‘You can always ask, you know,’ I say.
‘I shouldn’t have to ask.’
‘That is an insane approach to life. People can’t read your mind.’
‘Thank you for calling me insane, Nora. It makes me feel thrilled with my choice to continue to house, clothe and feed you well into adulthood.’
I bite back the urge to remind Mum I did not ask to be born, because I played that card too many times as a child, and I let Olivia help her. I join Maeve with her animals, which she is busy lining back up now that her own mum has moved away. I dare not join in, so instead cycle through the animal noises, making her laugh by pretending the lion says moo. By the time Mum and Olivia are ready to leave, the lion must have mooed one hundred and fifty times. Luke is staying behind with Dad to help him with the lawn. The grass that was mowed three whole days ago.
‘It’s more of a girls’ day anyway, I believe,’ Mum announces, not allowing their choice to have any impact. It has become her choice now.
At the Masons’, the split does lean more heavily towards women, but there are plenty of dads, brothers and sons there too. I am tempted to point this out, but make the rare choice to keep this observation to myself. Some might call that growth. I make a note in ‘my weird brain’ to tell Dr Montague, hoping I will become her favourite patient, if I am not already, which is a healthy goal for a person to have with their psychologist, I think.
Not entirely sure what I should be doing, I decide to take a turn around the garden, because what fun is all this inter-personal drama if I can’t at least pretend I reside in a Jane Austen book every once in a while? It is one of those gardens that is not allowed to behave like a garden. Every edge meticulously trimmed, every plant pruned back to what it must have looked like when it was first planted, to avoid it creeping too close to another, with an aggressive amount of tan bark chips smothering any undergrowth and marking the separation in definitive terms. I would not be surprised if the flora was all secretly hoping for an apocalypse so as to reclaim the spaces in between. They are being kept under an oppressive regime and I feel sad for them, never allowed to grow how they wish. These are the things I think about to avoid the other stuff.
‘Hey, Rah.’
And of course, there he is. With the amount of forced proximity, this very much could be an Austen novel. I am a Mr Collins who is delusional enough to imagine herself an Anne Elliot.
‘Hey, Fran,’ I say, turning to face him, trying not to feel anything.
‘I was hoping you would be here.’
He looks hesitant, and I do my best not to think about how his tongue was in my mouth less than twenty-four hours ago. Unsuccessful, I am feeling everything, focusing on nothing else.
‘I was hoping not to be,’ I reply.
‘It’s a bit of a strange one, isn’t it?’
‘VeryStepford Wives, orReal Housewives, I can’t quite tell.’
He laughs, which is the only reason I said it in the first place. To bring him joy, to bring me joy. Selfish.Wicked. Tricksy. False.
‘What did you say?’ Fran is now watching me, amusement on his face.
‘What?’
‘Did you just quote Gollum fromLord of the Rings?’
‘What? No. Did I?’
‘You did.’
Excellent. I am thrilled my mouth decided to say aloud the mortifying movie quote that just sprang to mind amidst a chaotic tangle of thoughts. And of course he recognised it, because it is a line from one of his favourite movies. Perfect. Echolalia, when I catch you.
‘Let’s pretend that didn’t happen,’ I say, covering my face with my hands. The same face he held in his hands last night while he was –
‘I didn’t hear a thing. Anyway, I actually wanted to apologise,’ he begins, and I start to shake my head.
‘It’s really fine, let’s not.’
‘No, I knew that you were in a vulnerable place, and I should have been more careful about that. I’ve been sending mixed messages, when I need to show up for you as your friend.’
‘I think I have made it quite hard for you to be a friend to me,’ I reply.
‘I’ve made it hard on myself as well. I feel like I lose my mind every time I see you and forget how to act like a normal person.’
‘Welcome to the club. Lucky for you, we are accepting new members.’
