“Claire?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Hey, it’s Seth.”
Oh shit! “Oh, hi. How are you?” I managed to get out.
“Hey, are you driving? I can call back if now’s not a good time.”
“No. No, you’re fine. I’m on hands-free.”
“Oh. No worries. So, I was wondering what you’re doing tomorrow night?” He sounded nervous, which made me feel slightly better.
“Ah, I’m actually out of town at the moment.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realise…”
“Just going home to see my parents,” I half-lied, leaving out the embarrassing part of the story. Even though Seth was acting like a complete guy about everything, I hadn’t quite given up on him. Not yet anyway.
“That’ll be fun.”
“Yeah. Fun. Let’s go with that,” I grumbled, knowing exactly how much fun it wouldn’t be. “Anyway, what are you up to?”
“Nothing exciting. Training. Training and more training.”
“Sounds…exhausting.”
“Oh, trust me, it is. But the reason I was actually calling you was to see if I could ask you out on an actual, proper date. No family. No sweaty sand dune running. No need for CPR, at least I hope not. But you’re away so…”
“I’d love to, but I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t I give you a call when I get back to Sydney, and we can go from there?” I offered, wondering if he’d still be interested when and if I made it back.
“Sounds good. Look, I’ll let you go, but yeah, give me a call and we’ll work something out.”
“Will do.”
“Drive safe.”
“Bye.”
The call ended and I wanted to punch something. I’d been waiting for his call for days and then the moment I leave town, he rings. Stupid boy.
Ten minutes later, I was bouncing over the cattle grid and turning down the dirt driveway towards my childhood home, my heart in my mouth trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. The closer I got to the house, the more I realised nothing had changed. Coming home was like stepping back in time. Mums rose bushes along the front were flowering, white, red, and pink roses everywhere. Dads beat-up, mud-covered ute was parked in his spot to the side and Buddy, our old, slow dog lazed sleepily in the sun.
Turning the car off, I grabbed my bag from the back seat and headed inside. “Mum! I’m home!” I called through the house, toeing off my shoes and dropping my keys in the bowl next to the family photos.
“Claire! Russell! Russell! Claire’s home!” Mum screeched, and I headed through to the kitchen knowing I’d find her exactly where I’d left her months earlier.
Until I’d heard my mother’s voice, I hadn’t realised how much I needed to be here. Just what I wanted. To be home. To be able to breathe. To just be for a second. To pretend the world wasn’t out there, conspiring against me. It was heaven. For all of about ten seconds.
“I’m coming!” Dad replied.
“Hey, Mum!” I rounded the corner and there she was, filling the kettle, the kitchen counter covered in warm scones and a bowl of whipped cream.
“Sweetheart. You’re home.”
I lasted four days.
