by Jessica Bell
“Thanks for the ride.” Ivy focuses on his coarse five-o’clock shadow, remembering the amount of times she’d wake up in the morning with “pash rash” around her lips.
Oh, please just kiss me like you used to.
“It was a pleasure.” Amir clears his throat again after hesitating to say more. Silence pounds at the windows. His expression becomes pained as he looks toward Eleanor’s front door. Ivy swallows, wondering whether it is her cue to get out, but Amir interrupts. He gestures toward the house with his chin.
“That brings back nice memories. I miss the times I spent with you and your family.”
Ivy gets a flash of Amir holding Kit’s arm against the wall and closes her eyes to try to block it out. She doesn’t want to feel bitter about this now. She wants to forgive him. Isn’t that what Brian advised her to do? Forgive and forget? Yes, he was talking about Kit, but she should also apply it to other people in her life. Like Amir, for being promiscuous and gorgeous, and her mum, for being distant and disciplined.
And Dad, for leaving me.
“Yeah,” Ivy sighs. “Me too.”
The faintness of dawn through the windshield sparkles in Amir’s eyes when he brings his hand to Ivy’s cheek. He strokes the side of his index finger along her jaw. His skin is smooth and warm. She closes her eyes as his touch resonates through her whole body, as if fueling her like sun and water to flora.
I want you back. I want you to take away my hollow heart. Please.
They both open their mouths to speak at the same time and nervously laugh at the coincidence.
“You first,” Ivy says.
Amir looks out the window again and shakes his head as if disappointed in something. “I never meant to hurt you,” he whispers. “It’s been hard. Without you. Really hard.” He breathes in loudly through his nose as if about to break down, but regains control with his last two dynamic words.
Ivy nods at her knees. “I’m the one who should apologize, Amir.” She folds her hands in her lap, not knowing whether she should touch him or not. “I never stopped to consider that I should have given you another chance. And I should have been more encouraging toward you and your career instead of being so self-centered and obsessed about mine. You know, I—.
Between her last word and a blink, Amir’s lips touch hers. The kiss paralyzes the tiniest microorganism within her. It’s the kiss that eclipses the hug. The only thing that has ever plucked her from this living hell.
Eleanor
The doorbell rings. Eleanor looks up from the newspaper with a tiny gulp. She pinches and smacks her cheeks to give them a bit of colour and puts her hair in a ponytail with the thin black hair tie she keeps permanently on her right wrist.
Don’t want to be looking like a drained old hag.
She gets up. Checks that her nightdress isn’t tucked inside her knickers.
Now that would really scare away the guest. Maybe I should tuck it in my knickers on purpose.
She opens the door. Brings her hands to her mouth with a gasp.
“Amir!” she cries, reaching for Ivy to give her a welcoming hug without taking her eyes off her ex-son-in-law. “What are you doing here?” Eleanor envisions her glands swelling from the shock. She gives Ivy a look. And Ivy replies with a perceptible, yet invisible, shrug through the mere expression on her face.
“Ivy and I bumped into each other on the plane. It’s nice to see you again, Eleanor,” Amir says, holding out his hand to shake.
Bumped into each other? Oh, Ivy, you sneaky little bugger.
Eleanor looks at his hand and shakes her head.
“Come on, Amir,” she says, arms stretched out in front of her. “Give me a hug. We’re not doing business here. You’re family! Well.” Eleanor stops short. “I still think of you as family, anyway,” she adds with a wink.
With one arm around Ivy and the other around Amir, she shuffles the couple inside. “Go on. I’ve just put a fresh pot of coffee on. Where’s your luggage?” she asks, sticking her head out the front door once she has given them a little push toward the kitchen.
“They bloody lost it,” Ivy replies, laughing sarcastically. She drops her hand luggage to the floor by the kitchen table.
“What? You’re kidding?”
Ivy shakes her head.
“Well, did they say when they would locate it?”
“Nope. They said they’d call.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure Kit will lend you some …” Eleanor trails off into silence.
Ivy twists her mouth with repentance. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it,” Ivy says with a flick of her hand.
