Family Drama 3-in-1 Box Set: String Bridge, The Book, Bitter Like Orange Peel

by Jessica Bell

  Gabriel spins around on the ball of his right foot and presses the button to call the elevator. “Oh,” Gabriel adds. “I think your building’s doorman might have a thing for me.” The elevator door opens, and he steps in. And just before the door closes, he pats himself on the butt and says with a wink, “And this, my darling, is how I got in.”

  Brian stands in the open doorway staring at the elevator as he listens to it hum to the ground floor. When the sound stops, he jerks out of his trance and goes back inside, letting the door slam shut with an intense bang. He pours himself a cup of coffee, then takes it into the bathroom and sits on the toilet with his pants still up. He stares at his unshaven face in the mirror.

  “Australia,” he whispers, as if trying to comprehend the meaning of the word. “That’s too far away.” He sips his coffee with a wince and swishes it around in his mouth until it turns cold. He swallows half the saliva-contaminated crap down and spits the rest at his reflection. He bursts into laughter. “You’re a fucking idiot!”

  He stares at himself a little while longer, scrutinizing the rectangular quality of his jaw, watching his stubble grow. By the time he takes another sip of his coffee, the whole thing has gone cold.

  It’s two o’clock.

  “Fuck!”

  Brian drops his coffee cup into the sink. It shatters. But he doesn’t hang around to clean it up.

  Ivy

  Ivy inches another fry between her teeth, looking at the runway through the window. The airport food lounge smells like a cross between a hospital and a playpen. Dettol polluted with endorphins and Rescue Remedy. And restless chatter. Ivy can feel Gabriel staring at her, sucking sloppily on a lollipop, smacking his sticky lips open and closed as if hesitating to speak. Ivy tries to ignore the sound and envision herself on the plane with Amir.

  I’m nervous to see him again ...

  Kit will come around …

  I think I still love Brian …

  We’re sisters, for God’s sake …

  I miss Amir…

  Surely Brian still loves me …

  Kit can’t hate me forever just because I got carried away over the phone, can she?

  Maybe Brian will change his mind …

  I can’t wait to see Amir …

  “So what did he say?” Ivy asks, hoping to stunt Gabriel’s all-consuming sticky smacking sound. She grabs a handful of fries from the glossy cardboard box and shoves them all into her mouth at once.

  “Nothing,” Gabriel mumbles with the lollipop still in his mouth. Ivy frowns at his public display of mock childishness. Gabriel stops sucking in response and drops the lollipop into his glass of water. It splashes all over Ivy’s fries.

  “But I think he’ll come. I can feel it in my Mr. Man.” Gabriel shivers as if a cold breeze blew right through his pants.

  “This isn’t a joke, Gabe. You should have just told him the truth. I mean, it’s not like I’m not going to get on that plane. I just wanted to know if we still had a chance. You know, when I come back.” If I come back. “To start dating again.”

  “So? At least he’ll be here to see you off, right?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want him to come if he didn’t know the truth. I wanted him to show he is willing to wait, not because he thinks it’s his last chance. He’ll just panic and make a rash decision out of fear. He’s obviously got issues with that.”

  I want to try Amir out again, Gabe. I need your advice. But I just can’t bring myself to ask you. What will you think of me? I already feel nuts. I don’t need you to rub it in. And I know you’ll rub it in.

  “Sweetcakes, there’s no way a guy, any guy, is going to risk his pride to simply say goodbye when he thinks he might get another chance to make things right. It needs to be his only chance, or you’ll never really know. I had to make it out like he was going to lose you for good.”

  Ivy shrugs, rubs her nose upward with the palm of her hand, and sniffs. “What’s the time?”

  “Time to board, according to the screen up there.” Gabriel flicks his head in the direction of the departure notice and feigns an elaborate frown.

  “Well, I guess you were wrong about Brian.” Now I don’t have to feel guilty about “bumping into” my ex.

  “Hey, don’t speak too soon. Maybe he’s waiting for you to show up at the gate.”

