“I could,” I respond cautiously. Which sounds suspiciously likeI can’t.
We bob in silence for a while, watching the sets that are getting smaller with every passing minute roll by. Neither of us bothers attempting to catch any of them. Josh says nothing. Giving me the space to work out how I feel.
“Yeah. I went into it for a bit of a laugh, but it feels like it could turn into, I don’t know, something. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, to start something up and have it go nowhere,” I finish lamely. “Except I find her irresistible. What do I do?”
“I’m not the person to ask, man. I came so close to messing things up with Greer, I can’t even tell you.” He looks pained.
“But you got there in the end.”
“Yeah, we did. What I can say is, it might feel safest to play your cards close to your chest right now, but that strategy will eventually bite you on the arse. Nothing surer.”
“I hear ya. But I don’t want to scare her off either. I suspect she can’t tell what she wants from what she thinks sheshouldwant. It feels like one wrong move and the whole thing could come crashing down.”
Josh huffs out a laugh, and we fall silent again, listening to the soothing sound of the tumbling surf and the screaming seagulls.
“Women,” we say at the same time.
Chapter Thirteen
Lilavati
I’m being bombarded with voicemails.
Lili, it’s your mother. I hope Ant had a nice time on Sunday night. He seems like a very nice boy.
Ugh. There it is. A nice boy. He’s not a boy. And he’s not nice. Well, at least not the kind of nice my family would recognise. And although I’m happy to go along with the façade she’s putting up, I’m not buying it.
Lili, it’s Mum again. I forgot to say Warren thought he was very intelligent. He’s quite handsome. And very tall.
Warren thinking anyone other than him is intelligent is implausible. Much less him saying so. Clearly, there’s an agenda. Jokes on them, though.
Lili, I was just wondering where in Tasmania his parents moved to. Warren and I were planning a trip to the wineries in April. Perhaps we could meet them?
Hard no to that.
I’ve been talking to Grandie. She’d like to meet Ant before we leave for Hawaii. Do you think you can arrange that?
The last one has my blood running cold. No good can come of Grandie and Ant meeting before the wedding week. It would go one of two ways. She’d smell a rat and realise what we’re up to, or he’d say it’s not worth the trouble and pull out of the arrangement. Either way, I’d be left exposed to the groom’s brother and a week of plotting, harassing and general badgering. Not to mention guilting over why I faked it in the first place.
Lucky for me, it’s a crazy day at work, and by the time I get home, it’s way too late to call her. Phone calls after eight thirty at night create a flurry of consternation in the Gordon household. If they prove to be anything other than an emergency—which are defined as death or hospitalisation—Warren gives the caller, aka me, one of his talks about lack of consideration.
It’s odd that nobody who knew my mother before she married Warren ever describes her as being nervy or anxious. She was the woman who took herself off on a tour of Europe with two friends—one of whom stayed in Italy and married a chef—worked in London, then came home pregnant and kept the baby. Not the actions of a meek, mild woman whose environment needs to be ‘managed’.
When I get home on Tuesday night, I shoot off a quick email explaining I was in surgery until late and I’ll call her when I can. Hopefully, that will at least slow down the rate of voicemails.
Then I run myself a bath, adding a heaped dose of the geranium and lavender bath salts that never fail to relax me and ease the ache in my legs after a nearly twelve-hour shift spent mostly on my feet.
I light a candle, climb into the swirling water with a glass of wine, and think about what’s happened in the past few days.
I can’t believe I melted down all over Ant like that today. He barely knows me, yet he handled it with such compassion and kindness and, ultimately, humour. Which was exactly what I needed. I should be disturbed that he’s slipping under defencesit’s taken me a long time to construct. I should strengthen the perimeter, but I can’t deny it feels pretty good to have someone actually hear me. See me.
Then there’s my parents.
There’s no way they’re happy about me being with Ant. So it looks like they’re going to try and kill the relationship with kindness. Which won’t work, since it’s not a real relationship. And after the wedding, it will be over. But it does make for less overt tension, which I’m grateful for.
Although it also highlights a gaping plot hole. As soon as webreak up, Mum and Grandie will be back to their matchmaking.
How long can I string this out? It’s not like I see either of them on a weekly basis. I could probably let them go on thinking we’re still dating for a few months at least.
