Thirty Days: Part Two

by Belle Brooks

  “I’ll bring him back to you,” Grady said. His golden eyes looked tired, but they reflected his sincerity.

  I have to believe he will keep his word, and when it’s time Marcus will return. Until then I have no option but to sit tight and wait. As I think about seeing Marcus in the aftermath of our time in Sydney, I’m faced with a problem. As much as I want to see him, touch him, and talk about our shared past, I also don’t think I’m ready to do any of it. Conundrum.

  Marcus obviously hasn’t forgotten about me. My phone’s full memory tells me more than any of the messages left ever could. I choose not to listen to a single voicemail or read any of the texts and instead delete them. It’s the safest option.

  “Abigail, where are you now?” Sammy’s voice is etched with a touch of excitement.

  “Coming.” Throwing the phone onto the bed, I look at my reflection in the mirror that is on the door of the built-in robe. Tucking a wayward strand from my loosely tied hair behind my ear, I find myself shrugging my shoulders before muttering, “Three-quarter denims and a casual tee should meet the dress code of a girls’ night, right?” Of course my reflection doesn’t answer. Useless thing. Stepping through the doorway, Sammy rounds the corner, coming towards me at the speed of light. “Slow down, Ginger, before you break a hip, old girl.”

  “Seriously, I’m six weeks older than you. Cut it with the old girl talk,” she spits, stopping at my feet. “Okay, are you ready?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes widen before she becomes frazzled. This causes me amusement…well, that and the streak of what appears to be flour that’s on her face.

  “Why are we doing this again?”

  “How many times have I told you already? First step to healing you, my beautiful friend. Oh, by the way, I’m loving that blue top on you. The colour doesn’t wash you out. Wear this colour more often.” Her outstretched finger pokes my chest bone.

  “You are random,” I sing, slapping her finger away.

  “And you are painful. Now come on, hop like a bunny. You can help me ice the cake.”

  “Baking, really? You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m deadly serious. I’m making the most delicious devil’s food cake you’ll ever taste. My grandma’s secret recipe.”

  “It won’t be as good as Mar-Mar Ilish’s devil’s food cake. I’m telling you that now.”

  “We’ll see.”

  As we enter, I can’t help noticing that the kitchen is an absolute disaster zone. “Ginger, are you baking or redecorating the kitchen? I can’t tell.”

  She slaps my upper arm as her eyes cross in annoyance. This pleases me. “I’m cooking. Cake making is messy, okay?”

  “Yeah, it is, when you’re like five years old.”

  “Stop it. Are you helping me or not?”

  “Okay, okay, keep your knickers on, Ging.”

  “Ging. Seriously? No. You are not calling me Ging. That’s horrible.”

  “Calm your farm. I’m not going to call you Ging, Ging.”

  Sammy’s face turns from a frazzled pink to a heated red, and the vision of steam bursting from her ears and nose causes my fit of laughter and then the obnoxious snort that follows.

  “You are mean, Abigail McMillian.”

  “And you love me just the way I am, don’t you, sweet cheeks?” I bellow loudly, while pinching both of her cheeks between my fingers.

  She slaps my hands away rather quickly.

  “I won’t call you Ging, you Sooky La La. Come on, let’s get this icing ready for this bloody cake already.”

  The dark chocolate icing has a super-rich tang to it as I suck a helping from my index finger. Maybe cake wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “There, all done. I should totally go pro at this cake making business, don’t you think?” Once the cake is completed, Ginger’s eyes widen with a look of accomplishment.

  “Personally, I think you should stick to journalism and the bright lights of cameras.”

  “Great friend you are.”

  “The best.” I smirk before smudging dark chocolate in a strip down Sammy’s face.

  “Rack off, you,” she scoffs, trying to wipe it away.

  “That’s a great colour on you. I think you should leave it there.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Just before a food fight gets underway, the sound of knuckles banging against wood has me wandering towards the closed front door. “You can do this, Abigail—these people are your friends,” I say with bated breath before clasping the handle and opening it wide.

