“Shh,” she assures him. “Swimming is fun.”
He pushes his weight on his feet, and it’s like trying to drag a dead weight. Mum starts to take him over but when that’s too hard, she goes in for an all-out tickle and he loses his defences. She throws him over her shoulder like he’s a sack and jumps into the adult’s pool.
So, not the best choice.
Seth is dying to join them since he thinks the adult pool is way more fun, so we jump in, too.
After five whole minutes, Tristan unclenches his fists from Mum’s hair and bathers and starts feeling the current of the swishing water through his fingers.
“See, Kalli?” she says to me instead of Tristan, for some reason. “You can always make fun out of everything.”
I suppose that’s how it happens. I’m relaxed and maybe I need to give her a chance. Today is the best day she’s spent with us in a while. So I do it. I turn my back. Seth is having a ball. He actually enjoys wriggling from my grip and dancing under the water as he sinks. The boy is as crazy as our mum sometimes. He knows I always grab him within seconds. Still, he enjoys his freedom.
But when I hear the wail from the direction of the wave pool, I am reminded Tristan hates nothing more than riding in a deep pool with waves three times his height.
“Seth, let’s join Mum and Tris, huh?”
“Oh, yeah! Watch me, watch me.”
In my grip he runs as fast as his feet will take him, and I navigate our way through the bodies of screaming, laughing swimmers. They throw cups of water in the air, and slap noodles to create an echoing belch as the objects thump the water surface. There are people desperate for the roughest wave at the epicentre of the machine creating the movements in the pool.
And right at that epicentre is Mum with Tristan on her hip. Her face is turned up in a massive grin and she lets out a howl of pleasure as she jumps. Tristan? My poor little brother looks like he’ll never agree to a bath again, let alone lose that concreted expression of sheer fear.
With a happy Seth on my hip, I wade to them, flip Mum’s shoulder to me and say, “Give me Tris, right this second.”
I can’t let her run my brother scared just because she’s attempting to act right. If she’d been used to doing the mothering thing, she’d know that Tristan has only just become okay with baths. Why on earth chuck him into a deep pool with monstrous man-made waves?
Mum doesn’t argue as she hands Tris over to my other hip. I slide both boys further up and make to walk back to the shallows, but Mum walks back to our bags.
“Oh,” I call. “Enough fun for today?”
Mum doesn’t look me in the eye as she replies. Instead, her sad gaze trails between the boys. “It’s never enough fun, Kalli.”
• • •
Mum disappears after that swim session but the twins want more playtime. Despite that incident, the afternoon pans out well. Seth waves his hands and shows me how he can hold his face under water and then he eggs on Tristan, betting that he can’t blow bubbles as big as him. That gets Tristan, saying he is way better than his brother, and so all three of us blow our bubbles—much to my surprise, but not complaint—which starts game after game that strip my energy. It is only when I am panting at the side of the pool that I wonder where Mum got to.
I’m tired by the time we get out and find Mum waiting outside near the reception, and lethargic by the time we get home. I bathe every bit of chlorine out of the twins’ skin and hair, and get them to nap so they won’t become snarky and overtired.
The problem is when I am all ready to relax I am overtired. Sleep won’t come to me, and doing anything more than walking or thinking is difficult.
I suppose that’s how I end up in the basement with Mum. She pulls out a cigarette, and then tosses the last one she has left in the pack to me. Spent and nothing else to do. She’s lounging back, inspecting her cigarette, sucking deep, then blowing out “O” rings.
“I’m glad,” I tell her. I point at her cigarette.
She just shrugs.
It could be way worse, I think.
“Please take a compliment? I’m sorry I snapped at the pool. It was a wonderful idea and both of them ended up loving it,” I say. “I am proud we’re just having a regular smoke down here.” I pull my own cigarette from my lips and watch the smoke curl out, disappearing somewhere in the air. “God, this is calming.”
“What does it feel like?” Mum asks.
I hold up my cigarette in question, my features all screwed up in confusion.