“Ivy,” Eleanor whispers. She leans against the fridge door after pulling the carton of skimmed milk out of it. She glances at Amir, who has already made himself comfortable with the headlining features in The Age. “Why would you say such horrible things to her? You two have always been so close. I just don’t get it.” Eleanor purses her lips in the hope that she hasn’t stepped over the line. The last thing she wants is to argue within a minute of her daughter’s arrival.
“Mum, I’ll fix it, okay? I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“I hope you fix it. Otherwise you’ll have to spend Christmas in the nude.” Eleanor laughs, trying to make light of the situation. “Would you like something to eat?” she adds, a little louder for Amir to hear.
“No thanks.” Ivy stretches her arms toward the ceiling, revealing a tattoo around her belly button she didn’t have before she skipped the country, and blows air into her cheeks. “Bloated from plane food.” She peers at Amir through the wide archway and winks at him. He winks back.
What’s going on here?
Eleanor opens the fridge again, wishing she could just rip off her bra and knickers and free-ball the whole day. “How about some watermelon? It’s great this time of year.” She looks up to see Ivy and Amir both shake their heads. She closes the fridge. “You must be feeling quite hot after being in such cold weather. Are you hot? Would you like me to turn the air con on? How about some chilled water?” She opens the fridge again and pulls out a large jug of prechilled tap water with slices of lemon in it.
“Mum. Relax. It’s just me and Amir,” Ivy says, flicking a teaspoon in her palm. It thumps like a weak heart in a distant stethoscope.
Amir chuckles while loosening his tie. “I see you’re still obsessed about pleasing your guests, Eleanor.”
Eleanor rubs her brow with a smirk.
I’m a mother. One day you’ll understand.
“Forget the watermelon,” Amir says. “Come. Sit. We have something to tell you.” Amir pats the empty seat next to him. He’s covered neck to toe and not shedding a single drop of sweat.
Ivy puckers her brow, shakes her head, and mouths something to Amir that Eleanor can’t make out. Ivy notices Eleanor watching and exhales a muted sigh.
“Well, it’s too late now not to say anything.” Ivy groans, squinting at Amir the way Eleanor is accustomed to. Ivy shakes her head and begins to laugh—a guttural, comic, repetitive, “oh fuck, brace yourself” laugh as she lowers herself into a chair.
“Mum, look, before we say anything, I just want you to know that I’m as surprised as you are. But it just happened. We saw each other again, and that spark we’ve always had, it just … you know, and we feel ….
“Ready to give it another shot,” Amir concludes. He takes Ivy’s hand across the table and massages between her thumb and forefinger. The pressure point that encourages tranquility.
“Another shot?” Eleanor asks, hoping she didn’t hear correctly. How dare Ivy put this poor man through a divorce and then “bump into him” on the plane?
You’re supposed to be the older sister, Ivy.
“Yes,” Ivy replies. “We’re getting married again.”
Brian
“So, tell me again what you’re going to say when you turn up on her doorstep.” Gabriel looks into Brian’s eyes so hard he feels like they’re going to pop out and bounce across the café floor.
> Gabriel licks the straw from his thick strawberry shake, up and down, then sucks all the contents out of it before poking it back into his tall pink glass. Why they decided to meet at Ditsy Daisy’s, where Brian is sure to get depressed about how he ditched Ivy, he does not know. But it has definitely boosted his drive to get her back, and to never let her go again. Ever. Again.
“Er ….
“No! Not er! You do not hesitate. Do you hear me? You do not hesitate.” Brian is sure that if Gabriel were not in a public place right now, he would certainly be yelling like a banshee. “Breathe. Start again. Without hesitating,” Gabriel spits through gritted teeth. He punches Brian on the shoulder from across the table, which seems totally uncharacteristic of him. What’s with this machismo? If Brian didn’t know any better, he’d think Gabriel was the one trying to get Ivy back. Is he in love with her? No. Don’t be stupid. He’s gay and you know it. Oh. Is he coming on to me? Brian shakes his head. Stop it. You’re not in preschool.
Brian takes a deep breath and exhales in spurts as if training for Lamaze. “Ivy, I should never have let you go. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. I can’t imagine it without you. Please forgive me. Please come back to Seattle,” Brian recites like a recorded public service message.
What’s so damn special about this? I need to think of something better.
