Tears tumble now, suddenly, uncontrollably. I nod, can’t speak.
“Oh my love,” says Carol. Then after a while, she rubs my hand and says, “So dinner. Do you eat meat?”
I smile. “Yes.”
“Oh, good,” Carol says, hands squeezing the tissue at her lap. “Marv can do his lamb. One bloody thing he is good at.”
Carol cuddles me when she leaves, and I wait, watching her walk away, block heels clopping on the tarmac, the tissue pressed under her eye. She stops at the corner, takes out her phone, and smiles as she speaks into it. I imagine it’s to tell Marv that I’ll speak to him. Or to tell Cadie that she’s seen me. Cadie. My sister. I have a sister. I have a family.
A few nights later, Rosie sits at the kitchen table at Fishers Way, looking down into the silver-and-white gift box on the tablecloth.
“I only ever got one mix CD when I was fourteen. And that was from a boy who used to eat his own face.”
I look blankly at Rosie, from the stove, stirring chicken around a wok.
“You know, his own dry skin.”
“Lovely,” I say. “Really looking forward to this pad Thai now.”
“Sorry,” she laughs. “Fox said to me yesterday that there isn’t a tone I won’t lower, and I think he meant it as a compliment.”
“And even if he didn’t, I think you need to take it as one.”
“Oh, I already have.” Rosie smiles. Then she takes out one of the CDs and turns it over in her hand. “God, look at this one. ‘Because I should’ve asked you to dance.’ That’s what he’s put here.”
“I know.”
“Romantic teenager or what?” she says, putting it back down. “So, eight of them.”
The pan sizzles as I stir, and I nod over at Rosie. “There should’ve been nine,” I tell her. “I was owed another, but—”
“He forgot?” Rosie puts the lid back on the gift box. “I hate when things like that suddenly fizzle, because while you’re doing them, you’re so bloody sure and determined that they never will, you know? You can’t picture it stopping.”
“You’re right,” I say. “And really, I think things just changed after that night. They were just one of many things that stopped. And now, as an adult, I can see it as a nasty comment from some clueless girl.”
“But at the time…”
“At the time it was catastrophic, really. It had taken me such a long time to accept I was a victim. And her saying what she did… I spiraled. I felt like I could never escape it. And that I couldn’t even trust Eliot. And nothing really mattered anymore. Not college. Not anything. Especially not the CDs.”
Rosie nods gently and picks up her glass of wine.
“Well, I think this is good,” she says, gesturing toward the gift box of CDs on the table. “It’s closure, in a way. On that part of your life.”
“I think so,” I say. “That’s how it feels.”
It’s been almost a fortnight since Lucas kissed me on that balcony. Almost a fortnight since we said nothing to each other on the way home. We haven’t spoken either. I got a text message from him that night, saying he was so sorry, that I was his best friend and his life would not have been the one it’s been without me. But I didn’t reply. Plainly because I didn’t know how I felt. I wanted to. So much, but I just didn’t know where to begin. I haven’t spoken to Eliot either, except for the one text, which I sent on the ferry back.
That was it. And it’s been hard, rattling about in Louise’s huge house without them both on the end of a phone, without Eliot popping by. But I’ve needed it, I think. To be away from them. It’s helped me get here. It’s helped me realize what I need to do.
“You are incredible, do you know that?” Rosie says. “Like, you are fucking incredible. And I know you think everything is a mess, Em, but it isn’t. You are out the other side of something, and not only are you standing, but you’re standing strong.”
“Do you think?”
“Fuck yeah, you are,” says Rosie, putting her hand on mine.
You’ve had a lot to deal with, not just then, but recently. And look. You’re strong, you’re caring, and… I can’t even begin, Emmie.” She passes me my wine and dips her head, as if to say, “Go on. Down it.” “Listen, you were in love with a man who is getting married, and where I would be turning up on his doorstep in nothing but a trench coat and high heels, you’re fuckin’ suit shopping with him, spending time with his fiancée, not to mention you’ve just found out that he lied to you and yet, you’ve written this incredible speech, and this gift…” She looks down at the box on the table. “You’re brave. You’re selfless and brave and moral and God, there are so many people out there that need that shit in their lives. Including me.” Then she looks up at me, tears in her brown eyes. “I am gassed to have a friend like you.”
And I laugh. “Me too, Rosie.”
“And Eliot,” Rosie carries on, cocking her head. “I know how he’d feel about that trench coat and heels.”
“I don’t know,” I laugh, and Rosie smiles and says, “I do. Gassed.”
I serve up dinner for Rosie and me and move the box to the kitchen counter. Lucas’s wedding present. Every mix CD he sent me. His first email. The tag from my balloon: my mini confession. Our history, in objects, in a box I’ll give away, to him, on his wedding day. The day he starts a new life as someone’s husband. Lucas Moreau. My Balloon Boy. A grown man now. And soon to be, Marie’s husband.
“So,” chomps Rosie. “I’ve got news.”
I put down my fork. “Go on.”
“The other night, Fox and I went out to a pub after work. And… well we sort of… well, I shagged him,” she says triumphantly.
I am glad I have just swallowed or I would have definitely choked. “What?”
“Yup. Twice. Two nights ago. Can you believe it?”
I stare at her. My mouth falls open, and then I burst into laughter. “Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent.”
“I’m going to need details, Rosie. So much more than just that.”
Then she grins, straight white teeth and lips the color of rubies, holds her glass up, and says, “Oh you can have them all. And they’re hot. Believe Auntie Rosie.” She giggles, and I am smiling so much my cheeks ache. “But first! Let’s toast. Here’s to you, Ms. Emmie Blue, the brave. And here is to me, Dame Rosie Kalwar, for I, just two days ago, had the best sex of my life—”
“Of your life?”
“Of my life, I swear!”
“With Fox?” I ask, still gawping
“With Fox,” says Rosie, clinking my glass. “Fastidious Fox.”
We clink glasses and drink.
* * *
Mix CD. Vol. 8.
Dear Balloon Girl,
Track 1. Because I worry this makes me a coward
Track 2. Because for now, these CDs will have to do
Track 3. Because sometimes I just want to send a letter