by Dee Florence
“Babe? What’s going on? Why are you packing at 6am? What about the bath?”
She looks up again and throws my sneaker at me. I duck.
Okay... She’s fucking pissed.
“Seriously, what’s upset you?” I try to step towards her.
“Are you serious?” she whisper hisses. “Are. You. Actually. Serious?”
Oh, fuck. I’ve missed something. It’s bad.
“What have I missed, gorgeous?”
“What have you missed? Oh. I don’t know.” She straightens from packing her case and stalks towards me and pokes a finger in my chest. “Maybe it’s the fact that this whole, fucking, five weeks has been for a bet? That this...”
She flicks her fingers wildly between us, “This has all been a goddamn ruse?”
“No babe. It wasn’t. I promise. Matt is a cock head. He’s got it all wrong let me explain!”
“True or False? Did you two bet that I would come here this weekend? True or false, Blake?”
I can’t lie to her. “True. But—”
“How could you? You promised me that I wouldn’t get hurt.” She’s sobbing now and I just want to hold her. She won’t let me though. “You promised!”
“Babe. It’s not what you think. I forgot about the stupid bet the second I saw you again. Don’t let him ruin this. Ruin us. Come on?” I’m begging, but she’s not hearing it.
She walks back over to her case with the last of her things, places them inside and zips it up. She pulls it off the bed, grabs her smaller bags and pushes past me, barely looking at me.
“Don’t follow me, Blake. I knew this was too good to be true.” She shakes her head and carries her stuff out to the porch.
I follow her to the porch.
“Please, Cate! Don’t do this.”
“This was done, anyway. We just ended it a few hours early.” She’s looking over my shoulder so she doesn’t have to look me in the eye. “Blake, give me space. I can’t look at you right now.”
This is not happening. No. It can’t be.
She walks away and I don’t follow. I know she needs space.
How the fuck can everything fall apart so quickly?
I pretended like past-me couldn’t touch this. Like I’d be free of the shit he pulled.
Fuck.
I take a quick shower, pack my bags and go looking for her. Her stuff is still here so there’s a chance I can convince her to ride home with me. We can talk it out and I can make it better. Explain it all.
But she emerges from the back garden on the phone. She’s walking swiftly. Everyone else is still sleeping or passed out from last night. It’s just the two of us.
Or so I thought.
Coming around the corner I see Lottie’s car idling in the drive and both Lottie and Cate loading the bags into her back seat.
I yell out, “Cate!” I plead with her, but she barely looks at me and climbs forlornly into the car.
Lottie, on the other hand, looks like she would like to do me bodily harm. Instead, she shakes her head, climbs in the car and drives them both away.
I just stand there like a chump, whilst the woman I love—fuck me, I do love her—gets away.
I storm back into the house. Stomping and slamming doors like the ungracious guest that I am. It’s 7am now and I’m getting my things and getting the fuck out of here.
Matt walks out of his bedroom, holding his head. It’s only been 90 minutes since his drunk bullshit blew up my life.
“What’s with the fucking noise, man?”
“She left me because of you. She never wants to see me again because you’re a selfish, drunk fuck-stick who ruins everything that’s not 90 percent about him.”
“What the fuck did I do?” He looks genuinely confused.
“You seriously don’t remember? No memory at all that less than 2 hours ago you shouted the whole house down about how she was just a bet. That she meant nothing to me?”
He scratches his head. He’s got nothing but a bad hangover.
“Grow the fuck up, Matt.” I shout. “Or don’t. I don’t care anymore. Just don’t talk to me again until you have. I can’t be a fuckup anymore. It got old and I’m done.”
“You never would have met her without me.” He says, indignantly.
“Yeah. Well, look where that got us.”
I storm out to my car. I toss all my shit in one of the tray containers. I can’t drive this angry and I won’t be a road toll statistic.
That’s not how all this ends.
I make myself look at my phone and take deep breaths. I stare at the sunset beach photo of Cate and I. I made it my home screen background the night that I took it. That day was bliss and now I just feel hollow.
I can try to blame Matt for this. But it’s all on me.
I let the best thing that’s ever happened to me slip away and I don’t know how to get her back.
THIRTY-EIGHT
CATE
When I pictured how this would end, this wasn’t it.
It wasn’t me crying for six hours straight whilst Lottie rubbed my back and offered me all my favourite foods. I ate none of them.
I stopped crying long enough to convince her that she could go home and get ready for the week. Then I cried again in the shower.
This is why you didn’t want this, Cate. Remember?
When I climb into bed I have to climb right out again and change my sheets. They smell like him. All pine scented, and manly, and Blake. I’m a fucking mess and I’m angry at myself for being one.
This wasn’t meant to hurt.
Blake has tried to call, but I didn’t answer. He texted too. He explained the whole bet thing. Said he wanted to explain in person, or on the phone and he knew I needed space.
But he wanted me to know the truth. Not the stupid drunk friend version.
