Her mum laughed. “What about the rest of your friends?”
Cheryl made a face. Whenever her mum asked about her friends, she was really asking about Patrick. “He’s good. Playing well.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Not anymore,” Cheryl said lightly. “He’s getting his kitchen redone and he thinks the contractors are going through his underwear when he’s not home.”
“Impressive.”
“That contractors have the balls to do that?”
“That Patrick owns his home.”
Cheryl scowled. “AFL money and generational wealth are doing a lot of heavy lifting, Mum.”
“Don’t be hostile.”
“I’m not! Besides, I’ll have my own place soon.”
“A one-bedroom apartment?”
“Yes. A one-bedroom in Preston. Or maybe I’ll buy right here in Footscray.”
“You don’t want an apartment in Footscray.” Her mum blew out a cloud of smoke. “Why don’t you save your money until you can buy a house with your husband?”
Cheryl stopped brushing. “How are you still such a romantic?”
“Because I’m not hostile. You’re a beautiful girl. You could have anyone you want.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell it to Harrison Ford.” Cheryl twirled the brush through the ends of her mum’s hair, trying to make it curl. “If I get married, will you come to the wedding?”
“No. But I’ll watch it on video. Then I can pause it and smoke whenever I want.”
Cheryl smiled, but it hurt. Her mum had always been a bit agoraphobic, but when her ALS took over her facial muscles, she started refusing to go to the shops or the movies or anywhere that wasn’t the doctor’s office. These days she barely left the house. She said her wheelchair made it too uncomfortable, but Cheryl knew she hated people looking at her. Feeling sorry for her. That made sense, but it was fucking hard sometimes. It made her feel like her mum only existed in this apartment. Like she was imaginary everywhere else.
She put down the baby brush and picked up the soft plastic styling comb. “You have a right to be in the world, you know.”
“That’s nice, CeeCee. You should put it on a sticker.”
“Maybe I will. And you know, if you went outside, I could introduce you to Eden. Maybe even Patrick…?”
Her mum chuckled around the last of her Marlboro. “Is he as handsome as he looks on TV?”
“I’m not telling you. You have to find out yourself.”
“Maybe one day. Another cigarette please?”
Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you’re washing your hands before Felicity shows up. She already thinks I’m enabling you.”
* * *
Present Day
Hiding under Patrick’s covers, it felt like some secret world had been created just for the two of them. An underwater grotto where she was clean and dry and safe. They lay naked together, tracing their fingers in invisible patterns on each other’s skin.
“We could have been doing this the whole time,” Patrick said, but not like he was mad at her, more like he was amazed they hadn’t. And she was kind of amazed too. They fit like they’d been made for one another. The morning on her couch had forced her to acknowledge how hot she burned for Patrick Normal. The night in the motel revealed they were a better sexual match than Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. But here, in this quiet place, it was like amnesty. A free pass to explore the reality of his body.
After years of sleeping with middle-aged men, Patrick’s body was the strangest combination of youth and strength. His chest was heavy with muscle, but he had almost no body hair, and his freckled skin was velvet to the touch. His ass was as firm and well muscled as any Pilates bunny. His fingers were crooked from many football-related jarrings, but his ragged nails were pure schoolboy.
