“Hmm … I think I’ll have the chilli basil. I feel like something spicy.” There is no way in hell I’m letting anyone else at this table order curry. I squint my eyes, and send what I hope is Don’t eat the red curry vibes out.
Yep. Pregnant and crazy.
Michael’s phone starts to ring, and he grabs it from the table as if it’s his secret lover calling, and he doesn’t want us to see. He frowns and stands up, taking a few steps toward the front of the restaurant. “’Scuse me.”
“Well, there goes his chance,” I mutter darkly, purely for show. I know Kate is giving me hit-on-him eyes, and this is the best I can do. Then I start thinking of how true it all is, how I am about to get fat and pregnant, while he’s on the road, women throwing themselves at him like lambs to the slaughter.
The thought hits me like a freight train. What if he isn’t a virgin anymore? What if my last brush-off was enough to push him over the edge, sending him straight into the arms of some waiting wannabe groupies?
Images flash in my mind. Lips pressed up against Michael’s. A pink polished-hand running through his thick hair. My chest tightens, and I reach up to place my hand over my heart. It hurts; I’m in physical pain at the thought of him with another girl.
I lower my hand and place it over my stomach. Over my pint-sized bump. I’m doing it for you.
“Date not going well?” Lachlan says in a hushed voice. “He seems nice enough.”
“He is,” Kate says, giving me the death eyes. I pick up my glass of wine and take the world’s tiniest sip. It’s like drinking glitter. How is it only five weeks since I’ve been off the drinks? Anyone would think I have a problem.
“Sorry, guys.” Michael strides back over and slides into the table next to me again. Where I wish to keep him. “That was just Dave.”
Silence.
Michael cracks his knuckles.
I look over to Kate, and her face has gone the sort of white that ghosts would envy.
“You know what we should do?” Why are there words coming out of my mouth? “Take a photo. Kate, Lachlan, squeeze together.”
It’s a lame enough ploy, but at least it brings some colour back to my best friend’s face.
“Let’s not.” Kate shakes her head, and deliberately leans farther away from Lachlan and closer to me.
“Why? It’ll be cute.” I pout, already planning about six good hash tags to go with it. #WayHotterThanDave springs to mind.
Kate bites her lip. “I just don’t think it’s really appropriate, I—”
“Well, look who it is.”
The voice cuts through the air, loud, harsh, and cruel. I spin in my seat.
“Dave. Hi.” Michael’s face looks as if someone has smashed a pie into it.
Dave slouches, one arm resting up against the dark leather of our booth, the other wrapped around one of the hottest chicks I’ve ever seen. Of course, I immediately recognise her.
Lee Collins’s ex-girlfriend.
Cripes, Michael is gonna pay for this.
“Who are your friends, baby?” the bimbo asks in some sort of European accent, twirling a lock of her honeyed hair around a finger. It’s like I’m watching some kind of bad SBS movie. I freeze, unable to stop the horrid things happening around me.
“You know Michael, right?” Dave pulls the girl even closer, so their bodies meld together. “And these are just some girls I went to school with; Stacey and Kate.”
As he says the word girls Dave flashes his green eyes over at Kate. Rage seethes inside me, boils in my veins and the frozen spell snaps.
“This is Lachlan, Kate’s—friend.” I make no bones about what I mean by that, raising my eyebrows at him.
“Oh, hey man.” Dave jerks his head in Lachlan’s direction.
“Well, this is a weird coincidence, but I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow?” Michael studies his cutlery, which is probably a good plan, since he’ll need it for self-defence when I attack him with my chopsticks later. Why the hell did he tell that douchebag where we were?
“What? You gotta be kidding me! Four old friends running into each other on a night like this? We should share a table.” Dave opens his arms wide.
“You remember you two are in a band together, right?” Kate snaps.
“Yeah. You’re going to see him tomorrow,” I say, mentally high-fiving my best friend.
“True.” Michael shrugs, his eyes still on the table. Yep, that’s gonna be it. Death by cutlery.