That he was cocky with his mate in the beginning. That we grew into something more. That he forgot about the stupid bet and just wanted to be around me. That he didn’t want to walk away.
I believe him. I didn’t want to. It would be easier if it were true. But Matt was drunk and aggrieved about losing his friend’s attention and Blake has no reason to lie.
It doesn’t change the fact that our time is up.
I tell him that I can forgive him for this, in time. That our time together meant something. But, we both knew there was an end date and that I think it’s best if we stick to it.
His reply near cuts me in two, again.
The Man: That’s not what I want for us, sweet cheeks. But I respect that you need space. I’ll wait for you. Let me know if you change your mind. x
Cate: Don’t wait for me, Blake. That’s not fair on either of us. Especially not you. You’re boyfriend material. Just not mine. x
I can see the bubble that tells me that he’s typing and deleting something. I wait.
I fall asleep with my phone in my hand, waiting. No reply ever comes.
When I wake up, my eyes are puffy and I’m extra thankful that I booked today off as an annual leave day. I thought it would be to recover from a party weekend, but I’m grateful for it none-the-less.
I’m determined not to mope and wallow today. It won’t do me any good. So I force myself to shower and scrounge around my cupboards and find ready-made waffles that fit in the toaster for breakfast.
I head to my craft table and decide to shoot Gemma an email about the possibility of using their space for more kids craft classes. By miracle she replies almost instantly, saying yes and asks for digital marketing materials so they can advertise it on their own channels.
With social media being my day job, I spring into action. First, I need a name. Then some social media handles, a website, and then set myself up as an official business.
That’s how Little Crafting Adventures is born. I lose myself in designing a logo and a digital flyer for the sessions that will be held on the three Sundays leading to Christmas.
I find the list of parents emails from the trial,
that wanted to sign up to be notified of any upcoming classes and add them to my new subscriber list.
I create an email to send to them and add a prominent ‘forward to a friend’ button on the bottom.
It’s the perfect distraction. It all keeps me busy until well after lunch time and I even share my new links on my personal social media to see if they can help get me started.
Lottie shares with her 600 friends and the numbers start to grow.
I send the proofs over to Gemma to double check, after she offered to help me get this off the ground, and she requests a printable file too.
She’s going to add some to their reception area and ask Ella if she might be able to add one to the school newsletter for a fee.
I don’t tell her that Blake and I aren’t together anymore, but thank her profusely for her help. With Lottie having set up the booking site for me already, it’s easy to link to it again.
I’m offering eight spots per session, over the three weeks, for Christmas and summer themed crafts. I don’t think I could handle more than eight of them in a session on my own.
Gemma emails me in the afternoon asking me to call her urgently. My stomach drops.
Maybe she’s heard about me and Blake and she’s pulling the studio space?
Ugh. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?
I put on my best grown-up, confident voice and press the call button.
“Hey, Gemma. You said to call urgently?”
“Hey Cate!” She sounds positive and friendly, “Thanks for calling me back so soon. I wasn’t sure what your work schedule was like. I don’t want you to freak out.”
“I have today off. What don’t I need to freak out about?”
“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve checked your booking app yet…”
“I haven’t since I loaded it, is it broken? Oh! I’m so embarrassed!”
“No, no. Nothing like that! It’s just that you booked out in 5 minutes and we’re getting feedback on our social media that people are keen. Like, offering to pay double to others to give up their spot.”
“I’m sorry. What? Double?”
“It seems you impressed so much at the trial that your classes are a hot ticket item. People are disappointed their kiddos are missing out.”
“Oh no. I don’t want to upset people this early. I didn’t think of this.”
“I had an idea. Let me run it past you and you can let me know what you think at the end. It’s not a perfect solution, but I think it could work.”
“Okay.” I say nervously, “Let’s hear it.”
“I was thinking that you could run two sessions on the Sunday. One at the original 12pm until 1:30pm, and then another from 3pm until 4:30pm. Then you get 90 minutes for lunch and second set up and you can take twice as many bookings in a day. What do you think?”
“It sounds kind of full-on, but doable. Let’s see if there’s interest for the second sessions. I’ll log in now and create the booking options.”
“Excellent! I also think you should consider offering sessions in the summer school holidays. I know you work full time, but we don’t offer many classes in the summer because adults tend to be booked up when the holidays are on.
“We’d love to see the space being used. You’d get first pick of days and times.”
I create the extra session times whilst Gemma talks.
“The bookings are live. That sounds good. Tomorrow I’ll send an email to my list and my new socials and gauge some interest. I can take leave in January, so that would work.”
“Sounds amazing! I think we’re going to work well together, Cate! I have a great feeling about this. Let me go update our socials and let the people know. I’ll email later in the week with any interest we get.”
“Thanks so much, Gemma! I really appreciate your support.”
I end the call and check my email folder where all the booking receipts go. All 48 slots have sold. I haven’t even been able to let anyone know.
Holy moly, Cate! This thing could work!
