by Sam Hall
“I think that’s the point of Nan’s spell, to find someone who can get past your defences, open you up,” Tess said as we pulled into the driveway at our parents’ house.
“Great,” I said with a shaky smile, “she couldn’t just hold an intervention or something while she was alive?”
“I may be wrong,” she said.
“Hey, girls,” Dad said, coming down to the car, “ready for some lunch?”
“So, how’s the store going?” Mum asked, pretty much the minute our butts hit the outdoor chairs. We were sitting on the deck at the back of the house, looking over a park that ran along the back of our street.
“Uh . . .,” Tess said.
“It’s fine,” I said. Mum’s keen hazel eyes flicked from me to Tess and back again. The woman never missed a thing.
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Dad said, patting the back of my hand.
“Your grandmother was starting to struggle towards the end, sales were starting to slow. Who knew the ‘magical supplies’ market could go into recession, just like any other market?” Mum said. Mum was a financial advisor and had nearly had kittens when we were willed the shop. “Perhaps you’d be better off selling the stock and renting out the shopfront. No point in losing the property, it’s in a very much an up and coming neighbourhood.”
“Well, now that you mention it, we have rented out half of the shop,” I said. Mum looked elated, but Dad jerked up straight in his seat.
“Well done, girls!” Mum said with a wide smile. “I hope you’re charging a good rate. Have you got contracts signed? Did you want me to look them over first? I don’t want the two of you getting robbed blind by someone unscrupulous.”
“Rented? How did you manage to rent part of the shop?” Dad asked, his eyes going wide, his mouth a thin line.
“We rented the library section . . .,” Tess said.
“See, Bill, I’ve always told you that was just dead space. It’s a commercial property, not a library!” Mum said to Dad.
“To a tattooist,” Tess finished.
Ah fuck, if I thought we were in trouble before, now we had the twin gazes of the dreaded parent coalition. Dad was a carpenter by trade, but an artist at heart and he didn’t quite hold with the economic rationalist perspective of Mum, so we had enjoyed a certain amount of divide and conquer growing up. But when they joined forces, it kinda went all Voltron, Defender of the Universe. They were greater than the sum of their parts.
“You’ve rented your shop to tattooists? What, are you hoping to get cross flow traffic from meth heads and bikies?” Mum snapped.
“You’re getting rid of the library? Mum spent hours building that collection up. Those bookcases were carved by your great-grandfather!” Dad said.
Tess looked at me and I shook my head. “Mum, about three-quarters of the population has tattoos now, so don’t go all Reefer Madness on me. The guy has a huge profile that’s just building. He’s in all of the mags, there’s talks of them running a reality TV show out of the shop for National Geographic. Tattooing is a glamorous business nowadays and I thought they were a great fit for the shop. Dad, the bookcases are gone. I sold them when we rented out the place because the guy moving in was keen to get in there and I couldn’t afford to get someone to move them. And where would you have put them, anyway?” Mum had the house decorated in what she called a Hampton’s style; lots of pastels and weird curios like clamshell vases and glass floats bound with rope. Big, heavy, dark-wood furniture would have looked terrible, something confirmed by Mum’s nervous expression. “Look, we were given the shop by Nan and we’re doing the best we can with it. You guys haven’t stepped foot in it–”
“You know your father is finding it hard. It reminds him too much of your Nan.”
“I get that, but unless you guys are going to get involved in the day to day running. . . .” Oh no, Mum perked up at that, eyes beginning to shine. “Making decisions about which smudge sticks to buy, how many, from which supplier, read through all the industry mags to find out what the new trends are, label the stock when it comes in, do new product displays. . .” I kept going until her shoulders began to sink and the gleam left her gaze. “You know this, guys, a business is a lot of work and we can’t run it by committee.”
Silence reigned. I looked at Tess who was staring back at me, eyes wide with fear. We loved our parents, but they were strong personalities that liked to take over. If they took up the facetious offer to interfere. . . .