“All the more reason to join you now.” Dave unleashes his girlfriend from his grip and sits down next to Lachlan, leaving Euro Whore hovering awkwardly next to the table. Dave nods to the seat next to Michael. “Sit.”
“Does she respond well to other commands, too?” I purse my lips.
“Yeah. She’s particularly good at one special command that I know some people wouldn’t ever do. Am I right, man?” Dave looks at Lachlan, his mouth a wide grin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lachlan meets Dave’s gaze, holding it without waver.
“You know …” Dave gives him a not-so-subtle wink.
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, maybe you guys aren’t at that stage in your relationship yet.” Dave laughs and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Don’t hold your breath waiting, man.”
Kate turns red, then white, then this strange in-between blotchy colour. I reach my hand under the table to squeeze her leg, but she moves away. No doubt the memories of the night when she tried to give herself to him are still way too fresh.
My mind is a blur, trying to think up a witty comeback when—
“Huh.” Lachlan shrugs, and takes a long swig of the beer Michael had placed in front of him earlier. “Guess you mustn’t have been all that good at foreplay, then.”
“From what I hear, he certainly wasn’t,” I chime in. This Lachlan guy—he’s growing on me. “A bit of a non-event, you know?”
“You are talking about the bedroom, no?” Dave’s accessory opens her mouth for the second time.
“Yes, dear.” Michael sounds as if he is speaking to a child.
“Oh.” She nods thoughtfully. “He very good and—how you say—fast?”
“She means, like, fast at it, not quick,” Dave says, but it’s too late. We laugh, we laugh so hard that people at nearby tables start to give us worried looks as the implication of his lack of longevity in the sack sinks in.
Kate’s face has returned to a somewhat normal colour, and I notice she’s shifted slightly closer to Lachlan. Not a lot, maybe not even ten centimetres, but enough.
And sometimes, that’s all you need.
“Fast and hard, and lasting all night. You know it, baby.” Dave stands up and walks to the opposite side of the booth where he bends over and kisses his Swedish miss. And by kissing, I mean opening her mouth, shooting in his tongue, and trying to reach her vagina the long way.
I catch a few girls at another table snapping some not-so-subtle pics. Not long till you’re on a blog somewhere, Dave. I smirk. I wonder how Lee Collins, the lead singer of the band Dave is supposed to be touring with—and, oh yeah, this chick’s ex-boyfriend—will feel about that.
“Chill, man.” Michael shoots Dave a look, but I wave him off.
“Let him do what he wants. Who cares?” I shrug. Honestly, if they want to force their gross public display of affection on everyone in the restaurant, that’s their business.
“We certainly don’t, do we, babe?” Kate places her hand on Lachlan’s shoulder, and it’s almost comical to see how fast Dave stops playing dentist.
“Not at all.” Lachlan grins and rests his forehead against hers.
That’s when I know.
There, in that moment. That’s what I want. I want that connection, that intimate look you share with someone where the shittiest things can be happening around you, but then they cease to exist.
I’m so glad Kate’s found that.
And I feel a blow, heavy and low in my gut, knowing
that it’ll probably never happen to me.
Fingertips brush my leg, and I know Michael has seen it too. We trade a furtive glance. He squeezes my knee.
My stomach flutters, and this time it’s not from the need to be sick. This time, I think it’s … holy shit, have I got butterflies?
“I don’t know how you do it.” Dave stands up and swaggers his way over to Lachlan and Kate, sitting so close to the guy he practically bashes their foreheads together. “You know; put up with all that shit.”
“What are we all going to order?” Kate lifts her menu, not making eye contact.
“I mean, you must have a really easy-going family.” Dave tosses his head back and laughs, like it’s the funniest joke in the world.
He’s not …
He wouldn’t …
“I mean, how would your family react if your girlfriend’s dad was going crazy?”
He did.
The words are far too loud. Not only does our table fall silent, but several around it do, too.
“He’s not crazy,” Kate whispers. Her eyes, they’re saucers. Her cheeks … they’re clouds.
