Page 75 of Queen of Nothing

I barely register her words.

For a moment too long, I watch her cook. Then I hear what she said, and I look at the window.

Beyond it, there’s a slight drizzle.

Just a drizzle.

We have both walked in worse.

But since Sal…

I don’t know what is different about Serena exactly, or if it’s everything about her that’s different, but now a light drizzle is to be avoided?

His daycare is only a five-minute walk around the corner.

But I don’t argue.

It’s not worth it.

When it comes to Sal, my mouth is to stay shut.

Because all of a sudden, it’s her child. Her place to make decisions for him. Not mine.

With a huff, I slip the keys off the counter, but my mind is elsewhere, torn between the luxury of home and picking up Sal from that house with the tobacco-spit stains on the porch.

On my way out, I sneak a look at the pots and pans. Satay noodles.

I pretend to like her cooking.

It’s one of the ways we coexist better while permanently living on each other’s last nerve.

But truth is, she overcooks noodles into slush territory, and there’s either too much peanut butter or not enough in her satay sauce.

Also it’s the third day in a row she’s made it.

I tighten my grip around the keys, then clammer out the fire escape.

The coast is clear to the car.

No annoying, chatty neighbour in the carpark. Her car isn’t even here anymore, so she must have gone home for the day.

That means I was too lost in my thoughts to hear the car start and drive off.

That happens more often now. Like seeing Oliver opened a door in my mind, and it’s harder to keep my mind straight.

So much harder.

I toss my bag onto the passenger seat, then start the loud, chugging engine.

The car sputters and chokes to life.

I have time to spare, so I pull over at the bus shelter. It’s at the edge of town, where the phone booth is.

I come here every other day.

I stare at the phone from the car.

But I never get out.