There’s also a ton of emails asking for summer holiday classes. So I log into my work leave app and book 3 weeks off for January.
I can always cancel the leave if I don’t get the bookings, but something tells me after the interest today, that I probably won’t need to do that.
I reach for my phone to text Blake my news and realise that I can’t do that anymore. I text Lottie instead. She’s super enthusiastic, but it doesn’t quite leave me feeling the same.
I plan for a bit longer and then eat the ice cream and snacks that Lottie brought over yesterday. She shows up at my door at 7pm and we have one of our girls’ nights I’ve missed so much.
As I climb into bed, hours later, I feel 1000 times better than yesterday.
I still miss him terribly. I think I will for a long time yet.
But there are reasons to get out of bed now. ‘Bright spots on the horizon,’ as Lottie would say.
Little Crafting Adventures might just be the big life change I’ve been searching for. I subconsciously rub my wrist tattoo.
Maybe it’s finally my time to fly?
THIRTY-NINE
BLAKE
I’m a miserable bastard.
I have been since Cate got in that car and left my sorry arse three weeks ago. Even the summer sunshine hasn’t helped to lift my mood. I know it’s all my fault that she’s gone, but I seem to enjoy rubbing salt in my own wound.
Every night I go to text her after I climb in to bed. I want to ask her about her day. I want to tell her about mine. I sleep like shit without her here beside me. I wake an hour before my, already early, morning alarm so I can run 10k before work.
It’s a punishment rather than a release.
I take all the solo jobs at work. Mostly so I can be as far from Matt as possible. He tried to approach me that first week back at work, but I just walked away. I meant what I said about him growing up.
He’s not interested, so neither am I. I miss my friend, but we can’t go back to the way things were. Too much has changed.
I’ve changed too much.
I spend my evenings working on a scholarship submission for my course. A local landscape architecture firm are offering to pay for one lucky student to complete their final six months of the course—full time—with that person working as a paid undergraduate when not in class.
They are also offering a graduate position, upon completion of the degree.
If I were successful, this could mean that I would be finished by July and would have a firm where I can cut my teeth. This is the first year that they have offered this opportunity and I’m determined to be at the top of their list.
It has meant undertaking a large assignment—on top of all my other course work and my regular full time work—but submission day is tomorrow and it’s kept my mind busy and focused. I’m ready.
On Sundays I’ve taken to running 20k. Today is no different. I take the tram to Pirie St, run north out of the city and turn west onto the River Torrens Trail.
When I reach the ocean, I make a left turn and run back to the tram at Glenelg. It’s hot and punishing in the merciless December sun. But I get home so tired that I think a little bit less about how my sister is spending the day with Cate and that I’m not.
Ella told me how Cate’s craft classes sold out within minutes. She didn’t realise that Cate and I were over when she was telling the story. She thought she was passing on congratulations through me. Then came the yelling.
Ella was furious with me. I can’t really blame her. It plays over and over in my head when I give it half a chance.
“Blakey, how could you let all that goodness go? She was just what you needed. How. Could. You?”
I’m a fuckup. That’s how.
I told Ella the whole sorry story and she took pity on me and did her best to patch me up. I’m too broken for that, but she tried. Then she informed me that this wasn’t the end. For her, at least.
Gemma offered her wo
rk to be Cate’s assistant because of the large number of kids she’s teaching. So my sister spends her Sundays with the woman I hurt and then she calls me at night to tell me how it went.
It’s torture, but I also want to know.
I’ve been lying on the couch for hours. I had a protein filled lunch and a shower and have done nothing else since my run. I hate to be this maudlin fucker that can’t get over a fling, but she filled the gaps in my life so well that I forgot what living was like without her.
I don’t want to remember.
My phone rings and Ella’s name flashes up on the screen. I brighten for the first time today.
“Hey, Ella-Bella. How’s your Sunday been?”
“Blakey! I’m too old for that name.”
“And I’m too old for Blakey. But that doesn’t seem to stop you.”
“Fair call. I really should ask about your Sunday first. Did you get up to much?”
“Ran a stupidly long distance and napped on the couch.” She groans in my ear. Running is not Ella’s thing. “Let’s get back to the main event. How was today?”
“You mean how was she, today? Because that’s what you’re really asking, isn’t it?”
I just grunt in reply.
“She’s good. The classes went well and she’s booked out for 3 days a week in the summer holidays too. It’s so popular. She was telling me that she had to cancel her paid advertising because people were upset that there weren’t enough places.”
“Good.” I’m brisk in my reply.
I can’t sound excited for her or let the pride I feel come through. I’m so fucking proud of her though. I knew she had the talent to make this work.
“She’s flat though.” Ella continues. “She clearly misses you, terribly. She didn’t say, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes anymore, Blake. I think you should talk to her.”
“It’s not a good idea, E-B. I told her I’d wait for her. That she just needed to contact me when she was ready. She hasn’t. I need to respect that.”
