The Marriage Gap Year, page 21
Erik just raised his eyebrows.
Her son looked her up and down, took in her heels, the fancy jacket and turned to Erik. “What the fuck?” He brought his hands to his face. “Oh, no way.”
“Mate,” said Erik.
“Are you serious? You’re fucking my mom?”
“Dude.”
“Oi!” Emma struggled out of the beanbag. “Language.”
“What-the, seriously?”
“Will!” She grabbed her son’s arm. “What are you getting mad at him for?”
“This is fucked up.”
“Guys,” said Erik, his hands out, conciliatory.
“Take it outside,” yelled someone in the auditorium. “Meeoow,” came another voice, followed by ripple of laughter.
“Come on,” said Erik, and walked toward a door beside the stage. They followed.
The door led to a short corridor that opened into a fenced-off area in the back alley. Judging from all the cigarette butts on the ground, this is where the muzos smoked between sets. There was one now, a guy with a long beard and thick glasses. He acknowledged Erik with a nod of his head, exhaled and flicked the smoke onto the pavement.
“Have a good set, mate,” said Erik. The bearded guy left without a word. Now the three of them stood there, their breath steaming in the night air.
“Okay,” said Will. “So, what?”
“Dude,” said Erik. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“Okay. Good to know.”
“Why is it bro?
“Uh, because she’s fucking married!”
“Dude, it’s not—”
“Ah, hello,” said Emma. “Standing right here.”
“Mom, you—”
“No.” She waggled her finger to shut him up. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to—”
“Well don’t. I can speak for myself.”
“I feel I should go?” said Erik.
“No,” snapped Emma. “You’re in this now. You don’t get to sneak off.”
The backstage door creaked open and another hairy guy in a leather jacket walked out. “We’re having a private conversation,” said Emma. “Go smoke somewhere else.” The man’s eyes widened. He held up his hand in apology and turned around.
“Mom,” Will said, pointing at the door. “That was the lead singer of Fraztrap!”
“I don’t care if it was the Pope!”
Erik laughed.
“You think it’s funny?” said Emma.
“It’s…kind of funny.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so.”
“I quit school,” said Will, and looked away. “There, I said it.”
Emma squinted and cocked her head, leaned toward Will as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“I did.” Will turned back toward her. “It’s already done, so…”
“Well, what the fuck!” She threw her hands up, couldn’t stop blinking. “Why, what happened? Did something happen? Did your father—”
Will shook his head.
Emma glared at Erik. “Did you put him up to this?”
Erik raised his hands and shook his head. “It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“No,” snapped Will. “It’s my choice.”
“I’m going to leave you two,” said Erik. Emma frowned and Erik disappeared behind the squeaky metal door.
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Will. “Uni’s just not the place for me.” His eyes finally met hers, briefly, and darted away. She couldn’t read them.
“But why not?” said Emma. “I mean, how do you know that? You haven’t even finished your first year. Give it more time.”
She took a long breath, inviting him to seize the quiet space between them. He said nothing and she felt the delicate moment she thought she’d created slipping away. She softened her tone, whispered, “I get that you’re confused.”
“I’m not confused.”
“Okay, fine. But I’ve learned in life it’s good to have options. You don’t know what it’s like to feel you don’t have options.”
“I know. You’ve told me a thousand times. But at some point, I need to look at my options and make choices, right?” He looked at her and she glimpsed in his eyes a certainty and maturity she’d not seen there before. He looked back at her without anger, without confusion, without fear. His eyes were calm and self-possessed.
She looked down at his hand and noticed what she’d thought were blood blisters on his fingernails was nail polish. Will let her hold his fingers as she fought back tears.
She’d watched him grow up, but he’d always remained little somehow, in need of her, but she suddenly understood that she needed him now, more than he needed her. She raised her chin to swallow past the lump in her throat. “So,” she said, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her knuckle. “What are you, a groupie now?”
Will smiled nervously and pulled away. He paced and flattened the hair at the back of his head. “Look,” he said. “I like it, Mom. I’m not just rolling cables. I’m learning loads about sound and stage design. I like the music. And I like the scene. It’s something I want to try for a while. Just see where it goes.” He kicked at the ground, the litter of cigarette butts. “So, are you, like, with him?”
Emma bit her lip. “Not really.” She rubbed her palm on her forehead. “Oh, I don’t know. Kind of.” She glanced at the floor. “Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Kinda.”
“Yeah. It’s weird.” Emma shook out her wrists and sighed. “Look, I don’t know.” She tried to smile, make light of it, but Will looked away.
He combed his hands through his hair. “I did not expect to see you sitting there,” he said. “That’s for sure.”
“Well,” she smiled. “I didn’t expect to see me there either.” She looked at the ground again. “Surprise,” she said quietly.
Will smiled, put his hands in his back pockets and briefly looked at her before looking up at the sky. A police siren wailed in the distance. “Pretty good show though, eh?” he said.
Emma exhaled in relief. “So good.”
Will turned and looked at her. “He is pretty awesome.” Will dragged the toe of his sneaker across a crack in the pavement. “What does this mean?” he said, shyly. “Like, for you and Dad?”