  “Doubt it.” Please be there. I need to move forward. I need a reason not to crawl back to Amir. I’m so confused. What the hell do I want? A way to negate loneliness? Do I even want either of these men? Oh Christ, Ivy.

  Brian

  Brian steps foot into the international departures area at Sea-Tac. His eyes dart left and right searching for the Emirates logo and the correct flight number above the check-in desks. His breaths bounce up and down his throat like Ping-Pong balls. He ran from the cab, which was at a standstill in a bottleneck not far from the train line to the airport. He’s still in his tracksuit, unshaven, his finger throbbing where the splinter of Christmas decoration stabbed him. Toe’s still damn itchy and now inside a sweaty sneaker. Not much he can do about it except flex his toes in an attempt at slight relief.

  Did something freaking bite me?

  He finds the flight number on the Departures screen. Gate B10. Boarding. “Boarding? Which way do I go?” he says out loud to no one in particular, searching for signs left and right. He taps a man in a suit on the shoulder. The man turns around with an unimpressed smile pinned to his face like a flattened piece of chewing gum. The lady he was talking to frowns and jiggles the pounds of plastic beads hanging from her neck.

  “Excuse me, do you have any idea how to get to passport control for gate B10 in the least amount of time possible?” Brian asks, realizing the stupidity of his question.

  “Geez, it’s pretty straightforward, mate,” says the guy in a potent Australian twang. “See that sign over there?” He points toward it with raised eyebrows. “Follow the arrow.” He nods with a smirk, puckers his brow, shakes his head, and turns back around to face the lady in the beads.

  “Right. Thanks.” Brian smiles, pouncing in the direction of the sign.

  Shit, Ivy. I’m so freaking sorry.

  Ivy

  Gabriel and Ivy are waiting outside passport control. Once Ivy passes those doors, there’s no turning back. That’s it. The land of Oz, here she comes. Pity there’s no yellow brick road to follow. She could do with only having one path to choose from. Gabriel and Ivy both dart looks to and fro, searching the crowd for Brian. But there is no sign of him.

  “What’s he wearing? Can you remember?” Ivy asks, trying not to reveal the budding desperation dwelling in her larynx.

  “Er, sweetcakes, he might have changed out of his tracksuit to come here.”

  “Yeah. Right.” A buildup of saliva lines the walls of her mouth. She swallows a threatening panic attack and closes her eyes.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

  “Final boarding call for Emirates flight EK 461, to Abu Dhabi, with a final destination of Melbourne. Please proceed to gate B10.”

  “Looks like I should go, Gabe.” Ivy reaches for Gabriel to give him a hug. She intends it to be quick but finds herself holding on to Gabriel so tight she can’t bring herself to let go.

  “I think I’m making a mistake,” she blurts without thinking twice.

  “Sweetcakes, don’t worry,” Gabriel purrs, prying Ivy’s arms off him and waving away his own imminent tears. “Even if you are, you’re just a flight away from coming back. Nothing is forever, and you can rectify whatever mistake it is you think you’re making by getting on a plane and flying home. This home. Here in Seattle, with me. Where you belong.” Gabriel hugs Ivy again and rubs her back as if trying to burp a baby.

  That’s not the mistake I mean, Gabe.

  They stare at each other at arm’s length, clearly trying to hold back tears. But Gabriel breaks the composure by becoming a blubbering mess.

  “Oh, sweetcakes!” he cries, jogging on the spot like a tw
o-year-old having a tantrum. “Please stay safe. You better come back, or I’ll come down there to physically drag you back, you hear?” Gabriel says almost incomprehensibly through his tears. Real tears. He squeezes Ivy’s cheeks together until her lips pout.

  Ivy nods more times than she can count, tears streaming down her face. She sucks in salty guilt via an inward heave, picks up her hand luggage from between her feet, and takes one last glance through the crowd before moving toward the sliding metal doors. Doors that are about to determine her future. Brian or Amir. Companionship or security. Love or lust. Or habit?

  With one last sloppy kiss on Gabriel’s cheek, she turns to face the doors and marches toward them, her steps vibrating through her thighs. The certainty of what she’s about to do floods her stomach with a desirable longing for change. She pauses as the doors slide open after detecting her presence.

