A shrill sound comes from my hands, and I look down at the rubber dolphin I’m throttling.
Trent glances over.
And I casually lift it and give it a solemn squeeze.Whhee-ee-ee-eee!
“That’s . . .” Trent ponders. “Vaguely threatening.”
Finally, bless the heavens, the practice room door swings open and a fleet of kids crosses between us. I search for my guiding star and find Moana patting the top of Holly’s head.
“Moana!” I cry.
She looks at me and Trent and the newly organised cupboard. She jabs a sharp finger in The Flooder’s direction. “He’s a keeper.”
I stare at her with beseeching eyes.
She snorts and waves the kids off. Then she smarts an eyebrow my way. “Clean up your own mess.”
“A drink! I owe you a drink. Today’s good. Now, even.”
Trent shifts on his heel, and I throw him a line. “Tell Grandpa Ika’s off checking out his friends for his big brother.”
He opens his mouth.
Whhee-ee-ee-eee.
He shuts his mouth. That’s the end of it.
Not quite the end of it according to Moana, of course.
We’re at the Sprig & Fern, and we’ve had a few while failing to figure out the Scrambled Word of The Day REDNOHCA, when casual chatting takes a turn for the serious.
“You’ve been running from things for as long as I’ve known you,” Moana says, planting down her wine glass and fixing me with a stare so level it makes me think her wine is water. “And you ran again tonight.”
Her arched brow lifts in silent question.
I’ve known Moana coming on ten years now. She’s a couple of decades older than me, infinitely wiser, and right now, I’m not liking that fact.
I take a sip of my whiskey and slouch nonchalantly into the seat. But my hand keeps twisting the dewy drink.
Fractured light spins across the table like shattered glass.
I pull my gaze away and shrug. “I’m just playing family with him.”
She blinks. She hadn’t quite expected this level of honesty. “Playing family?” She leans in hard. “With that gorgeous bloke? Why are you here with me!”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
“Why?”
I look over at her. “Because it’s... easy.”
Moana exhales deeply and hauls me off my chair onto her bench, an arm locked around my neck. She squeezes tight and peppers kisses over my hair. “You need to stop running, my friend.”
“It’s also, like . . . really complicated?”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe you just need to stay through it. Accept. See what happens.”
Just for a second, a couple, I fold into the warmth of her crushing hold and breathe in her soft motherly perfume. And then the moment is over, and there’s stiffness in my neck and the trembling of muscles locked into this slightly awkward position too long. I shift back, pulling a fifty-cent piece out from behind her ear with smile. “Oh, hey. Are you holding a stall at the Newtown fair this year?”