  “Hi, girl, are you ready for a good night? I brought booze.” Sophie’s eyebrows lift up and down repetitively as she waves a bottle of vodka in her hand like she’s won first prize in a pub raffle.

  The booming voice of Sammy radiates from behind me. “No alcohol, Soph. Here, give it to me.”

  “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Her face grimaces and I half smile.

  “It’s okay. I’ll dispose of that.”

  “No, no…” Sophie’s arms outstretch, trying to retrieve the bottle from Sammy.

  “Yes, yes. Down the drain with this.” Sammy clutches the bottle tight in her still chocolate smudged hand and heads for the kitchen.

  “Don’t worry, she’s a party pooper.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “No. You need to stay sober. I wasn’t thinking.” Sophie’s sapphire blue eyes drop to the ground.

  “We have cake.” I try to bring lightness to the sudden tense air.

  “Well, I like the sound of that.”

  Sophie’s blond bob bounces as I walk behind her. How does she get her hair so perfect all the time?

  An hour later, Ange and Leza have joined in on the ‘Make Abi’s Life Better Fiasco’. Mum has also finally made her way down from the bedroom. She looks gushy and swooning, and I just know that Dr. Herbert and my mother are playing hide the pickle behind closed doors. This thought causes me to laugh involuntarily, but it also causes me to gross myself out.

  “Yuck,” I snort.

  “What is funny and yuck now?” Mum seems hesitant.

  “The good doctor, Mum. Deny it all you want, but I’m onto you. Is he here?”

  “No,” she scoffs, appalled.

  “Come on now, we are all grown women here.”

  “Firstly, we are ladies, and secondly, this is none of your business, so stop it.”

  “Defensive, I’m right. This nurse is getting a little doctor action.”

  Mum doesn’t reply. She just furrows her brows and then turns her attention to Sammy, hugging her with welcoming arms. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She pecks her cheek.

  “It’s good to be back, Mrs. M. I think we are going to find the light at the end of the tunnel by the night’s end.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “I’m standing here,” I sing.

  “We know,” Mum sings back.

  Leza waddles into the kitchen, taking a bottle of water from the fridge, cracking the lid and then gulping the entire contents down after one big breath. We all find ourselves staring when she glares in our direction with her lips pursed. “I’m sorry. I’m really thirsty. You know, I’m always thirsty…and hungry.” She begins to sob. “Cake, there’s cake. I love you guys so much.” Her hand grabs a hunk of Sammy’s freshly baked cake and she shoves it to her mouth, munching away with her mouth open in a moan.

  Disgusting.

  Leza seems to be the biggest mess here, both literally and figuratively, and I truly have no idea what to do or say. I opt for standing perfectly still, deciding any sudden movements could have her eating me and not in a good way.

  “If this baby is not out of me by tomorrow, I swear I’m going to smoke it out. Great, see, now I have to pee again. Do you know what my pee count for today is so far?”

  I shake my head, terrified of the girl standing in front of me. The one who looks like she’d snap me like a twig if I say the wrong thing.

  “Six million. I’m so done with be
ing bloody pregnant.”

  My eyes bulge from my head, mainly because I’ve never heard Leza complain…ever.

  “I have haemorrhoids the size of cantaloupes and my ankles now look like an extension of my legs. Don’t even get me started on my boobs. Now they should be classified as terrorist weaponry. Look at them!”

  I do and they are gigantic with bright blue veins, which are visible through the skin of her cleavage that spills over the top of her dress.

  “They are so sore. Did you know that food falls down the slim crack between my breasts whenever I let the girls free from their holder? I wish I didn’t have to wear a bra at all. I hate pregnancy!” she growls, stomping her feet before licking her fingers. “Toilet. Crap, I’m going to pee my pants.”

  Leza scurries away with speed. How she moves so fast with such a big belly has my mouth go slack and my eyes bulging.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask, my eyes so wide my eyeballs feel as though they have lost their moisture, shrivelled, and dried.

  “That, my dear, is the last few days of pregnancy. Fun times,” Mum says bluntly.

  “Well, you won’t be getting any grandchildren from me…ever.”

