‘Hey darling,’ I say. ‘Merry Christmas.’
She looks up with her bright eyes, and I feel a little bit more capable of breathing. Olivia walks in from the kitchen, her face puffy, a huge mug in her hand.
‘Merry Christmas, Nora,’ she says, raising her drink in my direction.
‘Merry Christmas. How’d you sleep?’
It is one of those questions to ask a person when you are staying in the same house together, like ‘Did you hear that storm?’ or ‘Can I make you a cuppa?’ or ‘How’s this heat?’
‘Slept like shit. This one was ready to party at 1 a.m.’
Olivia begins massaging her temples with her eyes closed. She does not look well. It is not the kind of thing I should say to her, especially not since she became a mum, although I think it has more to do with the multiple bottles of wine she is drinking every night than the nocturnal wake-ups with Maeve. I wonder how different her drinking is than mine was in Melbourne – hers certainly seems more acceptable in the context of this family. I can’t imagine Mum topping up my glass at 3 a.m. in some share-house backyard. ‘Wine Mum’ is an identity that comes with printed glasses; Elsie bought herself and Olivia one each off Etsy as a funny joke. She did not gift me the ‘binge-drinking twenty-something’ version. I suppose you need to have your life together before your alcoholism is rewarded with merchandise.
On Chapel Street, I opened Maps on my phone to get my bearings, trying not to panic about navigating my way to an unknown residential location.
‘It’s not a long walk from here,’ I reassured us both.
We found the party and bypassed the people making out in the darkest corner of the front porch. Music blared out the open window. I made it my priority to find us a drink, and to find Cleo. Both were in the kitchen. Fran greeted her with a hug, nice to finally meet you, and she poured us paper cups of wine while making exaggerated eyebrows at us being there together. When Fran turned away, a shadow of concern crossed her eyes, but I did not know why. Cleo usually supported my bad decisions.
‘Should we go out the back?’
Fran nodded and followed me down the hall. I did not recognise anyone, though I knew I had encountered some of these bodies and faces and tongues before. I was not even really sure why I had brought us there. There had been an unexpected encounter with Fran, and this was my reaction. Another poor choice. The garden was a small courtyard with dirt where there used to be grass, fences falling in on both sides. It was the kind of place that had been a rental for so long, its layers of neglect felt more like part of the design. The wine was warm and made me want to smoke and dance and look at the sky. The smoking was so disgusting and unnecessary; everyone else my age vaped like a normal person, but I liked to feel especially putrid, I guess.
‘I should probably head off soon,’ Fran said after a while.
He was still sipping his first drink, while I was onto my fourth. I had barely talked to him since we had arrived. By that stage my head was dreamy and my body loose. I pictured us kissing and running all the way home to my bed.
‘Yeah, early flight, I know,’ I replied.
He stopped looking at me after that. I could not figure out a way to cheer him up, to make him remember how good we could feel together, if we let ourselves. And so I went for the easy win.
‘We should kiss,’ I said, with the confidence that only comes in a paper cup, administered with a chaser of delusion.
The look he gave me in return said everything I needed to know and did not want to hear.
Olivia looks quite grey, now that I observe her more closely. All colour has gone from her face, and she is still rubbing circles at her temples with her thumbs.
‘How about I take Maeve for a bit?’ I suggest.
‘Where are you going to take her?’
‘To the airport to hop a flight to Mexico and start a new life.’
Olivia laughs at this, and I am glad.
‘She needs breakfast and a bath. Is that too much to ask? I’d love to try and get another hour before the day starts.’
It is too much to ask, but parenting seems too much to ask every single day forever, so I agree, shooing Olivia back down the hall to her room. She mouths, ‘Thank you,’ and disappears. Maeve is on to another present by the time I am back in the room, and picking her up seems to be the smartest option to minimise the damage before Elsie wakes.
‘How about breakfast, hey? I wonder what you want for breakfast.’
We stand in front of the open fridge, letting the cold air out, and I decide on a banana. I mash it in a bowl and sit Maeve in her high chair to eat.
‘You don’t have to mash her bananas, you know,’ Luke says as he enters the kitchen. ‘She’s eating solids, she’s nearly two.’
‘Oh, and you know so much about kids?’
‘Laura and I babysit her nephews all the time.’