“You’re right,” Dad said, there was hurt in his smile, but at least he was smiling. “I couldn’t have run my business with my dad hanging over my shoulder and neither can you. We have to trust them, Cecile. We’ve done our damnedest to raise them right, we have to trust that they’ve got this.”
She nodded a bit hesitantly, but then smiled, “I’m proud of you girls.”
I felt the tension leach out of my body as they changed the topic, going back to the usual update on what various family members were up to. Weirdly, as my heart rate dropped back down to normal, I also felt . . . trepidation? I was used to lying to my Mum to get her off my back, to redirect that laser-sharp focus of hers away from my vulnerabilities, but right then, my vulnerabilities were bigger than I could cope with. If Dad was freaking out about a couple of bookcases, what would he think if the whole business was going under? I looked over at Tess. This was her dream, to run Nan’s shop, to do magic, to be Nan, basically. How would she feel if it all went to shit? I rubbed at my head, feeling the familiar pulse of a headache beginning.
During high school and adulthood, I’d been able to apply myself to whatever goal I set myself reasonably easily. I finished high school with way better grades than I deserved, especially considering I was doing my assignments in the lunchtime they were due. Having a good memory meant I was able to pull my results up due to good exam grades. I’d gone to uni and did an Arts degree because I couldn’t think of anything else to do and Mum had insisted on a degree. I had a pretty good working knowledge of Modernist literature and film criticism, but strangely, this didn’t apply itself well to job opportunities. I’d been coasting, through all the nondescript, white-collar jobs a girl could have without specific qualifications. I wasn’t having too much fun with it, but I had my own place, my own car. Now I–we–had our own business.
“Mum, we are struggling a bit with the sales side of the business,” I said, the words out before I could really think about it. Everybody went quiet again. Great, I was a regular conversation killer. They all just stared, at me, at each other until finally, Mum pulled out her phone and a stylus.
“Love to help, darling,” she said. “Monday and Tuesday are out for me, but I have an hour or two around ten on Wednesday?”
“Ah, yeah, that should be fine.”
“Excellent, we’ll go to lunch afterwards. My treat.”
“Awesome.”
Conversation picked up, but Tess was still flicking me wary glances as if she wasn’t sure what to make of this. She didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to, I’d find an excuse for her if she needed it; I always did. Tess, being the quieter one, didn’t always have the wherewithal to resist the perfumed steamroller of our mother, so often I acted as a decoy, drawing her attention away, so Tess could get on with whatever she wanted to do. I usually had that many skeletons in my closet, there was usually one for a strategic reveal.
“So, how about you, Tess? How’s that boyfriend of yours going?” Mum asked.
“Ken?” I asked with a snort. Ken had been history a long time ago, but we’d kept Mum in the dark, especially about the time Tess found him jerking off while wearing her Sailor Moon cosplay costume.
“Ah, we split up,” Tess said.
“Really? He seemed very nice and his mother. . . . She had impeccable taste. Remember the Chihuly she had in her dining room, Bill?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“He wasn’t ready to settle down, so . . .,” Tess said. This was a total lie. Kenny-boy knew he was onto a g
ood thing, with a hot, geek, cosplaying girlfriend with all the costumes he could possibly get it on with when she wasn’t around. Mum’s mouth thinned down to a straight line, commitment-phobic guys were her trigger.
“Well, if he thought he could do any better than my Therese, he was not worth your time. Would you like me to put some feelers out? This new woman at work has a simply adorable son, a stockbroker no less! She’s always saying he needs to settle down.”
I took a sip of my Coke to smother my snicker. A type-A personality with my mild-mannered sister? “No, it’s OK. I think I’ve met someone through work.” What? I nearly choked on my drink, turning to look at Tess, which Mum caught.
“Oh? Who is this mystery man?”
“Hello, everyone,” We all turned around to see Pa had arrived at the back door with perfect timing. He stepped out onto the deck. “I found this gentleman at the front of the house. Says he was looking for you, Ash.” I sucked in my breath, hoping, praying it wasn’t who I thought it was. I watched my mother’s eyes widen as Gabe followed my grandfather onto the deck.
