The Marriage Gap Year, page 17
For all her expertise, Sareena was still naive, and treated this project like she was personally invested in every detail, reviewing each decision made at any stage of the build, regardless of what it meant for the schedule and the budget. Some decisions you lived with. Once you built them, you didn’t go back and undo the work you’d done for a change of heart. Decisions led you to a certain point and you worked with where you got to from then on. Forward momentum, that’s what got the job done on time and on budget.
He could respect Sareena’s fastidiousness. It was her creativity that worried him. The way she kept adding extras to the brief: a hand-carved lintel here, a commissioned sculpture there by some stonemason she knew who could carve a “cute little gargoyle,” as if construction was something entirely organic, grown at the pace of her imagination. She had to learn to separate herself from her client, otherwise she’d burn bridges, that is if she didn’t burn herself out first. Keep money in the budget and fuel in your tank, he’d tell her. There was a fine line between pride in your work and wasting time chasing perfection. Knowing the difference was the key to success and self-preservation.
“Well,” he said, “if you’re struggling to make ends meet, then maybe you should do some more commercial stuff, not just these handmade jobbies. I could put a word in with some of the developers—”
“Nah.” Her hands slid into the back pockets of her jeans. “Look, thanks, I get what you’re saying, but I’m trying to do something here. Trying to change some of the ways this industry works.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at the building trash piled high in the dumpster. “There’s just too much fucking waste.” She shook her head.
Rob smiled.
“What?” said Sareena. “You probably think that’s naive.”
“Well, it’s fine. It’s good. It’s just…you ever work with one of those big building consortiums?” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “They don’t even look at materials, you know, just spreadsheets. They don’t build, really. They account. Pick battles you can win.”
She sighed. “I just want to make shit that lasts. Buildings that mean something to people. Even if it sinks me, I need to know I tried.”
It all sounded young and idealistic to Rob, a speech by someone who had little to lose and time on their side. But he didn’t want to hurt Sareena’s feelings. He looked up at Jacqui and Kim, high on their ladders, scraping mortar from the hanging plastic buckets that bumped against the stone as they finished repointing the facade of the house. “And what about them?” he said. “I mean, they’ve got to eat.”
Sareena rubbed her hands to warm them. “They’re with me,” she said, without looking at him.”
Rob hunched back over his circular saw and winced, put his hand on the small of his back.
“You right?” said Sareena.
“Fine,” said Rob, digging his thumb into his lower back.
“You should get that looked at.”
“It’ll sort itself out.”
“Hasn’t so far. Go to a physio, get a massage or something. No use groaning and hobbling around. That’s not tough, man, that’s stupid.”
“I’ll be right.” Rob leaned over the table saw again.
Sareena’s phone chimed. She fished it out of her pocket and frowned. “You got to take care of yourself,” she said, typing without looking up. “A man your age.” She walked off in her puffy orange vest, into the house where Rob’s new wall frame was up, the studs arranged neat and symmetrical as fish bones.
Rob adjusted the piece of timber. The saw screamed back to life.
He spent the morning in his comfort zone, marking and framing timber planks. A burst of warmth from the sun drew sweat from his brow and coaxed out the sharp medicinal fragrance of freshly cut timber as he snipped and shaped it with a chisel and saw. Whenever the machine stopped whirring, the ambient sound yielded to the distant murmur of the ocean and the scraping of metal trowels against stone as Jacqui and Kim, small as dolls way up their scaffold, wedged the last bits of mortar into the stone facade. Over there, by the overgrown lawn, Alex’s veiny arms carried plastic buckets, heavy with wet cement, to reinforce the house’s ancient foundations. Jemma leisurely raked gravel into a drip edge along the exterior walls. The house was coming back to life and he appreciated the earnestness with which Sareena’s team committed themselves to their tasks.
An icy wind blasted in from the sea. Rob shielded his eyes and looked up at the flapping plastic tarp that still covered the roof. He’d soon have to explain to Sareena why he’d knocked back her roofer for another three weeks. She deserved to know.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Erik joined Emma in his bed, wrapping the sheets loosely around himself. Emma turned toward him. “Thanks for letting me stay, it’ll only be a couple of days.”
“It’s all good.” Erik smiled. “I like to help the homeless.”
“Fuck off,” she said playfully. “I’m not homeless. I’m just giving Kendry some space. I can go someplace else if it’s too much. I’m not here to cramp your style or whatever. It’s just a short term—”
“It’s okay,” he cooed. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Stay as long as you need. I’ve got gigs coming up anyway, I’m barely here when I’m touring.”
Emma looked around at the studio apartment, even smaller than her place, and extra cramped from all the metal storage boxes he kept his music stuff in. Erik moved onto his side, propped himself on his elbow. “So, what happened?
“Ugh, it just wasn’t bearable at the house with her. She’s just – well, you met her.”
Erik smiled. “She seemed okay, kind of kooky, but nice.”
Well, she’s… I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about her right now, it’s taking up too much headspace.”
“Okay.” Erik lay back. “Why don’t you tell me more about, Rob,” he said, stretching his arm behind his back, the skin taught over his biceps, his chest.
