The Marriage Gap Year, page 22
She worried about Kendry but was hopeful she was getting the care she needed. Emma couldn’t go in the kitchen anymore without thinking about how close she’d come to losing her friend.
Chapter Thirty
Rob sat at the kitchen table of the display home and folded another soggy fry into his mouth. He peered into the cardboard box, just the crunchy little bits at the bottom left. He pinched one, popped it in his mouth and his phone rang. Rob quickly licked his fingers and wiped them on his pant leg. He squinted at the display before answering.
“Jimmy,” he said, still chewing. “How are you, mate?” Rob worked his tongue, dislodging the bits of potato stuck in his gums. “Good, mate, good…Nothing, just having an early tea. What’s that?…Nah, no tandoori for me, mate, just the old fish and chips.” He laughed.
“No bad news. I called you earlier because I’m working on this swish project and I thought you might want to give us a hand…Well, I was working with this young bird and, let’s just say, we had some creative differences. What do you reckon, can you help us out? It’s a good project, well advanced and…What’s that?…Nah, next year’s no good, I need it now.” Rob pushed the takeout box away from him. “Well, what about Tony? He’s probably just busy counting money but…You’re shitting me…Since when?…So he’s on a cruise ship somewhere…Poor bastard…Nah mate, all good…No biggie. Just thought I’d check in with you old farts first, see if you could give us hand…Nah, I hear ya mate…Okay, no worries.”
He put the phone down and swished his tongue around his bottom teeth.
Rob surveyed the mess on the table, the beer cans, the grease-stained cardboard box, the bitten piece of fish stewing in vinegar on the crumpled wax paper.
He stood abruptly, knocking the chair down behind him. “Fuck.” He breathed heavily, closed his eyes and opened them, took in the mess on the table. He swept his arm across the table, knocking everything to the floor. Rob stepped over the mess and rested both hands on the edge of the sink.
“Fuck me,” he sighed. He couldn’t get anything to work out right. Rob looked out the kitchen window. Another cold and moonless night.
SPRING
Chapter Thirty-One
The rocky outcrop of Phillip Island didn’t look like a tourist destination in early spring. That’s what Emma liked about it. When the weather was still gray and blustery, fewer tour buses arrived to see the little penguins waddle ashore at night. It was the football semi-finals too, so you didn’t have to book a table at a restaurant ahead of time or otherwise deal with crowds and flies.
Kendry and Emma had been doing this spring pilgrimage for years, staying at the same cabin on the beach long before Airbnb had been a thing. They had watched Will crawl, then walk, then run on this narrow strip of sand, and the recurring annual booking ensured this weekend was pre-booked on their calendars, clear for them to escape the city and allow the wind and wine to blow the cobwebs away.
Emma got to the house first, becalmed by the way it never seemed to change. The same daggy beach decor, the wood paneling, the outside shower, screened from the beach by a fence made of old surfboards. They could afford something more glamorous these days, but they always came back to this place. Time had a way of standing still here.
Emma sat down on the mission-brown pull-out sofa with the dip in the mattress. She’d been waiting for this moment to listen to Dr Priya’s episode “Old Friends.” It was the perfect time to hear it. Emma parted the shade curtain, enough to see the beach and the white caps of surf in the distance. It felt good to blend this familiar view with Dr Priya’s soothing voice, as if it helped Dr Priya overhear the years of conversation that Emma and Kendry had shared in this place. Old friends, said Dr Priya, are both simple and complicated. They tend to keep you one of two ways: either they hold you down and prevent you from evolving into someone they don’t want you to be; or they hold you accountable to your values, help you stay true to the best of yourself. One friend, my lovelies, is worth keeping, said Dr Priya. The other one is for letting go.
Which was Kendry? Could someone be both?
Even though Kendry said she’d be there, Emma couldn’t shake the apprehension that this year might be different, that Kendry would cancel, possibly at the last minute. Why else did she not want to be picked up from the airport, had insisted on meeting her here, rather than driving down together.
But Kendry did arrive, with three bags, four hats and a chessboard-sized box of Koko Black chocolates, which, she said, was their sworn duty to finish before the weekend was through.
She looked thicker, somehow, more substantial. The wrinkles in her cheeks had filled in and her overall complexion was softer, buttery. As soon as Emma had noticed this, she’d looked away, mindful of how sensitive Kendry was about her physical appearance. The changes in her face spoke volumes about how much pain Kendry had gone through in the time they had been apart.
“Where is it?” said Kendry, her head inside one of the low kitchen cupboards. “I have to see it.” She rummaged to the clanging of pots and scraping of metal things from deep inside the cupboard. “Here it is.” She pulled out the Dutch mini-pancake pan. “Ta da,” she said, straining to hold on to the cast-iron pan with little divots in it.
“I can’t believe it’s still here,” said Emma.
“Look at it.” Kendry’s wrists strained to hold it. “This thing’s indestructible.”