“Good. Now try repeating it with a little gusto, and it’ll be perfect.” Gabriel snaps his fingers.
Brian repeats it, raising his eyebrows where Gabriel deemed it appropriate. He can tweak it while he’s on the plane. He’ll find something to say to Ivy that will really hit the spot. Something to do with archaeology. Now all he has to do is find out what it is about archaeology that she loves the most. But how? They never really talked about it. Well, they hardly talked. Period. That will certainly change.
He glances toward the waitress who replaced Ivy. She’s tubby. But cute. Another blonde. Brian rests his elbows on the table and his head in his palms. Tubby. Cute. Blonde. My brother. I’ll ask him to ask the deputy director. Yes, you’re a genius.
“You’re a genius!” Brian smacks Gabriel over the head with a flat hand.
“Oi!” Gabriel cries, waving his arms in front of him like he’s doing a desperate doggy paddle. “Please. Touching is not necessary. Thanking me with words will suffice, darling.”
Brian looks out the window of the café and watches the snow flutter onto the street and melt on impact.
I wonder when the first-ever candle was found …
Eydie
“What the fuck is wrong with me spending Christmas with Kit, Ma? No doubt you’ll be so off your fuckin’ tits you won’t know what day it is anyway.” Eydie glares at Beth’s twitching lip, grinding her back teeth. Her jaw aches, but she can’t stop herself from applying more and more pressure until the pain near resembles a wench dislodging a molar. Beth spits in Eydie’s face. It’s thick and it stinks like vomit, gin … cock.
“Ugh, you fuckin’ whore!” Eydie screams, wiping the phlegm off with one hand and attempting to punch Beth with the other. But Beth stumbles backward into the yellowed lamp shade and inadvertently dodges Eydie’s fist. The lamp shade tips and crashes down. The lightbulb smashes. Electric sparks fly into the air and threaten to set the shade alight.
“Dontchya treat me like that, ya little bitch, or I’ll throw ya arse out on the street,” Beth snarls, regaining balance. Beth stands so close to Eydie’s face that she can smell the regurgitation of her own contempt. Eydie shoves her backward, wishing they had a pool she could accidentally push her into. Beth falls onto the couch. Her legs spasm on the armrest like fish out of water. Eydie towers above her, trapping Beth’s legs against the couch between her knees. She bends over, breathes disgust into Beth’s face, feeling confidence turn into multiplying sin.
“Why? Ya think I should respect ya or somethin’?” Eydie growls, digging her right index finger into Beth’s temple. “Why should I respect a fuckin’ drunk who sells her body for booze? Huh? I still can’t figure out why a smart man like Roger would have even considered getting into bed with ya sorry fuckin’ arse!”
Eydie pushes the couch toward the alcohol cabinet, with a force she didn’t know she had until it crashes against it. An open bottle of vodka, which was sitting on the top, falls onto the couch, missing Beth’s head by an inch. Its contents glug onto the vinyl upholstery and gush into Beth’s tatty hair. Beth tries to sit up, but Eydie pushes her back down.
“And ya know what? I’m done trying to figure out why, Ma. And I don’t give a shit anymore. The only thing I give a shit about is that I’d have better fuckin’ chances of gettin’ somewhere in this life without you in it. You’re the one who’s holdin’ me back, Ma. You.”
Eydie pokes Beth between her breasts, which have separated and sagged to the sides of her torso. Beth’s yellow bloodshot eyes well up with tears. Becoming the vulnerable puppy Eydie persistently gives in to. But she won’t give in this time. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for her. “So go ahead. Throw me the fuck out on the fuckin’ street. Because all I do is live my piss-weak life makin’ sure you’re not gonna fuckin’ die on me. And I’m sick of the guilt. I’m sick of wanting you to die. I can’t do it anymore. I want to fuckin’ get outta this fuckin’ hellhole and live!”
Eydie removes her pointed finger and paces the room. Beth sits up. The crackle of the upholstery mingles with Beth’s cough. She tilts her head to the side and wrings vodka out of her hair. The sound of it dripping onto the carpet is thick and heavy, muffled by the fury pounding in Eydie’s ears. She turns around to look through the miserable excuse of a kitchen window. The view stinks. The green whiff of cut grass is now tainted with toxic shame. And all she can see is a dividing fence, not even a meter away, and the neighbour’s freshly mowed front lawn. A reminder of what they don’t have.