  A child screams.

  Her thought of turning around one last time to check for Brian is deterred.

  Brian

  Brian bolts through itinerants waiting for their boarding calls. He can see the gate in the distance. Crowds of people, families, lovers, saying goodbye to each other. I can’t see her. She’s got to be there. She’s got to be waiting. Why would Gabe even bother getting me to come if she isn’t going to be waiting? Fuck, Ivy, I love you. I’m sorry. Please be there. Please.

  He notices Gabriel’s wild yellow-and-purple shirt. Yes! He searches nearby for Ivy. But he can’t see her. She can’t be gone. No, no, no!

  She’s walking toward the gate. “Ivy!” he calls, flinging both arms in the air as he runs. She stops walking. Pauses at the open doors.

  She heard me! Oh, thank God!

  Brian picks up speed. Dodging prams, baggage, and toddlers. Just as he approaches Gabriel, Brian taps his hand on his shoulder as if tagging a baseball base, and bends over panting.

  A child screams.

  When he looks up, Ivy has disappeared.

  Gabriel turns around in shock. His eyes are red and puffy.

  “Brian,” he gasps, bringing his hands to his mouth, tears streaming down his pink cheeks. “You just missed her.”

  Brian bends over again, trying to catch his breath and hold back the scream he wants to set free. He falls to his knees, pulling at his collar. “I know,” Brian pants. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’ve lost her. Have I lost her?”

  Gabriel bends down and helps Brian back to his feet. He brushes off his knees.

  “You look like a rotten mess, darling. You need to shave.”

  “Seriously, Gabe? You’re worried about how I look?”

  “Yeah. I am. Because we’re going out for a drink. Just you and me. And you know why we have to go for a drink, Brian?”

  “Why?” Brian asks, defeat gurgling through his heavy breaths.

  “Because we’re going to plot to bring her back. You and me. Together. We’ll get our gal back. That’s a promise.”

  Ivy

  By the time the cabin crew begin their routine takeoff checks, she is buckled in her seat. They close overhead lockers, and make sure people’s footrests are down and seat backs are up. The vague hum of the idle motor reminds her of so many things: her first archaeological dig in Cyprus, her research grant in Indonesia, her girly holiday with Kit on the Gold Coast in Queensland, tagging along to a medical conference with Eleanor when she was only ten. But most of all it reminds her of her honeymoon with Amir in Spain.

  After being in a relationship for ten years, from high school and through university, they still had the lust. But the question is, can she now control herself? If she truly feels something for Brian, then she should be able to control herself. Well, that’s the logic she has come up with, anyway, and it’s how she intends to find out whether Brian really is what she needs. She must test this theory out to see if she is over Amir, or whether she just thought she was because she fell for Brian. And did she fall for Brian because he was persistent and gave her the attention she needed to feel human again?

  Ivy purposely leaves her footrest down, just in case Amir passes by. Then he’ll be forced to speak to her. She knows he’s on the plane. She checked, called the airline. Sneaky. She wasn’t going to go to all the trouble of getting on an Emirates flight and not get what she came for.

  Ivy leans back in her seat and puts her feet on the footrest. The old man sitting next to her grunts and stares at them. “Don’t worry,” Ivy says with a wink. “I’ll put the footrest away as soon as I get told to.” The old man raises his eyebrows and grunts again. He swallows a few times in a row as if it’s a nervous twitch, and she watches as his huge wrinkly Adam’s apple move up and down. He removes the in-flight magazine from the pouch in front of him. He’s wearing a wedding band. Looks a little tight.

  Has your wife gotten used to that grunt of yours? Are you happily married?

  The reason Ivy believes the marriage between her and Amir didn’t work was because Ivy’s success threatened him. He had a temper and always tried to gain the upper hand. Amir’s flirtatiousness, and possible promiscuity, threatened her and caused her to doubt every single look or slightly teasing gesture she witnessed when they socialized. This, in turn, was the foundation of her nagging, prodding, whining nature toward every single domestic incident until civilized conversation became so scarce that she couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had a “chat.”

