The Marriage Gap Year, page 14
“Sure,” said Will. He got up, slowly, put his gloves on and walked toward the back of the truck. At least the kid had learned the value of a pair of gloves.
“So, how’s school going?” It felt like a safe question.
His son waived it away.
“What, no good?”
“It’s fine.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“It’s just…”
“What?”
“It’s just a bit preachy, you know.”
“No, not really.”
They reached the back of the truck and each grabbed two sheets of subfloor. It was a smaller load than was efficient, but Rob let it slide. He matched Will’s pace too, ambling back toward the shipping container. The twitch in his back flared up and he was quietly grateful for the smaller load he was carrying.
“Unis are an antiquated system,” Will continued. Rob snapped back into the conversation. Will looked up at the sky. “The whole concept of a university used to be about making worldly citizens. But now it’s just about money. It’s not really about values or anything, it’s just a business trying to stay relevant in a world that’s moving faster than it can keep up with. Like, it’s nice, I’m grateful and everything, but it’s kind of old-fashioned.”
“Hmmm.” Rob looked down at his steel-toed boots. Geez for all that, it was costing a bundle. “So, you going to stay, then?”
Will put his load of subfloor down in the container, dropping the materials a little more heavily than was ideal. “I dunno,” he said. “For now, yeah. Probably.” Will dusted his hands off.
“You know,” said Rob, gently placing his load on the pile and suppressing a wince at the twinge in his back. “I got a lot out of my study.”
Will wiped his forehead. “No offense but building and drafting certifications aren’t really the same as doing a degree.”
“Maybe, I wouldn’t know about that.” He breathed through the pain in his back. “You’d have to ask your mom.” Rob straightened the stack of subfloor. He shouldn’t have mentioned Emma. It could get weird. How was he supposed to have a nice conversation with his son when there was this thing, this gap year, between them? He backpedaled to safer ground. “You could always come over to my side of the fence. Start making some coin.”
Will scratched the side of his face. “I don’t know.”
“It’s up to you, mate,” said Rob encouragingly. “A man’s got to make his own decisions.”
“Hmmm.” Will kicked a stone that hit the side of the shipping container with an echoing thud. “When’s lunch?” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun that had broken through a cloud.
“Not till noon.”
“Is there a cafe or something around here?”
“Nah, mate. You’re out bush here. Didn’t you bring anything?”
“Nope.”
Rob and Will walked back to the truck to grab the last load. Rob patted Will’s shoulder. “I’ve got loads, so you can have some of mine.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He’d screwed up, hadn’t he, mentioning Emma like that? The weight of that situation now sat between him and Will, real as a brick wall. Rob had to say something. His own father never said much, especially the night before he’d leave on a long haul with the semi, out Darwin way, or Perth or Cairns. He’d be gone weeks then. And his dad always clammed up before those long stints, as if silence could change the unwanted truth of his departure. Silence never worked, and Rob didn’t want Will to worry, to wonder if he was responsible for whatever was going on between his parents.
“Hey,” said Rob casually. He straightened his back. “This thing with me and your mom. It’s temporary. You know that, right?”
Will frowned and looked at the ground. “I don’t know. It’s up to you guys.”
“Well, don’t worry is what I’m saying.” Rob pulled the two remaining sheets of subfloor from the back of the truck. “She’ll come around. She always does. We all need to blow off steam sometimes, so don’t stress.” He handed the planks to Will.
“I’m not stressed,” said Will, taking the load.
“Good.” Rob dusted his hands off. “That’s good.” He lifted the tailgate on the truck. “Take those sheets back to the container. I’m just going to have a quick word with this guy.” He gestured toward the truck driver.
Will turned without saying anything. Rob watched his son shuffle back toward the shipping container before walking to the driver’s side window of the truck. “How ya going? I’m Rob. Not sure we’ve met before.”
The guy adjusted his BHP-branded ballcap and scratched at the tuft of hair that stuck out from under the brim. “Andy,” he said, without looking up from his phone.
