters were calm and reflecting the hills above it, so it was an almost perfect mirror image.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Micah asked.
“Careful. You’re saying something nice about Canberra.”
“I’ve even started saying nice things about Perth, believe it or not.”
“All I can say to that is ‘wow.’”
He grabbed her in a hug again. “So good to see you,” he whispered into her ear.
She pushed him back to get a better look at him. “Me too. Are you okay?” It wasn’t like him to be so enthusiastically affectionate.
“Of course.” But there was a flash in his eye that told Emma the opposite. But this wasn’t the time or the place to get it out of him.
He was probably relieved when she let it go—for now—and was content to catch up over safe things like the size of Canberra (“And I thought Perth was small!” said Micah, back on his usual shtick of bagging Perth even though he secretly liked it) and Emma’s lack of love life (“Seriously, Emma, get it together!”).
She saw Kyle long before Micah did. He was staring at the wall of the dam, and although it wasn’t the biggest dam, it still managed to make Kyle look small against it—no easy feat. He turned and saw them and began moving across the grass with an easy grace. Emma hoped Micah was as ready for this reunion as he claimed. The parallels between her and Micah couldn’t be more obvious—especially with the ironic similarity of Emma looking out for her ex while Micah was eyeing off his. She wondered how much the reporter would salivate if she or he knew that there were two ex-couples forced together through media manipulation today.
“What are you thinking about?” Micah waved his hand in front of her face. He had obviously been trying to get her attention for a while. “Oh.”
He tensed, and
Emma knew he’d finally seen Kyle.
“Calm.” Emma hoped the single word summed up the millions she actually wanted to say.
“I am calm.” He sounded anything but. “Is it too late to throw myself off the dam, to never be seen again?”
“Kyle would probably jump after you with a rope attached and pluck you straight out of the air and into his arms. “
“Shut up.”
“Well, it still seems to be part of his job requirements.”
“I hate you.”
She knew she would pay for it later, especially once Trish was on the set. But Kyle was before them now, and Emma had never seen him look so sheepish.
She started the conversation. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Kyle said. He was staring at Micah.
“Hi,” Micah said.
They stood in silence.
“So…,” Emma began, and they looked at her expectantly. Another long pause. “I got nothing.”
Normally she would be jumping in to fill the silence. But crap, was she sick of it. It was time for them to get their shit together, not to leave it up to Emma Goldsworthy, the Gay Man Whisperer, to save the day. She was like the stereotypical gay character on a soap, hanging around in the background to give other people advice about their love lives—except she actually gave it to queers instead of hets. Was that progress in a way?
“This is fun,” Micah finally said.
“We can talk to each other, you know,” Kyle told him.
Emma realised she was probably the common denominator that stopped them from actually talking to each other. “Anyway, I have to… go and see makeup and hair.”
She didn’t even know if there was any makeup and hair for the shoot. She assumed so. Emma was already in her hockey kit, and her hair was in its usual ponytail. She could only assume they would slap some makeup on everyone involved so they would stand out under the lights.
Looking back at the boys, Emma watched Kyle sit down on a rock, and both he and Micah were staring out at the lake. It was progress, she supposed. Talk would come sooner or later.
She was so focused on them she didn’t even realise she had collided with somebody until she was flat on her back and staring up at the sky.
“Oof,” Emma said, rubbing her solar plexus. She was pretty sure an elbow had jabbed it. “Don’t you watch where you’re going?”
“I could say the same about you,” said the voice to her right.
Emma rolled over onto her side to stare at her attacker.
And in the second meet-cute of their lives, Emma found herself face-to-face with Malcolm Reynolds. Her hair was a tiny bit longer than it had been the last time Emma saw her—that, or the cowboy hat she had been wearing made it look shorter than it actually was—but that quirky twist on her upper lip and those eyes… it couldn’t be anyone else.
“Kate Kane,” Mal breathed.
Emma was stunned. “You recognise me?”
“Of course. I never forgot that hair.” Tentatively, Mal reached out her hand and pulled a loose strand behind Emma’s ear.
Immediately Emma was hers. She was already planning their wedding—the service would be on the Puffing Billy steam train back home in Melbourne, saying their vows while the whistle sang their love to the heavens. Then, because they would undoubtedly be poor, the reception would take place at Smorgy’s all you can eat. The Hawaiian one in Bundoora, so they could sit in high-backed wicker chairs like the queens they were while the fake volcano bubbled unconvincing lava at the front window.
Then Emma remembered that Smorgy’s had closed down, and it had obviously been years since she was last there. That was the problem with fantasies.
“Hello? Earth to Kate?” Mal asked, waving her hand in front of Emma’s face.
Emma realised she had just been staring dumbly at Mal for the last minute or so. “Oh, hi.”
“You don’t have a concussion, do you?” Mal looked concerned, and it was very endearing.
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s hope you don’t get a lump on your head, or else I’ll probably get fired.”
“Fired?” Emma repeated, knowing that she probably sounded a little dense.
