“It’s not all bad, Dad.” Nothing gets Dad down like this. Unless he’s hiding something. But what could it be? I glance sideways at Dad, half the size he was ten years ago. His eyes are glassy. The last time he cried was when Mum left us. Knowing his limitations, I won’t push him today. I want to go home and spend some quality time with him.
Just the two of us.
On Thursday, a few of Reef’s other teammates come in to get coffee to go. I recognised them by their polo tops with a blackbird emblem. I’ll mention to Oliver that word must be getting out about his coffee because more customers are coming for our organic beans. “We’re a city of coffee snubs,” Oliver had said when he’d decided to source a local organic supplier who roasted the beans on-site.
The guys stand by my counter, waiting for their takeaway coffee. I froth the milk and overhear their conversation when a girl with pillowy lips walks in and sits at a table with her friends.
“You tapped that?” the tall guy with dark hair pulled tight in a man bun snickers.
“Not just once.” The guy next to him waggles thick eyebrows.
Gross.
“Any good?” man bun asks, unabashed.
“Best BJ. Check out her lips.”
Without looking, I knew the girl had Botox lips. Noticed myself when she walked in. “So what,” I want to say but keep quiet.
I glance up to the girl and want to warn her not to fall for the trap of thinking these guys lusting over her will heal her hurt by making her feel wanted.
Desired.
Loved.
Used.
I should know.
My thoughts flash to the year in school when my mother left. I lost my virginity hoping the experience would take away other pain. Here I am doing the same thing with Reef.
“Shit.” I remove the milk after overheating it, and splashes burn my hand. Can I serve it to these fuckers? The ones who think girls are not good enough beyond one night?
“Hey,” Oliver says and walks out to chat with the guys. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Shit.
I pour the milk into the sink, and his eyes round. “I burnt it,” I confess. “I’ll steam some more.”
Oliver nods and smiles appreciating the fact I care.
I care about my job. Not these guys. And not their arrogant attitudes.
After the door closes behind their cocky but sexy asses, I walk over to the giggling girls and place two pieces of biscotti on the table, focusing on the girl with lips I envy. “This one’s on the house. Enjoy.”
Chapter Seven
MACY
“I could watch that movie over and over,” Dad says, shuffling to the edge of the recliner. He reaches for his crutch. “You make the tea love while I head to the loo.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve watched it so often I know it word for word. I admit the best part is the ending and listening to your favourite song.”
He chuckles as he hobbles past singing, “Up Where We Belong.”
“You need to embrace horror,” I shout out to him. “Like A Nightmare on Elm Street series. Too much lovie-bullshit is not good. It’s all false belief. Love like this isn’t real, you know.” I shut up since I’m talking to myself. I’m the one who needs reminding since I’ve been thinking of reasons why I should pop in to work on my day off. A Friday when Reef will be there having brunch with his friends.
After making a pot of tea, I suggest ways for Dad to improve his health. Besides modifying his diet, I propose ways for him to be more mobile. “The local physio has introduced reformer Pilates, and there are special rehab classes for people with injuries similar to yours.”
“I’ve done rehab.” He dunks a biscuit in his tea.
“What about swimming? There are pools with special rehab sessions.”
He dunks another biscuit in his tea and snaps it in his mouth.
“You used to like to swim,” I remind him. “It helped with your back pain after a long stint on the road.”
He nods as though contemplating the idea.
“I’m going to pop out for five, okay? I’ll grab some information pamphlets while I’m out.”
“Don’t hurry back then,” he says playfully.
I chuckle before closing the door, the car keys in my hand. I drive directly to our aquatic centre and walk up to the front desk at the pool, grab the information I need, then drive myself to work as though on autopilot. I park out back in the staff carpark and walk the length of the block to enter through the front door and not via the staff-only back entrance.
Through the window, Reef’s back catches my eye. He’s wearing a black T-shirt stretched tight against his broad shoulders. His blond hair is a vast difference against the dark.
The door jingles and Ava pivots to greet me. “Macy,” she says and grins.
Out the corner of my eye, I see his head turn.
“Just picking up something from the kitchen,” I say even though I don’t need to explain myself.
With every step, I feel the burn of his eyes on my skin. Skin because I’m wearing a backless halter top with my maxi skirt. And no bra, as there is a pathetic piece of in-built elastic and material designed to support women who wear this top, as long as they’re three cup sizes smaller than me. I stop before the door and turn, giving Reef the full-front experience without eye contact. “Is Oliver out back?” I ask Ava with the innocence of an eight-year-old.
“Yep. Having a lunch break.” She smiles and keeps tapping on her iPad, taking orders from a group of young mothers with babes in their arms.
I turn and head through the door, pulling my scarf around my neck, so it sits over my chest. No one else needs to see the show.
“Dom,” I purr. “Any chance I can take some of your low-fat panna cotta home for my dad?”
“Si.” He smiles at me and points his Crocodile Dundee knife toward the large fridges. “Plenty in there. You tell Oliver.”
“I’ll pay Oliver.” I head into Oliver’s office to ensure he knows I’m not stealing.
After taking a container for Dad, I head out the back to my car, wishing I could have gone through the front and see if there was a note for me.
Turning out onto the street, I see Reef and his friends piling into two black cars parked beside each other. One an Audi sedan, the other a BMW SUV. I glance their way a second too long, and it only takes the extra second for our eyes to lock.
“Stupid.” I thump the steering wheel as I accelerate to get further away. He probably thinks I’m stalking him.
“Don’t play games,” my father used to say. Dad didn’t need to clarify he meant emotional behaviour like teasing. He didn’t raise me to be like my mother.
What’s wrong with me? I head home to reveal the pool’s fees and classes on offer to Dad and work out a plan to pay for the extra classes because it’s time I focused more on him and less on me.
My behaviour only causes trouble. Or worse, old memories to surface. Staying home to care for Dad makes us both happy.
“Are you going out?” Dad asks after dinner.
“Nope.”
“It’s Friday night. When I was your age, Friday nights rocked. Saturdays were never as exciting.” He raises his can of beer and salutes me.