  “I’m sewing my vagina up.” Sammy swallows hard.

  “Now that’s the smartest thing I have ever heard you say, Ginger.”

  Leza returns moments later, wiping her wet hands against her cheeks. The moisture on her face tells me she hasn’t bothered to dry them on a towel. She opens her mouth to say something and then just turns right back around and heads straight back from where she came. I guess she has to pee again. Note to self: follow through with Sammy’s brilliant idea and sew my vagina up pronto, because I’m not doing that…no way, no day, not happening.

  Let It Go

  Sitting in the lounge room with my forced company, I realise I’m not actually annoyed by the mindless and trivial chatter that is currently taking place. The latest hits play softly from the television speakers, bringing the return of some of my old self. This is nice, just like the old days. Well, actually, probably more like how things were six months ago, before I spiralled out of control.

  Sammy suddenly excuses herself and disappears upstairs with Mum. Her decision to do so seems planned. Over the last hour, Ginger has been constantly flicking her eyes down to her watch. What are those two up to? Better not be another fucking intervention or I’m going to lose my shit.

  “I’m sorry about Sydney.” Ange’s big brown eyes lift upwards unexpectedly before making contact with mine.

  “So you guys know?”

  “Yeah,” she says quietly.

  “Pretty crazy, right?”

  “So crazy. I can’t believe it, really.”

  Sophie’s not the only one.

  “Did Sammy ever tell you guys about Marcus and my fall after we met you back in Uni?”

  “No,” Ange replies quickly. “Samantha’s always been a great person to confide in, but that was such a big secret to keep­—I mean, how did she manage not to tell you about Marcus and your past? I’m baffled. You two are inseparable. She never dropped a hint, or a strange recall of an event?”

  “Nothing that I ever clicked onto, if she did.”

  “She cares so much about you. I’m glad you two are talking again.” Relief is written like a scripture across Ange’s flawless face.

  “She’d be lost without me. I kind of had to.”

  The three of them giggle.

  “Oh crap, I have to pee again. Quick, help me up.” Leza’s voice is filled with desperation, causing each of us to leap to our feet and come to her aid. “This sucks. Why did I wear a dress? That’s right, because none of my pants fit over my fat arse. Why can’t I walk around naked? Come out of me now, kid,” she pleads as she waddles away with the same speed she managed to escape with earlier.

  “I never want kids,” I mutter, standing stiff at the thought in the middle of the lounge room.

  “I can’t wait to have a baby. Well, after Rodger and I get married, that is. Hello, honeymoon, here we come,” Sophie blurts aloud before sitting down on the lounge.

  “If I ever find someone I love, sure, I’ll have kids. Five, I think. I want to be a soccer mum, with a minivan and lots of pitter-pattering feet running around. Three boys and two girls,” Ange says.

  “You’re delusional, Ange,” I sing.

  “You seriously don’t want children, Abi? Ever?” Ange sits down beside Sophie.

  “Nope.”

  “Ladies and ladies, I would like to present to you, the beautifully stunning Mrs. M.” Sammy’s announcement comes from out of nowhere, and the three of us stand before moving towards the direction of her voice, the staircase.

  My mother walks down each step with ease, just like a model parading her goodies on a catwalk. A flowy black evening dress made of soft, expensive material hangs below her knees. Shiny black heels cover her feet and her makeup and hair are perfection. She looks so beautiful.

  “Mum.” My mouth draws slack from shock.

  “What do you think?” She shies away, like a teenager on her very first date.

  “Wow!” Is all that escapes my lips.

  Sophie and Ange both wolf whistle, and Mum’s cheeks blush from the attention. She then smiles, and I’m shocked by her smile, because it’s not one I’ve seen in a very long time, not since before my dad passed away. My heart flutters and my hand rushes to my chest. I don’t think I realised how much I’ve missed this expression on my mother. Pure bliss.

  Reaching my hands out for hers, she takes both of them, clutching tightly. Her skin is baby soft and her eyes are alight with new hope.

  “Mum, you look beautiful. Where are you going?”

  Her head tilts down. Her sparkling blues break contact. “On a date, Abigail.”