“No, no,” she takes a drag, her smoke escaping her lips like a hurried crowd dispersing. “Calm. What does it feel like?”
“Smoking isn’t calming for you?”
She stares at her cigarette then puffs on it quickly, like it’ll blow out if she doesn’t get to it this second. Mum and I haven’t had a heart-to-heart in ages. Months? God, this is so weird. She looks so …
I think of a word to describe how she looks. The way her fingers tremble and she has to try a second time to slip the cigarette in. The way her gaze scatters across the ratty sofas we’re on and to the old baby toys in the corner, then over to another few cardboard boxes with some old things from her and Chester’s relationship.
It’s just hard accepting Mum looks depressed and sad, like this, at all, ever. Mum is fun.
She snaps up to look at me. She says, “I’m trying to slow down, but it’s all so God damn sad. There’s too much to think about, too much that’s not done, too much I can’t do.”
She points her cigarette at me, which is smoking away between her two fingers. “Doesn’t it get sad?”
I gulp without realising I’ve done it, feeling in the spotlight, like Mum can feed from my obvious discomfort. I find myself asking, in a voice that’s incredibly slow and cautious, “What?”
“Doesn’t being so normal and here—” She taps her head as she says here. “—frighten you?”
“Um,” I start, knocking off some of the ash about to fall from my cigarette into the tray.
“You know what, I’m going to grab another outside with fresh air.”
Just like that this day becomes worse. Because I realise there are no nicotine cigarettes left in this house—only the pack that she gave me before, sitting in my lap.
Rather than jumping to a stand and running after her, I lay back in my spot, content with doing nothing. Things are going to happen.
And I can’t do a thing to stop it.
11
On Saturday I leave early to swing by Aunty Nicole’s birthday before the Hoes and Bros party. These days, I only come to hers for special occasions. She’s naturally pretty, the type where you can see through the makeup and know she’d be just as pretty without it. What my mum used to be like before years of drug abuse and alcohol benders.
I park three houses down because the driveway and next-door on either side are taken up by family and friends’ cars. Half-dressed for tonight, half for today in a tight tank top, skinny jeans, and red stilettos, my heels make for a wobbly, long walk. I see the fancy brands and stickers on the back windows of cars that I don’t know who belong to, and wonder how we got to a place where all these people who must be important to my mum’s sister are strangers to me. By the time I stride up the driveway, slinking past the cars lined there, I’m forcing myself to put on a brave face. No matter what, I know I could have done more to get Mum and Aunty Nicole speaking again.
And I will.
I’m sick of secrets.
Though there’s noise coming from inside, Aunty Nicole hears me walk up the front stairs and swings the door open, which bounces off the stop.
“Niiic!” I squeal, hands settled around her hip.
She pulls me close, drops her chin into the crook of my neck, and we embrace without words getting in the way.
“Hm, Kalli.” She looks me up and down. “If I weren’t your Aunty, or a female …”
“I know, I’m smokin’. But not like you.” I wink. “Where to?”
She points to the usual side spot of her house away from the door. It’s our little secret. Sure, it won’t be the end of the world if anyone sees us talking, but it’s her birthday today and I want to be respectful, since lots of people have words to say about my mum, and then some. God, I miss my cousins in there. Having family only a few years younger than me is just plain sad because we don’t visit often enough to feel like we’re connected by blood. They’re more like a dream that I love, than real people with quirks who I miss.
I hand Aunty Nicole the little box from my handbag. Her eyes light up like a glow torch when she sees the charm.
“Here,” I say, reaching for her wrist.
She gives me her arm with the charm bracelet dangling. My uncle got it for her years ago, but nowadays I’m the only one who contributes the charms when everyone else has forgotten about it. I unclip it, add my charm of a tiny teddy with a gem in his belly, and give her wrist back.
Twisting her charm to see it glint under the light, she launches on me again, her arms tighter this time.
“Please, next time? Don’t get anything?”
“I’m not poor.”