She patted the bag lying next to her haphazardly in the sand. “I’m one of the assistants on this shoot.” She paused and gave a wry grin. “I say assistant, but I’m just a student being exploited for no pay but the glamour of experience. I don’t even know why I brought my camera. I’ll never get to use it.”
Emma wanted to say Mal could use it on her. That she would be Mal’s model, her muse, lying on the rocks like a shell-shocked Ariel finding Princess Erica instead of that himbo Eric.
It was at this point that Emma thought maybe she really did have a concussion. She was thinking like a crazy person, and she couldn’t show the crazy if she wanted to convince Mal to maybe have coffee with her sometime. Through the haze, something finally hit her.
“Were you the one who called me? You said you were an assistant.”
“There were a few of us,” Mal said. “I hate to have to ask, but what’s your name?”
Emma wondered briefly, if she had forgotten it, which one she had assigned to Emma when thinking about her. Probably just Kate, as she had been Mal to her. “Emma Goldsworthy.”
She smiled. “I remember now. You tried to get your friend on the shoot.”
“Yeah, that was me.”
“I thought it was really cool.”
“You did?”
“Sure! You were the only person I rang who wasn’t thinking only of themselves. I liked it.”
“Yeah?” Emma asked. She was pretty sure she sounded as dense as a steel-reinforced door.
Mal suddenly looked bashful. No other word for it. Bashful. “Yeah. And if I’d known it was you, I would have liked it even more.”
“Oh” was Emma’s spectacular response, but her smile would have been goofy.
“Oh no,” Mal said suddenly, distracted by something in the distance.
“You have to go back to work?” Emma didn’t want to get her into trouble.
“My ex has turned up. I knew she would be here, but it’s still like a slap in the face.”
Emma squinted against the sun, trying to make out who she was talking about. Whoever it was, it didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded like Mal was still hung up on her. She had just found Emma again! Surely she should be thinking more about that than some ex!
See, there she was doing the crazy again.
“Hello, Jess,” said a shadow that now fell over them.
Jess? That’s right, that was Mal’s real name. She now remembered it from the phone call. Jess and Emma. Emma and Jess. Maybe it was short for Jessica? Jessica and Emma. Emma and Jessica. Oh, hey, Micah, can I call you back later? It’s just that Jess is here and we’re going out for ice cream. What kind? You know me, never can go past the pistachio—
Wait. That voice.
Emma knew that voice. The shadow became flesh and blood, like one of those bad special effects in the ghost-hunting shows. Except this was way scarier.
“Hi, Emma,” Trish said.
Part Two
Chapter 6
TRISH.
Trish was Jess’s ex. They had gone past cheesy paranormal reality show and straight into big-budget horror movie. Emma’s meet-cute had turned into reunite-puke.
Jess’s eyes were practically bulging out of her head. It would have been funny if the whole thing wasn’t so awkward. “You know each other?”
Trish’s reply was a clear yes while Emma mumbled something, staring at her feet in the dirt. She wanted a pit to open up under her and bury her without any chance of rescue. How the tables had turned from that disastrous meeting in the café! Emma had ended up convincing herself that she had handled it at least okay (but definitely not spectacularly), but now Trish firmly had the upper hand again. What was worse, she knew it, as she looked down on Emma—literally and figuratively—sprawled on the riverbank.
A
s if it couldn’t get any worse, Micah and Kyle appeared. They must have smelt the decay of drama wafting on the fresh ocean air.
“Is this where the party’s happening?” Micah asked.
“Micah,” Emma said, “this is Trish.”
He instantly scowled, and she loved him for it.
“And who’s your little friend in the sand?” Kyle asked.
“Who are you calling little?” An offended Jess leapt to her feet and was immediately towered over by Kyle. “Okay, maybe you have a point. In comparison to other people, at least.”
She was also dwarfed by Micah. Had she always been that small? Emma didn’t remember her being so tiny at the party. Maybe the brown overcoat had made her seem bigger.
“Anyway, I’m Jess.”
“Mal,” Emma said to Micah. He knew anyway; she could see it in his eyes.
“Who?” Kyle, Jess, and Trish asked in unison.
“Wow, this is awkward.” Micah was always king of the understatement.
“Nothing awkward to it at all,” Trish said. “I mean, I knew we would all run into each other at some point today. I just didn’t know there would be… other connections.”
Emma couldn’t help herself. “Trish also went out with Jess.”
“Really?” Micah grinned. The boy loved a soap opera. Or maybe what was turning into a real life episode of The L Word. Emma would have preferred Orange is the New Black, as there would at least be shanking. “It’s like Gladiator, but with exes here.”
“The movie or the series?” Kyle asked.
“Either. But bloodshed instead of giant rubber hammers would be fun.”
Although Emma’s blood was now constantly on the boil, she had to admit their shtick was still kind of cute. Maybe Kyle’s new boyfriend should be on guard. Oh, and Micah’s boyfriend too. Emma had kind of forgotten about him already.
“Don’t throw the first stone, Micah,” Emma warned him. “Especially as you’re standing there with your ex.”
“This is all getting a bit too high school for me,” Trish said. Now that she had done her—possibly unintended? Emma wasn’t sure—damage she was ready to flee. How surprising. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
