“What’s wrong, petal?” Mum calls from the laundry room.
“Nothing. I’m cursing at the television.”
“Okay.”
Not able to take the boredom a second longer, I leap from the couch and begin ripping through my bedroom wardrobe like a whirlwind with a mission—a mission to locate my sneakers. “When was the last time I wore them?”
Shifting boxes from inside the wardrobe into the middle of the room, I finally locate them in a shoe box, which is right at the back of the cupboard. Of course it’s in the farthest corner. My shoes still look brand new. I’m shocked at their lack of scuff marks upon opening the box. I bought the shoes a week before my life became a bigger mess than it already was. At the time, I’d been determined to get fit, and an entire wardrobe full of gym gear was charged to my credit card. A debt I’m still paying off.
Squeezing my body into a pair of yoga pants and a tight singlet takes way too much effort. Enough to think a walk now is not necessary.
“Screw it!” I huff, stomping through the door. Fresh air will do me good, hopefully.
It’s as hot as hell outside, and this was one hundred percent a stupid idea. My feet, however, continue to stride along the never-ending footpath as I break into a full sweat. Something about each foot landing and then breaking contact with the earth brings clarity. The sound of cars cruising by helps to settle my nerves.
Sydney will be fun. I tell myself between long puffs. Life goes on, right?
The streets look the same as I make my return journey.
At least I didn’t get attacked by a dog or killer. Yay me. I applaud, entering the gate, exhausted and smelly. But then I see Mum waiting by the door which is flung wide open.
“Where have you been?” She’s pissed.
“Went for a walk?” I push past her and head for the kitchen.
My irritated mother is hot on my heels. “In the middle of the day?”
“Apparently.”
“Did you take any water with you?”
“Nope.”
“Abigail!”
“What? I’m a big girl, Mummy.” I gulp from a cold bottle of water.
As I turn to face her, she exaggerates an eye roll. “Go shower. Lunch is almost ready.”
“What did you make?”
“Egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.” As soon as she says it, thoughts of Marcus pop back into my head. Leyton’s and my attempted disappearing act play like a television show. “Next time tell me you’re going out,” She continues.
I shake my head as I walk away and distance falls between us. “Whatever, Mum.”
***
The afternoon flies by, thankfully. Before long, Mum’s driving me to Maroochydore for my flight out. A week away from the coast will probably do me good. Mum definitely needs a break from me, and I could use some space as well.
I’m so mean to her. I hope to come home with a side of manners, and this chip removed from my shoulder.
“Did you get everything?” Mum asks.
“Well, hopefully. It’s a bit late now if I didn’t.”
“True.” She smirks. “So what do you know about this solicitor you’ll be working for?”
“Absolutely nothing. I’ll meet him for the first time on the plane. Apparently, he was in meetings all afternoon Thursday, so I didn’t have an opportunity then. Asher says he’s nice, crazy hot, a little smug at times, but he’ll treat me well. So that’s something. Maybe he’ll be like a father figure. That would be refreshing.”
“You miss your dad, don’t you?”
“Every day.” I sigh.
“Me too. Me too.” Sadness flashes across her face.
The silence resumes. It’s a welcome quiet because I’m guessing this week will be crazy.
“Have a good time. Answer my calls and don’t drink alcohol. No alcohol,” Mum warns as we pull up outside the departure doors.
“Almost twenty-five—big girl—capable of taking care of myself,” I reply slowly and clearly upon exiting the car.
“Well, prove it.”
“Mum, it’ll be fine. Stop.”
She smiles sweetly. “Love you, Abigail.”
“Heart you, too, Mum.”
There’s a quick wave goodbye before I’m standing alone just outside the airport.
Entering, I head straight for a little coffee shop and purchase a bottle of juice. Today’s newspaper gets my attention with the headline, “Bad luck for Jessy-Mae.” I grab a copy, needing to know how unlucky this Jessy-Mae is and if we are secretly soul sisters. My mobile vibrates in my jeans pocket just as I take a seat in the check-in area.
“Hey, babe. You ready for your big week?” Sammy asks excitedly.
“I’m only going to Sydney, for starters. It’s not like I’m backpacking through Europe. Do you people realise this is for work?”
She doesn’t reply.
“No, Ginger, I’m not excited.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll learn heaps, meet new people, and eat great food. Just enjoy it, will you?” Her encouragement is so annoying.
“I love how you look at things, which are not great, and try and make them pleasurable.”
“You’ll see. It’ll be fun, so stop being sarcastic.”
“Sure, if blistered feet, extra-sore legs, dehydration, and being bossed around nonstop is your definition of fun.”
“You’re a negative Nancy, aren’t you?”
“I prefer realistic Rachael.”
She laughs. “Okay, Dorothy, don’t forget to call, and I’ll be picking you up when you land next Sunday at seven p.m. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Yep, hopefully we’ll get home earlier, though. I’ve been informed I have Monday and Tuesday off next week. If you can swing it, we could spend some time together?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Have a safe flight. I must go.”
“Righto.”
“Dorothy?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“Ditto.”
With that, the line goes dead. I resume reading the latest news in the paper lying across my lap. I can’t remember the last time I read a newspaper. This will either be Depressionville or eye-opening.
Enthralled in a story about a woman who saved a toddler at a local swimming pool, I get a sense someone is watching me. Allowing the pages to slip below my sight, I gasp. You’ve got to be kidding me. “What are you doing here?”
Marcus’s reaction tells me he knows I’m not pleased. I think I’ve made that pretty obvious. “Catching a plane,” he replies snidely, sitting in the seat across from mine.
“Where?” My voice is full of accusation.
“Sydney, and you?”
“Sydney.”
His Hollywood smile beams at me, yet I’m too upset to let it distract me from my planned interrogation. “I thought you were sick?”
He shrugs.
“Well, you don’t look sick now.” He actually looks amazing. Dark jeans, navy polo shirt, messy hair. Fuckable!
“I’m fine.” He folds out the pages of a newspaper he had placed on his lap, lifting it high enough that I can no longer see his face. Was he here the entire time?