Emma pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been thinking about that. I should tell him. It’s the right thing to do.”
Will considered her response. “What do you think he’ll say?”
Emma hesitated. “I don’t know. Kendry reckons he’s seeing someone, so who knows.”
“Dad? Seeing someone?”
“Okay, you’re going to think it’s stupid, but she showed me this picture of him with a young dark-haired woman.”
“What, Sareena?” he laughed. “Yeah, no. You guys are way off.”
“Oh Christ,” said Emma, blushing. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
Will was still crushing cigarette butts with the scuffed-up toe of his running shoe.
“Do you love him?” he said.
“Who, your father?”
“No, Erik.”
Emma thought of Erik, the smoothness of his skin, taught against his ribs, his chest, his shoulders. She thought of those long, delicate fingers and the things they could do. She thought about how the beauty of his music had transported her, had moved her, but it had also distanced her from him. The show had made Erik seem real to Emma, in a way that he had not been before. He had become someone wholly distinct from her, someone who had abilities and plans, a direction in life that pre-dated her, reminding her that Erik was not just there for her pleasure. He had a life before her, just as certainly as he would have one after. Their relationship could not fulfill the promise of hearing that music for the first time. She’d already known this, the first time she met him, but it was convenient to forget.
It had to end. She had a life. Kendry needed her. And Will needed her too, in ways neither of them could yet understand.
“What are you going to tell Dad?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”
Will frowned.
“Does he need to know?” She looked down at the scuff marks on Will’s running shoe.
“Yes, he does.”
“Why?”
“Because…it’s shitty not to tell him. You’re just looking for an excuse to get away with it.”
“I’m not trying to get away with anything.”
“Right.”
“I’m not. And you can wipe that little smirk of your face. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So you’re not saying you should lie to Dad about fucking someone else.”
“Hey, watch it! I know you’re pissed off, but I’m not going let you talk to me like that. Don’t be crass. I’m trying to be honest with you. Trying to be an adult. Maybe you can do the same.” Will stared back.
Her relationship with Erik, which had felt like a private world, had now infiltrated the rest of her life with consequences beyond her control. Emma softened her voice. “I’m not sorry about Erik. He was amazing. Is amazing.”
“Gross.”
“It’s not. He’s lovely and I like the person I am with him. I’m adventurous and brave, and I feel like I can ask for things I want, not because he owes them to me, but because he wants to make me happy.” Emma wiped her eyes. “I will tell your father, when the time’s right.”
Will opened his mouth as if to speak but Emma stopped him. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re allowed to keep secrets when they protect people.”
Will made a face like he didn’t like what he was hearing.
He was so earnest. She’d given him that, the luxury of growing up slowly. It was worth more than he could know.
“You staying for the second part of the show?” said Will.
Emma smiled at him. “You want me to?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go,” and led her back inside.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rob noticed how his dirty work boots had worn a path of footprints to and from the veranda of the display home. No prospective buyers had visited the place in weeks. That didn’t bother him. He welcomed not having to clean up after himself as much. Since work had stopped on the stone house, he’d been sleeping in too, allowing himself to be awakened by the beeping of heavy trucks reversing and the dumping of gravel before he got out of bed. It didn’t matter if he was late. He wasn’t on the tools out here, it was more of an advisory role. Tell that to his lower back, which twinged as he dodged muddy puddles on the way to Syed’s demountable office.
Rob’s phone chimed and he stopped on the dirt road to check it. It was a text from Will:
Quit school. Sorry dad. Man’s got to make his own decisions.
“Oi!” The blast of a car horn startled Rob, who looked up to see Shane, one of his old apprentices, leaning out the side window of a mud-splattered truck. “No phones unless you’re on a break,” said Shane grinning. “Don’t you know the rules, mate?” Shane smiled, blue eyes on a sunburnt face. “How are ya, Rob? All good?”
“Not bad, mate. Not bad.” Rob forced a smile and tucked his phone in the pocket of his jacket. “Know if Syed’s up in the bunker?”
They both looked over at the portable office, atop the hill. It was surrounded by chewed up grass, streaked with muddy tire tracks.
“Where else?” said Shane. “Warm and dry in there. Don’t blame him, either. Fucken miserable out here.” Shane glanced up at the sky, then tapped the steering wheel. “I better get going, mate. These steel frames aren’t going to move themselves. Catch ya later, Rob.”
“Be good, mate.”
“Not so far.” Shane smiled, and the truck pulled slowly away.
Rob thought he heard his phone chime. It hadn’t.
Inside the portable office, it was even colder than it was outside, even as the heater wheezed on the back wall. Syed was on the phone, pacing around and speaking Persian, which always sounded like whispering, even when he was angry. The sound of that language gave Rob a pleasant shiver.
Syed waved him in. “Okay mate,” he said, now speaking English into his phone. “No worries. See you next week.” He put his phone down on the desk and looked at Rob with half-closed eyelids. Syed frowned. “You look like shit, man. You sick?”