“You should have seen him at our graduation. Rocking up drunk, embarrassing the school. And you know what they say: like father, like daughter …” Dave leans over and takes a swig of Lachlan’s beer, slamming it back down on the table so hard that the foam rises to the top. “Thanks, man.”
Someone at the next table drops their fork. People at the end of the restaurant clink their glasses in a cheers.
“A hereditary disease? You’re one helluva guy for sticking around for that.” Dave rests back in the chair.
Sometimes in life, time seems to slow down. The white foam from the beer still sprays in the air, tiny droplets abseiling down the sides of the bottle and sliding to the table below. Michael’s menu gracefully falls from his hand and swan dives its way to the floor. Kate’s heart is casually sliced in half by a dancer with a rusty sword.
“Excuse me, guys, I’m just ducking to the ladies room.” Time snaps back as Kate stands up and pushes past Lachlan and Dave, forcing her way outta there.
I put my hands on the table to push myself up, but Lachlan reaches across, wrapping his arm around my wrist.
“Stay,” he commands.
I have to admit, if I were Kate right now, I think I’d prefer to be comforted by those—my gaze roams—yep, strong, tanned arms than my own.
“Let me know she’s okay, yeah?” I ask, grabbing Lachlan’s phone from his hand and pressing in my number.
“Course.” He takes his mobile back and all but runs out the door, leaving Dave, Euro Whore, Michael, and me.
Well, this is … nice.
A waitress walks past with another of those damn curries. Vomit lurches up my throat.
“What the hell is your problem?”
I blink. It’s not me talking, for once.
It’s Michael.
“I mean, you break the girl’s heart, she’s going through a tough time, then you come here and ruin her night—ruin our night, just so you can feel superior about yourself?” His words aren’t loud, but they’re laced with an anger so seething it is almost tangible.
I’m surprised.
I’m impressed.
“And seriously, dating Lee’s ex? That’s a good career move for us?” Fire flashes in his eyes, and mirrors itself in my body. I’m … I’m turned on by this? What the hell?
“Her name is Inga,” Dave spits. I burst out laughing. “What?” he snipes. I almost choke on my tongue.
“I’m just … I’m beginning to think seriously about their offer, man.” This time, Michael’s voice is quiet. My ears prick up.
“Offer?” I slide my hand across the leather seat, searching for his leg under the table. It’s those damn butterflies. They’ve taken over my wrists.
I find his leg. I squeeze it.
I shiver. God, he has some muscles …
“Lee’s bass guitarist is leaving, and he mentioned it to Michael,” Dave scoffs. “And Micky boy is acting like he’s asked him to join as a replacement.”
The vomit is back, lurking in the back of my mouth.
“And … did he?” I ask slowly.
“Yes,” Michael says.
Michael says yes.
The waitress walks past with another bowl of milky curry.
My lunch decides it’s had enough.
“’Scuse me.” I stand, throwing my legs over Michael’s and bolting outta there as fast as I can to the public toilet Kate and I were in earlier. I stumble into the nearest cubicle and drop to my knees, my bones smarting as they hit the floor, and then I proceed to vomit my guts up. The acidic taste burns my throat, lingers in my mouth, and as it happens, I wonder why the hell people stick with this pregnancy lark and why someone hasn’t invented a cure for this sickness part yet.
I stare at the pieces of my stomach in the toilet bowl, not daring to move lest it induce further retribution. I think I’m fine. I think I’m—
“Shit!” I shriek, and more comes flooding out of my mouth.
I am so not fine.
“Stacey?”
I slowly raise my head from the floor. I’m on my hands and knees, my hair a mess around my face. Michael probably didn’t hear that … did he?
“Stace, are you okay? I thought I heard …” I can all but see Michael shuffling his shoes.
I remain silent. There’s no way he can know it’s me in here. Yep, I’ll just stay quiet and he’ll leave and then I can go home.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
I shuffle my hands to spin around and shut the cubicle door, but it’s too late.