Rob leaned in closer to the open truck window and noticed the takeout containers littering the floor. “Well, Andy…Travis usually does my deliveries from you guys.
“He’s sick.”
“That’s fine, but the thing is…Travis usually helps out with the unloading, saves billing me for the truck just sitting here.”
Andy was already shaking his head vigorously. “Yeah, not doing that. Not insured for it.”
“Come on mate, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Andy cleared his throat, craned his neck to look out the window and pointed at Will, now halfway between the truck and the shipping container. “Look, that little prick’s been sitting there just watching me for about twenty minutes. Why don’t you get that lazy little shit to do it?”
“Oi! Pull up.” Rob leaned against the door of the truck, put his face nearer the open window.
“What are you shitcanning me for? I just deliver this stuff. Why are you climbing up my ass? It’s not my problem you’ve got a shit crew, mate. Not my problem.”
“Hey,” Rob barked, his grip tightening on the ledge between the door and the roof. “Travis’s guys help. They at least get out of the truck. How long were you going to sit here doing fuck all and charging me for the time?”
“Oh, fuck this.” Andy threw his cap onto the passenger seat. “I do not need to take shit from you. Why don’t you haul the load yourself, ya fat fuck?”
Rob’s chest danced with excitement. He visualized reaching through the open window and grabbing hold of this guy by the neck, pulling him from the cab, kicking and screaming, legs flailing, boots cracking the windshield, all that trash raining off the dash. His eyes widened at the thought of it.
A good thump. That’s the only thing a guy like this understood. You weren’t allowed to give ’em one. Not anymore. There’d be consequences. And people wondered why guys like this behaved as they did. It was because no one knocked them back into place.
The women gathered behind him to see what the commotion was.
“That’s it.” Rob threw up his arms and backed away from the truck. “You’re gone. I see you on my site again, I’m sending the load back and you can explain it to Travis.”
“Go on then, get fucked.”
Rob took a step toward the vehicle.
Andy revved the engine and the truck growled.
Out the corner of his eye, Rob spied Sareena in the arch of the doorway. He turned back to Andy and pointed down the road. “Fuck off, you fuckwit.”
Andy revved the engine again and sent black diesel fumes billowing in everyone’s direction. Sareena held Alex back, whose fists were clenched at her sides.
Andy stuck his middle finger out the window. “Youse can all get fucked!” He stared Sareena down. “Yeah, look at me again you fuckin’ bitch.”
“That’s it.” Rob marched toward the car.
“Rob!” Sareena shook her head.
The truck spun its tires in the dirt, spitting pebbles that ricocheted off the stone walls or landed in the tall grass with a thud. Rob turned and covered his head. The truck lurched forward, spraying dust into the air and took off, the cage and chains rattling as the vehicle shot up the unsealed road at a ludicrous speed. They all watched the roadrunner plume of dust forming in its wake.
“What the fuck was that all about?” said Sareena approaching Rob, hands on her hips, her gaze still following the dust cloud spreading from the hill.
Rob spat into the dirt. “Nothing. Guy’s a dick.”
Sareena looked over at Will. “You okay, hon?”
“I’m okay,” he looked at his father. “Just a dick.”
Sareena adjusted her hard hat, slid it further to the back of her head. She looked over at Rob. “Well,” she said, “can we please make sure that grumpy motherfucker never comes back here again. It’s bad juju.” She walked closer to Rob and looked him in the eye. “You okay?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Good. Because I don’t like this macho bullshit. If that’s the way it’s going to be, this isn’t going to work.”
Rob’s limbs still buzzed with adrenaline. “The guy was being a fuckwit—”
“Yeah, and so were you.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t need you to save me, mate. I just need you to build this fucken house.”
Rob nodded slowly.
“Okay?” said Sareena, her hands dropping to her hips. “We cool?”
Rob nodded. “You alright?”