“Nah, just a crap sleep. I’m good.” Rob blew on his hands to warm them.
“You sure?” Rob nodded. Syed lowered himself onto his office chair, manilla folders piled all over his desk. “You know, I saw your wife.”
“Oh.” Rob’s eyebrows arched.
“Yes. At my club in the city. Months ago.” Syed cleared his throat. “With her friend.”
Rob nodded. Probably Kendry.
Syed just sat there, blinking. “Everything good?” he said.
Rob nodded. “Yeah. Fine. Just a bit worried about this roof, mate. It was supposed to go on two weeks ago. We’re still dead in the water.”
Syed swatted the comment away.
“Should’ve told her, Sy,” Rob shook his head. “Wasn’t right to trick her like that.”
Syed screwed up his face. “I should just sell that fucking house for the highest price.” He tossed a stray folder onto one of the towers of paper on his desk. “Fucking heritage,” he said, slumped back in the creaky chair. “It’s just stones. All Australia is stones.”
Syed sighed, rubbed his face with his hands and rested his chin on steepled fingers. “That’s it.” He dropped his hands to his knees and turned to look out the grimy little window. “I’m finished with houses. Going to build apartments now. Australian houses are very expensive. But why so much?” He turned to Rob and raised his palms in the air. “There is so much space. Maybe people they don’t want to be married now, they don’t want children, maybe not have so much money for a big house. But they still need a home. So, I build apartments. I sell the house.”
Rob looked at him sideways. “Yeah, but who’s going to buy an unfinished house, mate? That looks dodgy. You should finish it.”
Syed swiveled on his chair and looked out the window. “Fucking shit.” He smashed his fist on the desk. “Okay. You finish it.” He stuck his chin out at Rob. “And I sell it.”
“Yeah, but we can’t, Sy. Not until this legal thing with the Council’s sorted.”
Syed waved his hand indifferently. “Come on. Council my balls. That’s the fucking neighbor.”
“Hmm?”
“The neighbor. On the hill, behind the house. He’s a jerk. Doesn’t want me to have a nicer, bigger house than him.” Syed brought his thumb and forefinger together. “Small penis.”
“Well, okay, but I don’t reckon Council’s going to back down because of that, mate. Bottom line is, we’re not building anything until you fix the heritage thing.”
“You fix it.”
“Nah, mate. I’m just the builder. You need a lawyer.”
Syed leaned back and rested his hands on his pot belly. “You know, Australian government always try to make like they protect things: the environment, heritage buildings, ladies from a bad man. But you know…if you really want to do something… is difficult.” Syed brought his palms together. “You work with others. Together. Help them do their things, then they help you with your things. It’s better but is more work.”
“What is that?” Rob sneered. “Wisdom from the old country or something?”
Syed shook his head. “Not cultural wisdom, mate. It’s fucking universal law.” He grinned. “You can fix it.”
“How am I supposed to fix it, Sy? Just get your lawyer to give them a call.”
Syed closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Lawyers are always talking. Council. Always talking. It’s a game they play to look busy. We spend months talking and say nothing. Very expensive conversation. Call the girl.”
“She’s pissed at me, and you too.”
Syed tut-tutted. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll want to fix it.”
“Wouldn’t be too sure, mate. She’s ropeable.”
“Just think about what she is wanting to protect. She loves the house. I think you do too. So…” He smiled and theatrically wiggled his fingers.
“So what, mate?”
“So, make it work.”
“How? What am I supposed to tell her?”
Syed frowned. “You don’t say anything,” he said, and leaned back in his chair to the rubbery squelch of vinyl. “You listen.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emma had set herself up permanently on the lounge room sofa, a cocoon of blankets and pillows. Now that Kendry was at her “wellness facility” in Byron Bay, Emma had moved out of Margaret’s old bedroom and set up in here. As Dr Priya said, it is important to be mindful, to recognize patterns in your life.
Emma’s pattern was watching TV while scrolling LinkedIn or jobs.com, half-heartedly applying for positions she was overqualified for. Marketing Consultant, Communications Adviser, Senior Communications Adviser. Ugh. She clicked Apply on another application and looked up at the TV.
It felt good to graze the culture, get lost in a rabbit hole of YouTube clips. Being unproductive felt strangely constructive at first, but it was alarming how quickly a search for videos on manifesting positivity and good mental health opened a gateway to people sharing their crystal therapies and near-death experiences.
Erik was busy doing gigs up in New South Wales. She told herself she didn’t care.
Emma flipped TV channels, from cooking show to renovation show to ’90s sitcom and back again.
She might go for a walk later. Get some air. She hadn’t run in ages. Every time she thought about lacing up her trainers, she talked herself out of it. It was either too dark or too cold or too wet, and besides, she just didn’t like running that much.
Emma slept a lot these days, her nest of pillows and blankets like a warm bunker that kept the world at bay. Only the occasional roar of a truck to remind her of the world outside. If the weather was okay, she might go for a walk. If it wasn’t, she’d stay in. It’d get late and Emma would eventually drift off to the gentle voices of the shopping channel. Dr Priya did say routines were important.
