Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

“Sex toy.”

  I sit and stare back at her trying not to react to this one. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and I feel like she’s trying to shock me or test me to see how far she can push before I’ll stop. When I open my mouth, I force my voice to stay even as I speak. “Sex toy?”

  “Fine. I was a drug dealer.”

  “A drug dealer?”

  She shifts in her chair again and sighs but continues eye contact. “A salon hand.”

  “There we go. I knew we’d get to the truth, eventually. How old were you when you lost your family?”

  She presses her lips together and sniffs. “Fifteen.”

  “Who raised you after that?”

  Her eyes land on mine, and a cold shiver runs up my spine. There’s something in them she doesn’t want to let out, but I see it there. The pain. It’s there for maybe an eighth of a second. Then it disappears and I know she’s shut down.

  “I think it’s my turn to ask some questions.”

  Paige

  I feel like we’re playing a game of Battleship in this rapid-fire question-and-answer session. But he’s getting all the turns, and he’s moving towards an area of my life I don’t want to talk about, and he doesn’t want to hear. I knew we’d get to the truth, eventually. It’s time for me to focus on him.

  “Tell me about your family. Are they good to you?”

  He sits forward, taking a drink from his mug now that it’s had time to cool down. “Does it upset you to talk about other people’s families?”

  “No. I like hearing about happiness and love. Does it bother you that I don’t have one?”

  “Does it bother you?”

  He’s playing me at my own game. “Are you only going to ask questions?”

  “Are you finished answering questions?”

  “Are you trying to teach me a lesson?” Because I've had my fill of ‘lessons’. I won't be schooled by anyone.

  “Would you like a Tim Tam with your coffee?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Even though he’s sitting here trying to push my buttons and get me to open up, he knows just when to back off and insert a little levity before I crack. I’m impressed. “I can’t believe you played the chocolate biscuit card. I was getting ready to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  The shadow of a smile plays on his lips. “Did it work?”

  “It did. I’d love a Tim Tam.”

  Now his smile develops into something real, taking over half his mouth and touching his eyes. I want to like him. I watch as he rises gracefully from his chair, the muscles in his arms rippling as he reaches up and pulls a packet out of the cupboard. The plastic crinkles loudly in the quiet room as he slides the biscuits out of their packaging and places them on the tray between us.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

  “That I don’t have a family? What kind of question is that? Of course it does. I lost everything I knew at an impressionable age. I was left with no one in this world to defend me. It’s why I like hearing about other people’s lives. About their families, their friends, their interests. It’s part of what I love about my job. These people come in and share so much about themselves, and I get a tiny window into a different life. One that isn’t ravaged by loss. So please, I’m now begging. Tell me about your family.”

  He remains silent for two beats of my heart and I quickly run through exactly what I said, deciding it was far too much. Ravaged by loss. He will pick up on that for sure.

  “I meant the question about who raised you. But I'm guessing from all that you went into foster care?”

  I close my eyes and drop my chin. “Can we please talk about you for a while, please?” There’s a note of begging in my voice, and I’m so grateful when the next thing out of his mouth makes my silent heart smile.

  “My mum is fantastic.” He wipes a hand across his jaw as he chuckles at some sort of memory. “She asked me yesterday to tell the Queen she said hi. Like I’m actually going to get close enough to do that.”

  “Sounds like you have a good relationship.”

  “We do. She’s nuts. But I love her. And my stepdad is pretty great too. Treats me like a son even though I was mostly grown when he came into my life. Mum and Dad divorced when I was sixteen and she remarried by the time I finished year twelve, so there wasn’t a lot for him to do besides be a decent guy. And since I saw how happy he made Mum, I couldn’t fault him.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been blessed with a lot of love.”

  He looks at the table and chuckles uncomfortably like he’s leaving something out. “It was OK. Mum did her best.”

  “You’re leaving out your dad. Is that on purpose?”

  He rubs at the back of his neck and grimaces. “Kind of. He’s…a hard man. He had high expectations I was incapable of meeting, and I’m afraid I’m a terrible terrible disappointment to him.”

  “What kind of expectations?” Seems Elliot hasn’t lived the ideal life I thought he had.

  “The Roberts men have a long history in the courts—barristers, QCs. I was expected to be the first judge. I studied law at uni, even got a job at a top-tier law firm. But I hated it. When I threw in the towel and altered my career path, he threw in the towel and stopped caring about me. We haven’t spoken in over a year.”

  “Do you miss having him in your life?”

  “I don’t know. He was very controlling. I hated being a solicitor, but he was so intent on having his son follow in his footsteps that he wouldn’t listen to what I wanted. He even had a say in who I dated... So, no. I don’t miss him.” He shrugs, letting his shoulders drop heavily. “Does that make me sound like a shitty person?”

  I take a deep breath, contemplating what I’m about to tell him for a moment. I don’t do a lot of sharing, but something about Elliot makes me feel a little less…guarded. He seems so genuine. I like that he’s an open book, and I want to offer him something in return; comfort. “I’d like what I’m about to tell you to remain between you and me,” I start.

  “Of course.” He doesn’t even miss a beat.

