“I’m sorry, baby.” She rises and comes round to my side of the table. I stand and she hugs me tight.
“I’ll always love you no matter what, and I’m happy you were finally able to tell me.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper into her hair, only now realising how relieved I am that she’s fine with it. It means a lot to me, especially since I know what my dad’s reaction will be.
I offer to wash the dishes but she dismisses my help saying she’ll stack the dishwasher and make some coffee. I push open the screen on the back door and make my way out to the back yard.
The sky’s a deep indigo as dusk is falling, and I listen to the sound of the cicadas, their song dragging me back in time to when I used to spend the summer evenings out here. I yawn, tiredness from travelling all day finally catching up with me. It’s too late to try to seek out Holden tonight, but I’ll do it first thingtomorrow. I want to see if I can make my apologies before the reunion reception tomorrow night. With leaden limbs and heavy eyes I go back inside. All I want now is some sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Holden
I glance at the clock on the wall for what’s probably the millionth time today. Maybe I’m exaggerating but it doesn’t feel like it. The clock hand has only moved on four minutes since I last checked. Urgh, time is going so slowly and yet ... so quick. It’s already three o’clock and in just four hours I have to go to my high school reunion.
I’m not sure what I was thinking when I agreed with Clara a few weeks ago that I’d go. I’ve said as much to my therapist in every session we’ve had since, and of course they mirrored the question back to me. We’ve been through my motivation for going many times, but still there’s a part of me—that bit at the back of my brain—that just looks at my actions, half with amusement and half incredulity, and every so often, though more frequently than I’d like, questions me. What were you thinking, is one of its favourites for instigating self-doubt. I asked my therapist if I should go or not, but of course they never said either way. It’s not their place to say and they’re very goodat their job. My anxiety levels are more manageable, though, and even my stammer seems to be back to its usual level of only appearing occasionally. We’ve talked about different scenarios for tonight, and how they might make me feel, and we’ve worked on what strategies I have and the different ways I can make myself feel safe. It feels so easy when I sit in their office and can talk it through, but now, with less than four hours to go, I feel like I can’t go through with it.
What’s worse is that the store is quiet and there are no customers to distract me. All the shelves are restocked and everything is as it should be.
I look at the clock again... just three minutes this time. I fling myself down into one of the easy chairs and pick up my knitting, my usual go-to activity for calming myself down. I’m working through a new pattern, one I’ve created with influences from Scandinavia. It’s complex and I hope the concentration needed might help me. It distracts me for a while until I notice I made a mistake seven rows back that will take me ages to fix. I don’t have the patience to do it correctly, and I’m likely to make another mistake so I throw it back into my bag.
Another check-in with the clock... at least thirty minutes has passed, which is good, but it means I’m even closer to the reunion. My stomach starts roiling at the thought. The door opens and I jump up, hoping it’s a customer, but instead it’s Clara bustling in carrying a large bag.
“Sorry I’m late. I told them I needed to leave early, and I’d cleared it with Julia, but you know what a dragon she can be.” Clara comes to stop in front of me, rolling her eyes. Her opinion of her supervisor is well known to me, and I know nothing I say will make a difference, so I don’t bother to answer her and sure enough she continues in the next breath. “But of course,because of the reunion the hotel is full, and we don’t have extra staff, and I’ve seen three arguments in the foyer already today so tensions are already running high. All those married people being dragged to the reunion by their partners but being worried about them rekindling their first loves... you can practically smell the jealousy in the air.”
Of course Clara looks delighted at this, and I have no doubt she’ll spend the evening trying to figure out who used to date whom. Then she tilts her head at me and her bright expression fades into one of concern.
“Are you alright? You look green around the edges, and it’s clashing with your sweater.”
“No. I am most definitely not alright,” I snap, but then I sigh. “I don’t think I can go through with this.”
“Yes you can.” Her tone is definite but kind, and thankfully with no hint of exasperation at me. I’m exasperated by myself so I expect everyone else to be too. “We’ve been through this and you know I’ll be by your side all evening. What you need now is a distraction.”
“As you can see there are none.” I wave my hand to indicate my very empty store. She looks around, frowning.
“Well, in that case, close up early.”
“I can’t!”
“Of course you can, you’re the boss. If anyone needs anything they should have come in by now, or they can come back tomorrow morning.”
It doesn’t take much persuasion as the queasy feeling in my belly is getting worse, and if I stay here any longer, I’m going to be toosick to serve any customers if they do come in. Or be too sick to go to the reunion, and while that’s a very tempting idea, there is a part of me that wants to go through with this for myself.
Clara makes a sign for the door explaining that I’ve closed early, while I cash up and put today’s earnings in the safe. I lock the door and Clara links her arm through mine as we walk down the street.
“I think a drink is in order first,” she announces. “I know where we can go.”
“I’m not going to the reunion drunk,” I protest. “I already feel sick. I was thinking of a cup of tea, chamomile or perhaps peppermint, that would help.” Clara just gives a small snort of derision.
“Trust me.”
“What is this?” I eye the drink she puts in front of me ten minutes later. It’s in a tall glass, has ice cubes, a straw, and a sprig of greenery coming out the top of it.
“Peppermint iced tea,” she says sliding into the booth opposite me. She takes a sip of her own drink, a garish concoction with layers of yellow, orange, and red.
I look around the bar and try to repress the shudder I feel. I’ve been here a couple of times before, but never by choice. It’s loud and raucous, and even though it’s only Friday afternoon, it already feels like it’s gearing up for a wild evening. The music thumps so loud I can feel it rather than hear it, and the sound of people shouting to be heard over it is certainly not helping me relax. Neither are the scary looking men, all height and breadth with tank tops barely stretching over their muscles. I’m particularly wary of the group of them playing pool, especially asthey’re eyeing us up as though we look like prey. I’ve never felt so out of place in my life.
“Why didn’t we go to Tallboys?” I ask. Timbers and Tallboys is a much more congenial place and our usual hangout.