Sareena shrugged. “This shit comes with the territory.”
Rob looked over his shoulder at the trail of dust spreading on the hill. “It’s not right. I’m going to tell Travis to get rid of that guy.”
“Whatever,” said Sareena. “Those guys are like weeds, you chop ’em back and they pop up again.” She turned to address the others who were now looking down from windows and the tops of ladders. “Okay, show’s over,” she said. “Let’s get another thirty minutes done before lunch. Go on.” The others dispersed, except Alex, who lingered a moment and seemed unhappy about getting moved on. “Go on, Al,” said Sareena. “It’s over.” Alex, still glaring up the hill, reluctantly returned to the stone house.
“Okay,” said Sareena cheerfully to Will. “The good news is you’re both here because…” She reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out her phone. “Ta da, I want to show you something. Check it out.” She danced the screen from side to side before handing the phone to Will.
Will took the phone and leaned in to have a closer look at the Instagram post, the picture of the 1891 date she’d found written in white chalk under the floorboards. He looked up. “What’s this?”
“That?” Sareena bobbed around and swayed from side to side as if she was dancing to a beat only she could hear. “I’ll tell you what that is.” She raised her open palms in the air. “That is two thousand and seventy views.” Sareena pumped her fists and looked over at Rob. “People are digging it.” She snapped her fingers.
“What is that?” said Will, handing the phone back.
“That means I just won a bet with your dad.” Sareena smiled at Rob. “He has to crawl on his hands knees under the house now, getting all gross and cobwebby and number all those fucking floorboards by himself.” She danced a little more on the spot.
“Yeah, yeah.” Rob rolled his eyes and turned to Will. “You want to give me a hand?”
“Nah.” Will dragged his forearm across his mouth. “You can have that one. Think I’ll go help Dani and Steph with those stones.” Will shoved his hands in his pockets and loped to the side of the house.
Sareena turned toward Rob. “Tough break,” she said, handing Rob a piece of chalk. “Don’t worry.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll still talk to the kid.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Emma stood outside the beauty salon, her heart pounding. “This is where you want to go,” Kendry had said. “Lina’s amazing.”
From what Emma could see beyond the glass door, the reception area didn’t look so flash, not what she’d expected. She looked up at the sign above the door again. Sleek and Chic. This was it.
Emma pushed open the door, the tinkling bell announcing her arrival. The receptionist, a beautiful girl with a nose ring and purple hair, smiled warmly. “Hey,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing.
“Hi.” Emma fidgeted with her hands. “I’m here for a wax.”
“Ah, you’re Emma.” The receptionist’s eyes softened. “Kendry told me.”
“Right.” Emma nodded.
“Don’t worry.” The receptionist came out from behind the counter. “I’ll make it quick.”
“Oh, you’re doing it?”
“Yeah, I’m Lina. It’s my shop,” she laughed. “You’ll see, it’s not like in the movies. Just a sting and it’s over.”
Emma followed Lina to the waxing room with its soft lighting and soothing scents of lavender and oils.
“Take your bottoms off and lie down here,” said Lina, motioning toward the waxing table, draped in white towels.
Emma hooked her thumbs into the waist of the loose skirt she’d worn to avoid getting fully naked in front of a stranger.
“Here,” she said, handing Emma a towel, “put this on your lap.”
Emma wriggled out of her skirt and undies, and felt the chill in the room on her bare skin. She cautiously positioned herself on the table and covered herself with the towel, soft and warm. Emma’s apprehension grew as Lina moved around behind her.
“You seem young to have your own business.”
“I’ve been doing this for a long time. Ten years.”
“Wow,” said Emma, “that’s a lot of pubic hair.”
Lina laughed, “I guess so.” She came to the foot of the examination table with a rice-cooker sized tub of wax.
“You must get all sorts of people in here.”
“Oh yeah. A lot of men too.” Lina swirled a wooden paddle in the tub of wax.