I’m not buying the “Don’t buy me more”. She’s getting loads more, for future presents. For me, it’s also an excuse to see her even when she tells me not to stir trouble for myself. Between her family’s judgment of Mum, and Mum’s dislike of them, there’s always a chance we could go months without seeing each other.
“There’s so much on here.” She jangles the charm bracelet, touching each one and stroking her favourites.
I stroke my chin and feign thoughtfulness. “Then don’t dare lose it. And if you do, make sure the insurance is high enough that it’s worth it. Win-win.”
“Kalli,” she sighs.
We talk for just five minutes, so as to not have any search parties come after us. I almost tear up when I leave because every goodbye is the same: Why did Mum have to say and do what she did? Nothing should be more important than sisterly love.
In the end, I chicken out of saying something about talking to Mum again. I’ve spent years getting to a place where it’s not weird between Aunty Nicole and I, repairing damage, and my thoughts and words are now jumbled up with me trying to figure out a way to break the cycle. I get in my car and drive off with unsaid words hanging there.
When I get to Nate’s building after, I walk around the corner and text him.
Kalli: Is Mark on shift today?
Mark is the guy who makes sure girls like me don’t get into rooms like Nate’s at this time. He’s also the guy who has two framed photographs from Nate’s collection in his house, so when Nate texts back with approval, I walk to the door and say, “Hi, Mark. How’s it going?”
He takes me in. Four-inch stilettos, a tank top that pushes up my boobs, jeans like a second skin and a change bag in my hands.
“I don’t want to know or see,” he replies.
“Same as usual then,” I say, waving him goodbye.
“Knock, knock,” I say to Nate when he opens his door.
“Hey, Kall,” the roommate calls. I give him a wave, and notice he’s going out tonight, too.
Nate’s eyes wander over me, and his teeth bring his lip in. “You’re going like that, right?”
“Why, Nate,” I say thrusting him into a backward step with my fire-truck-red polished nail, “are you saying I look like a hoe?”
He averts his eyes then fumbles through his cupboard. He throws out a pair of jeans.
“You look prettier than a hoe, yet able to make a guy wood in half the time a real prostitute would. But really, I’m just jealous and would rather other guys only imagine what your bare legs look like.”
“You’re not my boyfriend, Mr Rocchi,” I reply. Why is he so bent on forcing this?
Nate chooses a black tee with a print on it then goes to a drawer to fling a chunky golden necklace on the bed with his clothes, and some rapper cap, too.
“Dude, you look like a try-hard impressionist of some cheap-ass rapper,” the other guy says.
“I’m going all out.” It’s Nate’s excuse.
“Uh-huh,” I say. “But the issue is why you can’t look me in the eye.”
He continues to get organised. Suddenly, he grabs his shirt from behind his neck and flings it off before I have time to drop my jaw. In that moment I can only blink, and then continue blinking in case I need to wash away this dream.
My eyes bulge. “Holy shit!”
From his desk behind Nate, where the roommate is trying to squish in some last minute work, he makes a sucking gesture. I purse my lips and nod back to him. Oh, yeah. I want to lick and suck on Nate when he unveils stuff like that.
Nate, oblivious to our exchange, says, “I believe you weren’t meant to say that aloud.”
I marvel at his abs and slightly defined arms. They don’t look like a zillion potatoes shoved under his skin like some self-absorbed gym junkie’s would, ready to explode. He looks so natural but it’s impossible a guy can look this jaw-dropping with so little effort.
“No.” I reach out to poke his abs. All real. I fall back onto the end of his bed. “I meant to say that aloud.”
He rubs his face in his palms and mumbles something that sounds similar to “Loves to embarrass me”.
He’s quicker getting changed for the rest of his outfit.
“My turn,” I say.
“Huh?”
I answer this way: I peel off my stilettos, shimmy off my jeans and look up. “To torture you.”
“Fuck off,” Nate says, spinning around and throwing some item of clothing over his roomie’s head. “Study the fucking book that way.” Nate points to the wall the desk is facing, though the guy can’t see anyway, blinded.