There he stood, in neat, grey dress pants and a white long-sleeve business shirt, though the sleeves were partially rolled up over his forearms to reveal a couple of his tattoos. He looked neat as a pin except for his hair. He'd pulled it back into a loose ponytail, but it refused to lie neatly. And in his arm, he held a huge bouquet of pink and red roses.
“Gabriel Browning,” Gabe said, holding out a big, scrupulously clean, hand to my mother. "These are for you," he passed her what appeared to be a small bunch of pink roses that was laying on top of the bigger red bunch.
Tess had better wash my car and get me coffee all week, I thought as everyone’s eyes were back on me. Seriously, hadn’t we had enough of ‘Ash in the spotlight’ for today? We hadn’t even started eating yet. Mum recovered quickly. “Lovely to meet you, Gabriel. This is my husband, Bill. It was so sweet to bring flowers! I love roses and these smell divine. I'll just put them in some water."
"Pleased to meet you, sir," Gabe said, taking Dad's hand.
"So, you're here for Ash? She didn't mention anyone was coming," Dad said.
"Well, I–" I started.
"I'm sorry when she invited me, I didn't think I could make it," he said smoothly, taking the seat next to me that Tess had vacated. "These are for you, love," he said, passing the massive bunch of roses to me. Instantly, I was surrounded in a cloud of rose perfume. I forced myself to smile gratefully as his arm was laid along the back of my chair, tangling his fingers in my hair. "I had a business meeting, but it wrapped up earlier than I thought, so I headed over."
"Business meeting?" Mum reappeared with two of Dad's imported beers, passing one to Pa and one to Gabe. Dad looked at his own almost empty bottle pointedly, but right now, he was off her radar. Her potential husband sonar had been activated. “What kind of business are you in, Gabriel?”
"I build custom motorcycles." So, that's what he did! If I could just find out where he lived and what his family was like, I might actually start getting to know the guy.
"Like those fellas on Orange County Choppers?" Pa asked. Gabe nodded. "Hell, I'd like to see your work. You gotta bike here?"
"No," Gabe's eyes darted over to Mum, "I took a hire car. Mothers sometimes get nervous at the thought of their daughters and bikes and I didn't want to create a bad impression."
"Any pictures?" Dad asked. Gabe nodded and pulled out his phone, bringing up a slick website full of pictures of gleaming bikes. Dad whistled as he flicked through the photo gallery. "Those are some damn fine-looking machines there. You a spray painter?"
“By trade, yeah, but I taught myself all parts of the business. Right now, the boys and I could build you a fully customised bike in less than a week.”
"And how much would that set a customer back?" Mum asked.
"Starting around $40,000," he said, "for something simple. Easily $60,000 or more for some of the more complex ones."
"$60,000 for a motorcycle? Are there many people with that kind of budget?" Mum said.
"Plenty of cashed-up idiots from the mining boom, Cecile," Dad said.
“Yeah, that, and we do a lot of jobs for models and actors, though older, middle-class guys are often the largest part of our clientele,” Gabe replied.
“Looking for a bit of our lost youth," Dad said with a chuckle. "I'd commission you myself, except my wife would change the locks."
"Used to have an old Indian back in the 60s," Pa said. "Loved that bike, until I totalled it trying to impress your Nan."
"Beautiful machines, sir. I'd love to see any photos you have. My own granddad had one himself. I've still got it at the garage, fully restored."
"Call me Eric," Pa said. "So, where is this garage of yours? I'd love to take a look."
"Out in Rosemead. You could come and take it for a spin if you like."
"Bill!" Mum said in alarm. “Talk some sense into your father.”
"Any chance I could take it out as well?" Dad asked with a smirk.
I slipped down in my chair slightly as the conversation devolved into tales of thrills and spills on the back of a motorbike and Mum's attempts to get a complete picture of Gabe's financial status. Tess kept looking meaningfully at me, obviously wanting me to slip off to the loo, so she could have a quick debrief. I ignored her, drinking my drink and burying my fingers into the bunch of roses until the thorns dug into my palm.