Emma couldn’t imagine Rob coming to a place like this. He wasn’t the manscaping type. Lina would need a whipper snipper to find his penis.
“I don’t want everything off,” said Emma.
Lina smiled reassuringly. Emma lay back. The first strip of warm wax touched her skin. “I expected it to be hotter.” Emma pushed her shoulder into the cushioned bench. A sharp tug and the sound of Velcro ripping.
“You okay?” said Lina.
Emma grimaced, bit her lip, nodded.
“Good,” said Lina, and applied another layer of wax. Rip. “See, not so bad.” She tugged off the third strip, the fourth. Emma felt that one more and exhaled sharply.
Lina smiled. “Nearly finished,” she said, her voice calm and gentle.
Rip. Emma winced.
“All done,” said Lina. “Have a look.”
Emma lifted the towel. Shorn but for a neat strip of hair.
“Oh god,” she frowned. “It looks like a mustache.”
“It’s a French bikini. Too much?”
“I don’t know. Now that I see it, I wonder if it’s not enough. It’s like a slug just sitting there.”
“We don’t want that,” Lina chortled. “You want me to take it off?” She paddled the wax.
“Yes, please.” Emma bit her lip, lay back and winced in anticipation. “Ooof!” Her hand shot up to her face as Lina tore the last strip. “That was the worst one.” Emma sat up and looked down at herself, pale as raw chicken.
The aesthetic was strangely exhilarating. The sudden absence of pubic hair was a shock. It reminded her that she hadn’t really thought about her vagina for a long time. Or, more accurately, she’d only thought about the vagina that was about birth and pelvic floor exercises, the one of medical interest, poked and prodded, the one prone to dryness and bladder infections, the one that needed pap smears. She used to get so much pleasure from her vagina. Seeing herself exposed like this was confronting, like seeing a long-lost relative to find them suddenly aged, sagging and liver spotted.
“Oh god,” said Emma. “Can you put it back?”
Lina laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”
“If you say so.”
“You want to turn over and we do the back,” said Lina.
“What, my butt?”
Lina nodded.
“Nah,” said Emma, peeling off the towel. “I’m good. This is plenty.”
Emma left the spa feeling sleek and oddly limber, her skirt swishing around her as she walked.
Her phone chimed.
Hi Emma,
Click https://automedsystem.com.au/fmg/bookings
to confirm/cancel your appointment.
12:45PM appt at Fitzroy Medical Group.
Dr Nguyen
Or reply YES/NO
Aw shit. It wasn’t like her to flake on appointments like this. She responded YES and checked the time. She’d have to get on a tram quick smart if she was going to reach the clinic in time.
Emma ran to board a packed tram, standing room only, and grabbed onto the nearest pole. She shifted her weight, feeling little bits of wax sticking to her undies and moved her hips to unstick them, pulling at the waist of her skirt. Her gaze landed on an old woman, whose handbag was perched on her knees.
In the consulting room Dr Nguyen sat across from Emma and adjusted her glasses with the back of her hand. “How are things?”
“Good,” Emma said. “Well, I’m feeling bloated and hot all the time. Like, suddenly stifling and I can’t take my clothes off fast enough. It’s like I’m suffocating.”
Dr Nguyen turned to look at her computer screen.
Emma peered at the screen as well, a blur of text boxes. “Is there anything we can do? It’s driving me crazy.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been reading about hormone replacement therapy and—
“It’s probably too early for that.”
“Oh, really? Because—”
“The next time you come, make a longer appointment, and we can talk about the risks and rewards of HRT. Until then, let’s explore some other interventions, like over-the-counter remedies and lifestyle changes. You still don’t smoke?
“No.”
“That’s good.” Dr Nguyen glanced at her screen again and clicked the mouse. “Hot flushes are common.”
“So that’s it?”
“There are things you can try,” said Dr Nguyen. “I’ll give you some information before you go and next time we can make a more solid plan.”