Eydie considers packing a bag and staying at Kit’s for a few nights to calm down. But it’s not the right time. She’ll intrude. Kit needs to be alone with Ivy. They’ve got to fix things. And Eydie couldn’t bear to be the one to prevent it. She wants to be able to love both her sisters, the two sisters she’s been blessed with at her greatest time of need. She imagines they’ll one day become a team and be there for each other no matter what. No jealousy. Just unconditional love. The kind of love that’s supposed to be rewarding, not riddled with suffering and guilt and regret and denial. The kind of stuff you see on PG-rated TV.
Eydie takes a deep breath and turns around to find Beth trying to clean the couch with used tissues. Shiny grey tears stream down her cheeks, her wheeze erratic, as if she has food lodged in her throat. A chunk of green snot lingers below one nostril. She sniffs, and it disappears up her nose. She gags, coughs into a soggy tissue.
Eydie whispers, “Ma? I’ll do that. Go ’ave a bath,” feeling a pang of remorse creep from her stomach to the back of her throat. But Beth doesn’t speak. She looks up for a moment and forces a shaky smile.
“Ma, I’m sorry.” A tear escapes from the corner of Eydie’s eye, but she quickly wipes it away with the top of her hand before it runs down her cheek.
“Nah, love,” Beth replies, shaking her head, lifting cushions off the couch. “You’re right to be ashamed of me.” Beth lowers herself to the floor, clutching a vodka-soaked cushion to her chest. She bursts into a dull heave and gulps on the inhale.
Eydie crouches down beside her, takes Beth’s face in her hands. “Ma, I can’t help ya anymore. And I can’t live with ya anymore. Ya gotta get some help. And if not for yerself, I’m beggin’ ya, please do it for me. ’Cause I love ya, Ma. I really do love ya.”
Beth’s tears stop with a hiccup as she lifts her head to look into Eydie’s eyes. Beth strokes, clutches at Eydie’s bicep. “Love, go spend Chrissie with Kit tomorrah. I got no right stoppin’ ya from ’avin’ a bit a fun.” With one last squeeze of Eydie’s arm, Beth stands up and shuffles to the bathroom.
“I’m sorry,” Eydie whispers aga
in, just as Beth slides the bathroom door open to enter.
Beth swivels her head around and says, “I’ve always loved ya, sweetheart,” with a wet wink. Eydie nods with pursed lips as Beth slides the bathroom door closed behind her. The toilet flushes, the shower starts running, and so does the tap in the sink.
Then Eydie hears a thump. As if Beth has slipped in the shower.
Eydie pauses to listen, to see if she can hear her get up again. But all she hears is running water.
She puts her ear to the door. Nothing. She looks down.
And blood pools around her toes.
Kit
While Eleanor sets the table in the dining room for Christmas lunch, Kit and Ailish fill Eleanor’s state-of-the-art double kitchen sink with bags of ice to chill the wine, champagne, and beer. Kit’s relieved the plans have changed. She couldn’t bear the thought of having Christmas lunch at her own house and not having the freedom to leave if things were to get uncomfortable between her and Ivy.
Ivy has snubbed her all morning, but Kit refuses to break this ice. It’s not her responsibility. She’s not the one who abused the shit out of her sister over the phone—a sister who has always been able to read between the lines.
And now I bet she’s too proud to apologize.
Amir pulls the ham out of the oven as Ivy mixes the mayonnaise into the potato salad. Whistling. Giggling discreetly, nodding her head to her own music.
Jingle Bells, Amir Smells, Ivy laid an egg. Roger took a point-two-two and shot them in the head.
Kit focuses on her sister’s back as Ivy moves closer to Amir and nuzzles her face into his neck. Ivy licks his ear with the tip of her pointy tongue, giggles again, and brings her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. Amir lifts his shoulder to his ear to rub away her saliva. He playfully pushes her aside with his hip. She pushes back, initiating pendulum hip movement. For a moment they seem like innocent children experimenting with a crush. But then Amir puts his hand down the front of Ivy’s shorts. They go quiet as she opens her legs an inch.