“Stacey.” He drops to his knees, cupping my face in his hands, as if I’m some princess and he’s in a romance novel. Those freaking butterflies are back with a vengeance. I need to buy some pest control. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” I squeak. “Yeah, I’m fine, just feeling a little …” Pregnant? “… sick.”
“Here.” Before I can protest, Michael’s hands are under my arms and he stands, lifting my body up with him like I’m a ragdoll. His caring eyes bore into mine, light flecks of gold visible in the harsh fluorescent light of the toilet.
“Let’s get you some water.” Michael half carries/half walks me over to the sink and turns the faucet on full ball. The water hurries out like a train, and he splashes his hand under the stream then catches some droplets for me, raising his hand to my lips. “Drink.”
We’re close, so close, my arm on fire from his touch, his eyes burning with this strange glow. The water in his hand has slowly escaped through the cracks in his fingers.
With shaky hands, I pull his wrist closer to my face and slowly, ever so slowly, run his pinky finger horizontally through the gap between my lips, flicking out my tongue to lap at it.
His eyes glaze over, and I feel as if I am on fire, as if there’s a burning in my body that needs answering. I take my other hand and wrap it around his neck, pulling him closer, staring at his lips, and …
I just vomited.
Oh, ew. Ew, ew, ew.
What must he think of me?
“Stacey,” Michael says my name, and something inside me breaks. I can’t kiss him. I taste like vomit.
I can’t kiss him. He could soon be a member of one of a Grammy-award winning band. He’s a virgin. I’m pregnant. He’s everything I’m not.
He’s … Michael.
Tears prickle my eyelids, and I kick myself mentally for letting my thoughts go there. Like it matters. It’s just Michael. Michael, who always has been and always will be my friend.
I hate how dirty the word sounds.
Except now Michael is wiping his big, calloused thumbs under my eyelids, carefully pressing away the tears I didn’t realise had eventuated.
My hormones are out of control! Stupid pregnancy.
“You okay?” He gives this gentle smile, and God, as if my heart doesn’t break.
“Mmhmm.” I nod and smile.
“Virus?” he asks.
“Mmm.” Yes, the kind of virus you get when sperm implants itself in your egg. “I’m just really tired. I think I’m going to go home.”
I take one step forward then another, Michael by my side the whole time, his hands hovering, ready to catch me if I fall.
Ready to catch me if I fall. I hate to like the sound of that.
We reach my car and I open the door and slide behind the wheel. On the plus side, at least I hadn’t had to fake any more of that booze drinking, meaning I can now drive home suspicion free.
“Are you okay to drive?” Michael asks. The moon plays havoc with his cheekbones. It carves them into lust.
“Fine.” I nod. “Just tired.”
“Ha! You’re acting like my mum did when she was pregnant with my sister,” Michael scoffs. “She’d throw up, cry, be tired …”
Sometimes in life, the world gets so quiet you can hear a pin drop.
Now is one of those times.
I open my mouth to speak, but it takes too long for the thoughts to travel from my brain to my lips. Michael’s eyes balloon up, as if someone is inflating them with the world’s slowest air pump. I drop my car keys, and they flitter to the base of my car.
“You’re freaking pregnant?” Time speeds up again for the second time tonight. Now the hurt, anger, and sadness are flashing across his face all at once.
“Yes.” My voice is a mouse.
“What the fuck? To who?” Michael runs his hands through his hair, paces back and forth the length of my car. “Why?”
“Well, when a penis and a vagina—”
“Shut the fuck up, Stacey.” Michael pounces. He’s all up in my face and I gasp for breath. His words are harsh, but his eyes … they’re glassy. Too glassy.
I’m not Stacey In Control anymore. Now I’m Destruction Barbie.
Michael’s breath heats my face. “Why did you do this to me?”
A car whooshes by on one of the lower car park levels. A group of guys laugh somewhere on the street. Still, this space stretches out between us.
Seven seconds. One for each shot of tequila.
“Michael, I’m sorry, I—”
“Just, save it, okay?” He steps back. My words are whips. “I have to … I have to go.”
Eleven Weeks Page 13