“How’re you going, love?” Gabe bent down, dropping a slow kiss on the side of my temple, then my ear, his voice a ticklish rumble in my ear.
“I am going to beat you, slowly, for this," I whispered under my breath.
“Hmm, didn't figure you for a kinky chick, but sure, I'm willing to try something new."
"Seriously, how did you work out where I was? Why did you come here?"
"Google, and I wanted to declare my intentions. Figured this would be as good a way as any." I looked at him, wide-eyed. Intentions? What the hell were his intentions! I looked at Mum and Dad in alarm, they'd been trying to settle me down with someone for ages. They were just desperate enough to think a biker with a business was a good catch and go about setting the date. "So, how do you feel about that?
"Trapped, hysterical, ready to create a complete scene and run from my parents’ house, screaming."
He chuckled at that, "It's as bad as all that?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but he took the opportunity to give me kiss as I did so. It wasn’t quite tongues down throats, due to being at my parent's table, but his lips were firm and slow, capturing mine and sucking on it. The conversation around the table dropped away to nothing as I became overwhelmed by his musky scent mixed with crisp citrus cologne, the rasp of his breath, the silky sensation of his lips against mine. He released my lip with a pop, grinning as I sat there panting. Gods, every dumb move I'd ever seen a woman in a romantic movie make now made sense. They were drugged, drunk on insanely intense sex. My nipples burned, the texture of the lace on my bra enough to make me want to whimper. I fought the urge to shift, to try and furiously resolve or abort the throb between my legs. I was at my parents’ house! I didn't make out with guys at my parent's table. As if sensing my discomfort, the arm moved from around my shoulders to rest on my thigh, under the roses. I nodded along to the conversation, barely taking it in, just aware of the slow strokes along my leg, each one placed a little higher, a little closer to my groin.
"Ashley?" I snapped to attention, seeing Mum and Tess standing up and looking expectantly at me. "Coming to help bring out the salads?"
“Yeah, sure."
Mum’s kitchen was flawless, big wide open windows with custom frames Dad had created to let natural light stream in, illuminating the butcher’s block bench tops and whitewashed cabinets. "Here, I'll put the flowers in a vase for you, until you go home." Mum busied herself with prettying the arrangement. She couldn't help herself, she had to have everything just so. We both went straight to the fridge and started pulling out the
salads, putting them on the bench until we had it all. Get in, get out, I hoped, prayed.
"So, Gabriel, he seems lovely, a perfect fit for you, Ashley."
"He's a great guy. He got us all coffees–" Tess started, but Mum held up her hand to stop her.
"When did you meet?"
"Not that long ago. He came into the shop and we hit it off. We've been seeing each other for a bit, so I figured I'd bring him by."
"Really? Usually, it takes a carefully orchestrated 'surprise visit' to actually meet your boyfriends."
"Maybe I'm maturing."
"I wondered at that. The tattoos and hair are hardly business casual friendly, but the world is changing rapidly and niche businesses can be very lucrative. The website was expertly done and I've noted his ABN. I'll do a credit check on him when I get to work, see if there's any hidden issues."
"Mother!"
“What? You're my daughter and this is the most promising specimen that you've brought into this house. Obviously, I'd prefer someone like Jillian's son, the stockbroker, but that was hardly likely. No, he seems strong and healthy enough, a successful businessman, polite and," her eyes twinkled, "very into you. This is not someone who will marry some floozy, twelve months after you broke up with him.”
"Carla is not a floozy. Jimmy and I had been growing apart for some time."
“This one you won’t grow apart from," Mum said, tapping her lip, then smiling broadly. "He doesn't strike me as the type that would let you."
"Let me? Let me? Has the past fifty years of feminism passed you by completely? If I want apart from him, he'll have to give it to me or be the recipient of a restraining order."
"Oh, bollocks," she said. Our jaws dropped to the ground. I could count the number of times Mum had used profanity on one hand. "You want to lecture me on feminism? I went to marches, did my fair share of Women's Studies at university. I don't mean coerce you, Ashley, I would never want that for my daughters. No, I meant he would be unlikely to let that prickly exterior of yours–"