“What for?” She looked away.
“Because…” He shuffled toward her, his weight barely making the bedsprings move. “You don’t talk about him much.”
“Why would I?” she glanced at him. “That’d be kind of weird.”
“Isn’t it more weird not to talk about him? Besides,” he yawned, “I’m curious.”
Emma sat up. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
Erik moved closer. “I don’t know. The usual stuff. Like, where’d you meet, how’d you get together.”
Emma looked at Erik with surprise.
“What?” he smiled. “I’m just interested, it’s not a conspiracy.”
Emma’s face tensed. She sank down into the mattress, turned away from Erik and teared up, disoriented by feelings of fear and guilt. Could she still do right by Rob? Or Will? Or Erik? All three of them if that was still possible? Or had she let things go too far, miscalculated the cost of her desire? If she could just lie here and do nothing, then maybe everything could still be okay.
“You alright?” Erik’s voice restored Emma’s need for composure.
She hastily wiped her eyes with her hand. “I’m okay,” she sniffed. “I just…ah,” she sighed, pressed her palms against her eyes.
He shuffled closer, put his hand on her arm. “You sure you’re okay?”
Emma turned to face Erik. He looked so nice, lying there with his fresh, smooth skin and his warm, earnest eyes, longing for connection. He didn’t deserve to be pulled into the messiness of her life. It was greedy and irresponsible of her to draw him in like this. It had already gone further than it should have. And yet it felt so good to be looked at this way, to be desired, to feel someone trying. “What is this?” she said, softly.
“What do you mean?”
“This,” she said, waving her hand between them. “Like, what are we doing?”
“We’re talking.”
Emma shot him a look that said, seriously.
“What?” he smiled. “Why does it matter so much?” Erik looked at her quizzically. “Like, why is defining this so important to you?”
“Because.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe when you’re a twenty-nine-year-old guy it doesn’t matter, but when you’re a forty-something woman it really does.”
“Why?”
“You know, asking why after I say something doesn’t automatically make it a meaningful question.”
“Okaaay.”
“It just matters. Trust me.” She pulled the sheet up to her chest.
“No, why?” He sniggered.
“It’s not funny.” She playfully slapped his shoulder.
“Well, it’s kind of funny.”
“What is?”
“You getting bent out of shape because you can’t accept that I just like being with you.”
“I’m not bent out of shape.”
“Oh, okay.”
“It’s a fair question right? I mean, what can this be, really?”
He moved closer toward her, his hand, his arm a soothing weight on her hip. “Why does it have to be something? Like, why can’t it just be what it is?”
“What is that? One of your song lyrics? I’m serious.”
“Me too.” Erik shuffled even closer, until she could feel the heat of him against the back of her thigh. “Look, I like you. That’s something. It feels real. And I know that whatever else happens it’s—”
“Yes, but why do you like me. Is it some weird fetish? Are you into moms or something?”
Erik laughed. “I’m not into moms.” He shimmied closer, pressed up against her. “Look, do you like hanging out with me?”
Surely this was the moment to end things. It had been fun. But it was going too far now. When Dr Priya talked about finding ways of feeling beautiful, feeling sexy, she’d meant it rhetorically. She didn’t mean this. This was dangerous. It risked destroying everything she’d built in her life.
But Emma did feel sexy. She felt alive, the tingle in her body, animated by the same life force that made trees grow and bee wings flutter, the same power that set the universe in motion stirred in her.
“Gee, that’s taking a long time to answer,” he joshed.
“Sorry.” She turned to face him. “This is fun.”
“Okay, so why can’t we just let that ride?”
“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Wait.” She sat up. “What does that mean?” His expression looked puzzled. She closed her eyes, tried to form words from the jumbled thoughts in her head. “I’m not saying I want to be your…whatever…ah, fuck, the words are coming out all wrong. Look, I’m married, so I’m not looking for a thing. I guess I’m trying to figure out what this means for you. Like, are you seeing other people at the same time or are we not supposed to? Help me out here, I don’t know what the rules are. This isn’t something I’ve done for a really long time.”
Erik grinned. “The rules?” He chuckled.
“You know what I mean. The social convention or whatever.”
“Well,” he said, rubbing her leg, “I usually like to ask a girl to a ball and then seal the deal with a romantic horse-drawn carriage ride through the park before meeting her parents—”
“Shut up.” She teasingly slapped his arm. “I’m serious. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here. Why would you want to be with me?”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “Why ask me that? Because I’m younger, I need a special reason to want to be here?”
She pretended to think about it. “Yeah, kind of.”
He smiled wider. “That’s so fucked up.” He propped himself on his side, elbow on the mattress, head in the palm of his hand. “But if you were the younger one, then it wouldn’t be a question.”
“Probably not.”
“That’s so sexist.” He grinned.
“Is it?” She scrunched up her face, playfully mocking him. “Yes, I’m taking advantage of an unfair double standard.” She moved her face closer to his.
“You are.” He blinked rapidly in mock indignation. “And frankly, I’m offended.”
“Well,” she said, moving close enough to feel his breath on her skin, “that’s just tough shit then, isn’t it?”