  All this pent-up resentment had surfaced because of something Amir attempted to do, but didn’t actually do. And he didn’t do it because Kit dealt with it like an adult. Something Ivy selectively forgets to justify the divorce. Kit, despite not liking Amir very much, convinced him to apologize to Ivy, to admit his mistake, claiming that Ivy would understand and forgive him if he was honest. It didn’t have to end in divorce. But Ivy didn’t see his honesty as a blessing. Jealousy overpowered her rationale, and within one day of “the incident,” she filed.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Could you please stow away your footrest for takeoff?” a stewardess asks with a complexion much like Amir’s. She bends down to gesture toward Ivy’s feet as if selling an item on TV.

  Damn. “Sure. Excuse me,” Ivy replies, as the stewardess stands upright. “Is, er …”

  Ask if he’s on the plane!

  But you know he’s on the plane …

  Ask if he’s in economy class …

  No, don’t be silly. Just walk through the plane later and look for him.

  But what if when you walk through he’s in the lavatory or something? You can’t go walking up and down like an idiot the whole flight.

  Ivy spots the back of his head just in time. He’s speaking to one of the cabin crew members by the kitchen. “How long till we take off?”

  “About fifteen minutes, ma’am,” the stewardess replies with a curt nod.

  Ivy elevates herself in her seat with a cushion and the blanket wrapped in plastic to see above the row of heads in front of her. Amir turns his head and looks in her direction. She ducks to her left, and her forehead brushes against the old man’s shoulder. He grunts. Again.

  Why are you ducking? You want him to see you, you idiot!

  She sits up straight again, but Amir has turned his back to the aisle and is walking in the opposite direction.

  Shit.

  The engine rumbles, and the plane begins to reverse away from the chute. But Ivy’s desperate to get out of her seat and follow him.

  What’s wrong with you, you numb nut? This flight lasts for hours.

  A force of panic convinces her to yell out his name, as if his being out of sight will mean being off the plane.

  “Amir!” Ivy calls, holding an arm in the air. Everyone goes silent, and heads turn. Amir swivels around on one foot, frowning as if trying to discern who she is. The corners of his mouth twitch a little before forming a huge teeth-bearing smile. He picks up speed and reaches her seat.

  “Ivy,” he says in his half-British, half-Arabic accent, eyes twinkling in the artificial light. Ivy’s heart pumps in her ear
s. Her hands become clammy, and her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth.

  I’ve missed you.

  Seeing his face again sends a flutter of hormones through her limbs—a feeling that had only just begun to surface with Brian. Will she let his smooth Arabian skin and gentle brown eyes tempt her back into a relationship she knows doesn’t work, but does on so many irrational, chemical levels? All she wants to do right now is grab Amir’s face and plant a sloppy kiss on his thick luscious lips. But she doesn’t. She is not starring in a romance novel, and she’s not about to make a spectacle of herself.

  “I’m going home for Christmas,” Ivy says, searching his eyes for the love they once shared, hardly able to wipe the grin off her face. “Would you like to come?”

  Oh my God. Did you seriously just ask that?

  The grumpy old man between them looks left and right as they speak, following the conversation religiously. This time, however, he doesn’t grunt. He lets out a short closed-mouth scoff through his nose and offers Ivy a subtle wink and an elbow in her side.

  “I’d be honoured,” Amir replies. “As friends, I assume?”

  Maybe. Can friends have sex?

  “Of course.” Ivy nods, reaching to touch the top of his hand. “As friends.”

  Ailish

  Ailish enters Melbourne Central, an artificially cooled department store, and sighs with relief. It’s got to be at least forty degrees Celsius outside, yet she still refuses to turn the air conditioner on in the car in fear of wasting fuel and contributing to the ever-approaching apocalypse. Sweat drips between her breasts and crotch as she speed-walks to the public toilet to wipe herself down. Upon exiting, she notices the blaring Christmas carols, screaming children, and the amalgamated scent of candles and incense and pet shop piss. The fuzzy vision of consumerism envelopes her like a low-hung cloud, the milieu making her feel a bit woozy.