  “I don’t miss my family. They weren’t good to me. I mourned the family I wished I had. But I never mourned them.” My temples flash hot with my admission. “Does that make me awful?”

  All at once, he frowns and reaches across the table, placing his hand on my forearm. “No. Not for a second.” He withdraws his touch almost as fast as he offered it.

  I’m stuck looking at my arm like something’s now missing. “You shouldn’t feel bad because you’re happier without someone in your life,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “At the end of the day, the only person you can truly count on is yourself. No one cares like you do. No one.”

  Elliot sucks in a breath, his whole body reacting to the power in my words. But a squeal of laughter filters in from the stairwell, stealing the intensity out of the air, along with our attention.

  “There she is: The Cock Smasher!” Shane drunkenly announces as everyone pours through the door like tumbling laughter.

  “I can’t believe you dropped that guy,” Naomi says, as they all gather round the table. There’s a flurry of hands in front of me as the Tim Tams are snatched up and devoured in seconds.

  “God, I love these things,” Petra moans through the chocolaty goodness. “When I get home, I’ll send more packets.”

  “You’d better,” Brian tells her. “It’s an unwritten law for a returning Aussie, you know.”

  “What is?” I ask. “Sending Tim Tams?”

  “Hells yeah,” Naomi answers. “Every time one of us goes home, we have to send back a box of things we can’t buy here like Tim Tams, Vegemite, Minties, Milo—stuff like that. Our families send things too, but we kind of do it as a farewell gift for each other.”

  “They don’t have Milo here?” I ask, surprised.

  “No, they drink Ovaltine instead,” Petra puts in.

  “Speaking of Milo.” Brian gets up and flicks the kettle on. “Who wants one?”


  A round of hands go up, and he pulls mugs out while we continue talking about the differences between Australia and here, laughing and joking as we do. It feels unnatural to be in the midst of this jolly scene. It also feels unnatural to be genuinely enjoying the moment.

  “Sometimes,” Elliot murmurs near my ear as Brian and Petra place a hot cup of Milo in front of me. “Family starts as friendship.” I turn and catch myself in the ocean of his eyes. He offers me the last Tim Tam. “People care, Paige. But you have to let them.”

  Taking the biscuit, I bite into it as I look around the table, taking in all the smiling faces in this tight-knit and welcoming group. Each person is different and unique in their own way. But they all fit in, not because they have to, but because they want to. In this home away from home, they’re family. A sense of belonging skitters along the edges of my heart. I haven’t felt a part of something in such a long time. I think I’m really going to like living here.

  Nine

  Elliot

  A couple of years ago, I was dating a girl who worked in my office. We had a lot in common, and everything about being with her felt easy. I thought I’d found my lobster, but when my father intervened, I found it too easy to walk away from her. I've regretted my actions almost every day since. And for a long time I thought my regret stemmed from losing my chance at love because I was too chickenshit to stand up to my dad. After spending a month in London, I don’t think regret is the right way to categorise that relationship. The word I'm going for now is grateful. Because if I hadn’t messed up with Katrina, I never would have stood up for myself, and I never would have found myself on a plane to London, looking for a fresh start. I never would have met Paige.

  She’s an interesting one. They say that opposites attract, but I flip-flop between wanting to fuck her and wanting to shake her. I don’t know it that’s what opposites attract really means. She can be so closed off and cryptic that it's infuriating at times. Besides getting along, I don’t think we have a single common interest. She loves books, and I love sport. She loves art galleries and I like the outdoors. She loves staying home, and I like going out. But when we’re together, none of that matters. I’m drawn to her. More than I've ever been to anyone else. Just before she moved into the flat, she told me I wasn’t going to find myself in her. But, I’ve gotta call it. I think I have. I think she’s precisely why I’m here.

  Paige

  After a whole month living in London, I’m yet to see my father. He’s aware I’m here. But, I’ve been so wrapped up working and hanging out with my housemates—also known as, being a regular person—that I’ve let it slide. It sits in the back of my mind, niggling at me to do something, but I guess I’m just erring on the side of caution…no, I’m being chickenshit. I really am afraid to go and meet him, because I have no idea what to expect. I’m scared meeting him will turn my carefully created world upside down. Right now in this moment, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I have friends, I have a home, I have a job I love… I’m feeling great. Like the Paige from my past—the girl I used to hide inside a mirror—isn’t weighing me down anymore.

  I still live with the reality of what I’ve done. And I still stand by my decision to maintain a state of celibacy. Even though that decision has been made harder of late with the introduction of Elliot in my life. I’ve experienced the kind of connection I have with him before. It’s the kind of connection that has no rhyme or reason to it. It’s just there, and it’s intense enough to make you forget how to think. Which is why I need to maintain my distance. It was a mistake to give into it the last time, and I think it would be a mistake in this instance too. Elliot has a full life back in Sydney, and I am never planning to return. Breaking my vow for the sake of a man I can only have a short-term relationship with feels dishonest and self-serving. It goes against every promise I ever made to myself. And my promises are more important than my feeling. Even when it does seem like Elliot is the first decent man to enter my life.