She kissed him and felt the cool spaces in the bed where the tousled sheets had kept their skin from touching. He rubbed his feet against hers, transferring the warmth of his body into the chilliness of her own.
“Is it really so hard,” he whispered, “for you to believe that when I look at you, I like what I see.” He kissed her shoulder. “That I like you because you’re funny.” He kissed her neck. “Because you’re thoughtful.” He kissed her cheek. “Because you know what you want.” He kissed her mouth. “And because you’re this intense ball of energy just waiting to explode.”
“A ball of energy?” She craned her neck to look at him “Well, I guess it’s better than me reminding you of your mom.”
“What’s with the moms?” He smiled. “You’re the one with the mom fetish, I reckon.”
“I’m not.”
“You should know…” He kissed her shoulder. “My mom teaches art history at Monash.” He kissed her neck. “She drinks too much, works too hard and we get along great for a day or so, and then we start giving each other the shits.”
Emma turned to face him. “No mommy issues?”
“No mommy issues.” He kissed her on the mouth and laced his fingers in hers, his hands so soft and smooth against her skin compared to Rob’s calloused hands. Erik held her fingers against his own cheek. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“What?”
“I’ve got a gig in Melbourne next month. I’d like you to come.”
“Oh.” She untangled her fingers from his hand and rubbed her face, then sank back into the pillow and threw her arm across her forehead. “I can’t go to a concert,” she sighed. “I’m not groupie material.”
Erik sat up on his knees and gently peeled Emma’s arm off her face. “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s not a groupie thing.” He stroked her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “It’s a fun thing.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “You remember fun?” He kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. Emma softened.
Erik lifted the sheets. “Now, what’s this?”
The Brazilian, which had seemed fun and playful, now seemed kind of desperate and presumptuous. She felt vulnerable, compounding the anxiousness she already felt about her body.
“It’s sexy. But I liked you before too.”
“Well,” she said lightheartedly. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“No?”
“No, I did it for me.” She rolled onto her side, facing away from him. “So, it doesn’t matter if you don’t like it.”
“I do like it.” He shuffled up behind her, rubbed her shoulder, the side of her arm. “Hey,” he whispered. “What do you want me to do right now? What’s some crazy shit you’ve always wanted to try but were afraid to ask for?”
Emma craned her neck and squinted. “You know what I really want?”
“Tell me.” He moved closer, spooning her.
“Just to lie here.”
“Okay.” He held her close, burrowed his face into the back of Emma’s neck.
“No.” She tapped his legs behind her. “I want you to face me. Like this,” she turned around and pulled him toward her. “That’s it.” He shuffled back. “Don’t squirm away,” she said. “Just lie here and look at me.”
“Okay,” he swallowed.
“Feel a bit weird?” she said.
He nodded, adjusted his head on the pillow. “This is some freaky shit.”
“Just give it a second,” she said.
He made googly eyes before settling into her gaze.
“See,” she said. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Hmmm.”
She laughed.
“What?” He blushed.
“Well,” she smiled. “It’s hard to concentrate with your dick poking into my leg.”
He grinned, peeled back the sheets and disappeared under the covers.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rob noticed the snarling bear tattoo before he noticed the kid’s face. He tried not to be obvious about it, but he couldn’t help staring at the huge head of a grizzly bear that took up the whole of the kid’s muscly front leg. It was an impressive sight walking toward him in the gloom of the stone house at dawn, almost as if the bear was charging toward him from the hallway. As he approached, Rob could see the guy and the bear more clearly. The beast’s snarling teeth and open jaws were centered on his knee, so the animal’s muzzle protruded like an actual snout. Rob didn’t much like tattoos, but he had to admit this one was a work of art. The “kid,” now that he walked into the relative brightness of the open living room, was probably in his mid-twenties, and he was checking out the wall framing Rob had completed a few days ago. “Nice,” he said, nodding in appreciation. “Not everyone uses LVL for wall studs.”
“Well,” said Rob, “I wouldn’t use anything else.”
“No, totally,” said the bear guy. “I’d go engineered timber every time.”
“Stronger,” they both said at the same time.
“Jinx,” said the guy.
“Rob,” said Sareena, coming up the dark hallway and slipping her phone into the pocket of her puffy vest. “This is Aaron. The electrician I was telling you about.”
“How are you, mate.” Rob stuck out his hand and Aaron shook it, a good firm grip. “That’s some tattoo,” said Rob, letting go of Aaron’s hand.
“Thanks.” Aaron looked down at himself, as if appreciating the bear for the first time. “Took ages. And hurt like hell.”
“I bet.” Rob grimaced, though he had no real sense of how much pain a tattoo represented.
“So,” Sareena interjected. “What do you reckon, Rob? I was thinking Aaron could start laying cable downstairs, even though I’m not happy with the state of the roof yet.”
“I know,” said Rob. “We’ll sort it out today.”
“Good,” she said, and turned back to face Aaron. “So, Aaron, we won’t do upstairs today, but just cable down here like it’s going upstairs, yeah. I know it’s a bit ass backward, but that’s how we’re doing it.”
