One
Wheat Blonde
CHELSEY
I know what’s wrong with me but I just don’t want to admit it. Not to myself and certainly not to Sal. He will shit his pants. I plan to remain firmly in denial, that way I can just pretend everything is fine and get on with my life.
My phone is ringing somewhere in the next room. I can hear it but for now can’t move with my head poised over the toilet bowl, while everything I ate since my third birthday regurgitates.
It stops ringing and then starts again. Whoever is looking for me is obviously adamant to talk to me. I’m still retching my heart out, so they can fuck off. I’ll call them back when my body ceases this revolt.
When I feel somewhat human again, I get off the bathroom floor and brush my teeth three times to eliminate the rancid taste. My knees are weak and it takes effort to hold up the toothpaste. I have that hung-over feeling, the kind where you are so tired you are crippled.
Dragging myself to the small kitchen of my shitty apartment, I make a warm cup of tea and a slice of dry toast in an effort to calm the storm in my belly.
Balancing the plate on top of my mug, I search for the phone that was ringing while I tried not to die. The glitter-pink case glimmers at me when I spot it on top of the book pile next to the bed. My sister’s shit is all over the room we share, making it almost impossible to find anything.
I grab it and go sit on the window bench where the sun glows inside, making it warm and cozy. Today is day two of me being off from work and I know that tomorrow I’m going to have to suck it up and go in, no matter how sick I feel. I can’t afford the time off.
There is a good reason I am dating a man old enough to have fathered me, and it’s not just the sex. It has financial benefits. Sal likes to spoil me. It’s selfish of me, but after looking after everyone else for what feels like forever it’s nice to have someone who looks after me.
There are two missed calls from Ailee and a text from Sal. I slide my finger across the screen to open them. I call Ailee first; she’s obviously worried about me. I miss her and we have so much to catch up on. Her life turned into a soap opera overnight and I want to know more, but we’ve not had a chance to catch up and talk properly.
“Are you alive?” She answers on the first ring.
“Barely,” I say. My throat is sore from throwing up. “I’ll be back tomorrow, no matter what.”
“Okay, just checking in. You can take an extra day if you need it.”
I can’t, and I can’t tell her why either. “No, I will be there in the morning. Could you ask Alistair to make all my bookings for after lunch and I’ll just come in a bit later?”
“Sure, that’s fine. Did you go see a doctor? You sound awful.”
I didn’t. “Yeah, it was something I ate. I will be fine.” I lie. “It’s not catching or anything, so I’ll be fine to come in. I promise.”
“Look after yourself, Chels. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She’s not buying what I’m selling. I can hear it in her voice.
“I will. Don’t you have stuff to do? A salon to run or something, anything better than checking up on me?”
“Bye, Chelsey.” I can hear her eyes rolling as she hangs up.
I turn sideways so I can look out of the window. My view of industrial rooftops and pigeons roosting isn’t much, but over the years it’s become my comfort.
I open the texts from Sal.
Are you okay? Want me to fetch you later, the wife isn’t here you can sleep over if you want to?
Bunny? Are you hiding form me? what’s going on? Can I come fetch you? ANSWER ME!
I’m fine. That would be nice, but I won’t sleep over.
Why not?
Because that’s just weird.
You’ve slept over at the hotel. What’s the difference?
That’s not your home, where she lives. Where your kids live. NO.
Fine, I’ll get us a room. I want you to stay tonight. I miss you.
I miss you too. What time?
Six?
See you later, Love <3
<3
Putting the phone down I rest my head on the wall behind me and close my eyes for a while. I will have to get showered and shaved at some point before six, but all I want to do is sleep. Eating the toast and drinking the tea slowly, my stomach seems to settle enough to allow it to stay down.
The hangover which never ends still pounds in my head, and a tiredness that is like no other makes me wish I could curl into a ball again and sleep forever, but the laundry needs to be done and I have to make food for my sisters.
Shaine will have homework and finals to study for when she gets in after work, and my mother hasn’t been home since Friday. Kylie will go to a friend’s after school and catch a bus home for dinner, knowing she won’t then be here all alone.
The small apartment is as bad as it looks from the street. It’s all we can afford and it’s a home for now, with electricity and water, which is more than we have had in the past.
Dragging my ass, I tidy up, wash the girls’ clothes and get them dried, folded, and squeezed into the small spaces we have to store our stuff. I have been their mother for as long as I can remember – our mother is a useless waste of oxygen.
We all have different fathers, but we are sisters. That binds us together. I would do anything, or more recently anyone for them.
Just a few more weeks and Shaine will graduate. Gran said she can take Kylie after that and then the two of us can have a break from being mom. My youngest sister will start the next school year across the country, in a shiny new life.
I found our mother’s family and explained the situation to them. While they want nothing to do with mom, they will help us give Kylie a fighting chance at life.
She’s bitter, twisted, and angry with us about it, but I know I’m doing the right thing. We can’t carry on like this. Shaine will start studying a trade as soon as she has graduated, so she can get a job. We can’t both work with an eleven year old depending on us.
My mind races constantly. It’s always ten decisions ahead because I have to take care of everything around here. It’s exhausting.
While washing the dishes, the thought of spending the night with Sal suddenly sounds like heaven. I can just pretend all this doesn’t exist for a while. I can pull an Ailee and live in denial for the night.
My friend has the amazing ability of pretending that things don’t exist. Like the bomb she just dropped about husbands and crime families; there’s no way I could stay cool about that for five fucking years.
Their house kind of unsettled me. We were always almost even. Yes, my apartment is a shit-pile, but hers wasn’t much better, but now I’m not sure. I feel like she betrayed me, like everything was a big fat lie; yet she’s still her. And I have so much going on that I can’t be a good friend, not right now, and that makes her being nice to me even worse.
I take a short shower and shave everywhere, so that I am ready to put on my best underwear and squeeze into something sexy. Not that I feel sexy. I’m still a little green around the gills, but at least I haven’t thrown up for a few hours.
With the music blaring I dress in a short blue affair I borrowed from Starla and never returned – it looks better on me anyway. I pack an overnight bag, just in case I change my mind and stay. I have to work tomorrow and it won’t look good if I arrive looking like I’ve been out all night when I’m ‘off sick’.