  “You’re pretty close to Elliot aren’t you?” Naomi asks me one night as we both sit in our room preparing for bed. It's been a long time since I shared a room with someone, and this experience with Naomi has been very different. There's no competition between us—even though she has an obvious crush on Elliot—and there’s never any arguing over space. It’s just easy. It’s how I imagine sisterhood should be like.

  “Um, not really.” I look at her via the mirror on my wardrobe as I rub leave-in conditioner into the ends of my hair. “I mean, we’re friends, but I wouldn’t call us close…Why?”

  “No reason. You just seem to be together a lot. You make eyes at each other across the room. We’re all wondering what’s going on, that’s all.”

  “Eyes at each other.” I scoff. “There’s nothing going on, Nomes. He goes home in two months. We’re friends,” I say, wiping my hands clean on a moist towelette before depositing it in the small bin by our door.

  “What if he wasn’t going home?”

  I shrug. “I’d still be his friend. Me and guys—relationships—we don’t mix well. I have massive trust issues. And Elliot, no matter how long he stays here, doesn’t need my baggage.” Not to mention the fact that if he found out what my baggage was, he’d run a mile.

  “Jesus, Paige. What happened to you?”

  “Nothing serious,” I lie, avoiding eye contact. I can feel her still watching me, but I continue to focus on myself, relieved when I hear her sigh then get into bed and open her book.

  I’m going to go right ahead and admit that I’m attracted to him. Elliot Roberts is by far the most beautiful man I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. There, I said it. I mean, who wouldn’t be attracted to him? He turns the head of every female, every single time we go somewhere. But he seems oblivious to all of it, taking it all in his stride. Most guys in his situation would be cocky and sleazy. But he's down to earth, friendly, kind. He's the perfect blend of personality and looks. It amazes me that he even spends time with me. I’m so not his type. His type would be supermodel stunning. He belongs with someone tall and leggy who turns heads as much as he does. He’s wasting his time on me.

  Rising from the end of the bed, I move over to the light switch. As I do, Naomi reaches out and switches the lamp on so she can continue to read while I go to sleep.

  “Why don’t you ask Elliot out?” I ask, as I slide beneath my covers.

  She rests her book open on her chest and smiles as she looks at me. “I did,” she admits. “Threw myself at his feet when he first got here. But then he saw you and he hasn’t looked at me since.”

  A pang hits me in the chest. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. I never wanted to steal his attention.”

  “Oh, I’m not mad. You can't steal a man. They have to be willing. And he wasn’t even mine. We were flirting, and I wanted to fuck him. We didn’t have that energy you guys have.”

  “Energy?” Can other people see it?

  “Yeah,” she says. “Like a magnetic attraction. Take this couple in my book for instance; they absolutely hate each other. Sworn enemies within the office. But when they’re alone, there’s this attraction between them that’s palpable in the air, and really difficult to resist. They fight it but eventually they’re going to have to give in. Just like you and Elliot will. It’s inevitable.”

  “That’s fiction,“ I say, pointing at her book.

  “They only write this stuff because it actually happens. And that’s why we read it, to remind ourselves there’s more out there. You don’t have to settle for mediocre when there’s someone out there who’s going to the make your heart jump out of your chest and your whole body sing just to be near them.”

  I frown, remembering a time when I had exactly that. It was so fleeting that it hurts to think about it. And the cascade of shit that followed means I don’t associate that feeling with passion or need. I associate it with destruction. “That kind of feeling doesn’t last, Nomes. You give in, and then it’s gone. It’s not real. It�
�s only hormones.”

  She takes a deep breath and picks her book up again. “I don’t want to believe that. Because otherwise, what’s the point of it all? Why have this insane connection with someone if it can't turn into something beautiful?”

  As I look into her big brown eyes, full of hope and yearning, I feel this great need to protect her. I want to tell her that the only beauty in this world is in art and that most art is created out of pain. Love and life is pain. But at the same time, I don’t want to be the one to squash her heart and tell her fairytales don’t exist. So I don’t.

  “Goodnight, Naomi,” I say, as I roll over to face the wall. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You too,” she says, not knowing that’s impossible. I don’t dream any more. I only have nightmares. No, Not nightmares. Memories. I relive every shitty moment. I don’t sleep much.

  Ten

  Elliot

  Walking faster than normal, I try to propel myself home at warp speed. I had a late client, so I didn’t meet up with Paige and walk home with her like I usually do, and I hate that I haven’t seen her yet. Her face is my addiction.

  Once back at the flat, I dump my gear in my room then head out to the living area. Paige and Naomi’s names are missing from the whiteboard we write on to say who will be home for dinner.

  “Where are the girls?” I ask Gavin and Brian, who are sitting in front of the television watching the cricket, beer in hand, a bag of chips on the couch between them. They let out a loud cheer as the batter gets caught out before they even answer me.

  “Nomes dragged Paige out with her for a girly night,” Gavin informs me without taking his eyes off the screen.

  Brian laughs and throws a handful of chips into his mouth, crunching down loudly. “Yeah, she didn’t look too happy about it,” he says. “Fuck, that Paige chick is hot though. You should have seen her in that dress.” He nods his head appreciatively and blows out his breath.