  “The good doctor?” I knew it.

  “Yes.” Her voice is soft—smitten. “I’m ready to be happy again, Abigail. I’m ready to move on. I can’t—”

  “I know,” I interrupt. My mother deserves to be loved. She cares for so many and it’s time for her to feel cared for, too.

  “I loved your dad, Abigail, but I want a chance at love again. Your father is never coming back. I can wish all I want, but it will never happen.”

  Moving my head forward, I kiss her cheek. “You deserve this,” I whisper into her ear.

  “Thank you, baby girl.”

  I startle at the sound of knocking coming from behind me.

  “He’s here,” she says, her voice giddy.

  “Okay.” I let go of her hands and walk behind her.

  Her hips sway as she approaches the man who might just give my mother everything she deserves to have in life.

  “Wow. You look beautiful,” he says when she opens the door, and Doctor Herbert’s brilliant blue eyes drink her in. He’s dressed in a black suit and the five o’clock shadow he sported in the hospital is gone. His face is now clean-shaven. “Are you ready, Pamela?”

  “I am.” Her eyelashes flutter and her skin pinks as I now stand by her side.

  “Have a good night, you two.” Is this my blessing?

  “Thanks, Abigail.” His Irish accent is strong and he sounds grateful.

  “Take care of her.”

  “I will.”

  When he slips his hand into Mum’s, I notice she’s removed her wedding ring. It took her nearly seven years to take it off, but today her finger is naked once more. The two of them walk down the path. Mum glances back over her shoulder briefly to flash me that missing smile again. I blow her a kiss and then let the door close, giving her the privacy I know I’d want.

  “What’s going on?” Leza asks.

  “Mum’s got a date.”

  “A swooning, handsome Irish doctor date.” Sophie arches a perfect eyebrow.

  “What? I miss everything.” She scowls.

  The girls laugh, but I don’t. It’s in this moment I realise I’ve never stopped to consider what my mother had been giving up for me over these years. Love.
>
  I wish Marcus were here, and there it was—a smile I will carry with me forever. A smile I know I’d have if I were in Marcus’ presence once more. Maybe I do love him.

  The Past Should Stay in the Past.

  After Sammy left, the following days, Wednesday and Thursday were quiet. Leza didn’t end up having that baby the next day. Actually, she’s still pregnant now, three days on. I’d hate to be her husband right at this moment. I can only imagine the torture he has to endure. Her mood swings went from soppy and loving, to the devil reincarnated in a matter of seconds when she was here. At one point in the late evening, Leza actually pulled out this thing called a donut ring. “Now, ladies, this gadget here is an inflatable device that one sits on when suffering from haemorrhoids. I’d like you to meet Sasha. She’ll be joining the party.” Sasha was florescent orange in colour and spent the majority of the evening parked under her arse.

  Fuck, pregnancy is a fickle bitch.

  Thank God Sophie, Ange, and Leza only stayed the one night. It was the perfect dose of company for me. Through rich chocolate and blended mocktails we relived our memories of our days back in university. Laughter flowed freely and my body finally entered into the calm that falls after a broody storm. For me that storm was Sydney.

  This morning, I lie here in bed, hopeful for my future. Maybe that was what I needed to break the wicked curse that seems set on destroying my life.

  The generic sound of my ringtone comes from the top of my dresser, snapping me from my thoughts. Cracking hips make their usual morning sound as my feet meet the carpet. Dragging myself to retrieve my phone, it stops once it’s clutched in my hand. “It’s probably Sammy,” I groan. “She’ll be happy Mosby’s home, I’m sure.”

  Message bank. Without thought I activate the message bank and squeeze the device in the crook of my neck.

  “Abigail, it’s me.” His voice is warm yet rushed.

  Marcus.

  “I’m coming home. The case is over and justice has been served. It took longer than I thought it would. Please answer your phone. I need to hear your voice. I miss you.” There’s a long pause.

  “I need to tell you that I love you, Abi. It’s always been you. Forever mine.” His breathing quickens like he’s running. “I fly out soon, okay? I’ll be home soon.”