Nate stands there frozen, staring at me, at the length of my legs, up to my thighs, up to the apex of my inner thighs. I turn and bend to get my high-waisted mini from my change bag. I know his roomie is probably too embarrassed to look, and anxious about the chance of getting caught. Nate would absolutely pound him if he peeked. So, I continue to torture Nate, and Nate alone.
I’m aware my ass is up in the air for him to see as I bend down, knees locked together. Even with my head down here, I know my legs look impossibly long and I feel powerful knowing he’s ogling between them. Standing, I shimmy my hips to get the skirt up and zip it up. I grip onto one of Nate’s shoulders for support as I wiggle back into my stilettos.
The whole time his body hasn’t moved a bit. I only realise after I’m in my heels.
“Wha …” I start to say but drift off.
That look. In Nate’s eyes.
It’s like you’ve seen a chocolate cake after a week on the lemon detox diet. I mean, I’m hungry for him too, but it hasn’t been ages since that day on the piano, and we’ve spoken since then, too. That look is Nate full of more lust than I’ve ever seen before.
And then it gets all blurry. He hikes me up and I wrap my legs around his thighs. My mini does not fare well in this and bunches up around my waist. His hands paw at my bare ass while his mouth unleashes an assault of sexual torture, kissing, licking and breathing all down my neck. As I arch back, his hands are occupied kneading my ass.
He slides me down from his waist to his hips where I can understand how much he wants me.
Feeling greedy, I hook my wrist around the back of his neck and make kneading motions with my hips, rising above his hardness, gyrating against his hard belly. I feel his want rise up and nestle back between my ass cheeks. I still need more.
Every time I’ve had sex put together wouldn’t make me as wet as I am now. No guy has ever melted every thought in my mind until all I know is Nate-Nate-Nate.
And I still need more—his touch at the small of my back, his fingers skimming my face, tracing every part of my curves from my neck to my thighs.
His lips cover my mouth, but he doesn’t kiss me, just hovers there until his hands squeeze my ass with so much passion, pain has never felt so erotic. “Ka
aaall,” he groans, and then he finds my mouth again and hungrily takes more of lips to lips.
Over his shoulder, his roomie has dropped the T-shirt from over his head, but he’s too stiff around the shoulders and neck to actually be doing any work. It makes my thighs clench, knowing he knows what we’re doing. I should feel sorry for him, but hearing us have dry sex, humping each other, must be getting him off, too.
I move my hands to Nate’s waist and feel his back muscles working, and all I can imagine from here is the view from behind with me curled around. Just to make sure this isn’t some fantasy dream, I dig my nails into his shoulder blades and trail them down with just enough pressure to feel his skin bend under me.
“Holy shit.” It’s Nate’s turn now. He thrusts into me and for that instant, I swear we’ll be bonded as one. No two people have been this close before with clothes on.
This is the Nate I want to unleash. He’s always too careful, too shy, and until recently, I had no idea he wanted this from me. I didn’t even know I wanted this from him. I better have my head screwed on, because I’m sure no other guy will live up to the intense erotic friction between Nate and I right now.
Grabbing me tighter, he shuffles to the bed where in seconds, he’s hovering over me, horizontal on his bed. He stares wistfully into my eyes.
“I …” He looks between our bodies, where his corded muscles tense from holding his weight over me. There’s a clear passage between us, but I know more than air will disappear if we cross this now. We aren’t drunk, I wasn’t seducing him at a photo shoot. Third time’s the charm, and it’s the third time we’re acting so … horny, or is it romantic? Because every time I show him that I need him to fuck me, he makes it feel like we’re connecting on a deeper level. The difference is massive.
Nate lowers himself closer to me, so I catch my breath mid gulp. A whisper from my ear, he says, “I really don’t want to mess this up.”
Us, our years of friendship. Our trust. Everything.
“I really hate the way you think too much, Nate.”
His eyes flutter at his name escaping my lips. He looks down and I swear to God, I’ve never seen what must be a painful erection, pressed so hard against jeans. “Oh, man.”
Being Kalli Page 7