“You think anyone’s ever used this except us?”
“Of course not!” said Kendry. “Because making little Dutch pancakes is a pain in the ass.” She stuffed the pan back in the pantry. “It’s like a fondue. Nice idea, not worth the effort.”
They unpacked, had a cup of tea and agreed to stroll down the main street where they browsed real estate boards and peeked in shop windows, pretending there was nothing to discuss.
As much as Emma wanted to tell Kendry how concerned she was, she knew her friend well enough to know it was worth holding off until Kendry was in a more serious mood. She’d get all defensive otherwise. Let her get comfortable first, look in the shops, eat a pistachio ice cream. They had the whole weekend to talk.
The weather turned by late afternoon, and they began to regret how far they’d walked away from the house along this wide stretch of beach. The gray water and sudden chilly breeze made it hard to imagine this place in summer, full of beachgoers.
“I’m going stay away for a while, Em,” said Kendry, zipping up her coat.
“In Bryon?” said Emma cautiously.
“Yeah.” Kendry zipped the jacket up tighter, so the collar was stiff around her neck. “I’ve just got too much past in Melbourne.” She shivered and warmed her hands in her side pockets. “Besides, I want to be somewhere warm.”
Emma looked at her friend, the translucent quality of her pale skin was accentuated by the flat gray sky. “So, rehab’s going okay then?”
“Fuck no,” said Kendry, putting her face into the wind. “It sucks. Plus, it’s not goddamn rehab.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s a wellness center in Byron Bay thank you very much.”
Emma turned toward Kendry, who stared down at the sand as she walked. “Well,” I’m glad you’re going.”
Kendry took Emma’s hand and held it tight. “How did we get here, Em?” Kendry pulled her friend in close. “It’s all going so fast.”
“I know.”
Kendry squeezed Emma tight and rubbed her shoulder. “Why do this, this gap year? Why not just split?”
“You sound like Will.” Emma scooped hair out of her eyes.
“Maybe he’s got a point.”
Emma shot Kendry an unappreciative look.
“No, I’m serious,” Kendry insisted, trying to catch Emma’s eye. “What is it, this thing you’re doing for yourself?”
Emma turned her back to Kendry and looked down at the sand, mixed with curls of dried seagrass, twisted and knotted like blackened Christmas tinsel.
“Hey,” said Kendry, quietly, “do you reckon whatever problem you guys have is as much your fault as his?”
“Oh, please. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Em, I’m your oldest friend and so it’s my job to tell you these things, because who else will? What if the problem isn’t just out there somewhere?” Kendry gestured toward the horizon. “What if it’s in here?” She pointed at Emma’s chest. “What if it’s because you make yourself available to everyone but yourself? What if it has nothing to do with your marriage? Like, what if you married a hundred people and whoever they were, you ended up in the same situation?”
Emma shook her head slowly. She reached down and dug one of the little tufts of dried seagrass up from the sand. “When I was eighteen,” she said, the brittle strands of seaweed coming apart in her fingers, “I was at this park in Coburg. It was a dump, car parts in the creek and electricity towers all around, but we all hung out there. Anyway, this one time, I came out from under a tree – it was one of those saggy ones with the branches that hang down.”
“A willow.”
“Right. Anyway, the branches were hanging down kind of like a curtain, and when I pulled them apart, I saw this guy standing there in the distance. He was a bit older than me, but not in a creepy way. And he was pushing this little kid on a swing. I didn’t get the feeling it was his kid or anything, maybe his little brother or something, but that part doesn’t really matter. Something weird happened after that.” Emma wiped her hands of the crushed tuft of seagrass and let the dry shards sprinkle onto the gray sand.
“What?” said Kendry, impatiently.
“I’m not sure,” said Emma. “It’s hard to describe without it sounding stupid. But, when I looked at him, he looked back. And we had this…almost telepathic connection, like, somehow, I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Except it wasn’t thinking, not in words. It was more like pictures. I saw him walk over, with that little boy, and I saw them both take my hand, and we walked back up the street, together, to the house where we all lived, like it was normal, like we’d done it a thousand times before, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He smiled and I did too. And it was as if our whole lives, and not just our lives, but the whole world had been slowly tipping us toward this moment of coming together. And it wasn’t like I was just thinking these things. I knew them. And I knew that he knew them too.” Emma gazed out at the gray waves. The breeze stiffened, making her nose leak.
“So, what did you do?” said Kendry.
“Nothing.” Emma sniffed, wiped her nose with her sleeve. “The whole thing was super fragile, like a smoke ring. Someone kicked a ball and called out and the feeling was gone, it just went away.”
“Yeah, but the guy was still standing there, right? It’s not like he disappeared?”
“He was still there but it was different, somehow. Like the connection was broken.”
“You got cold feet?”
“No. It wasn’t like that. It was bigger than that. Afterwards, I always thought, maybe that’s how love at first sight is supposed to feel like. But no one tells you what to do after you feel it. Like, I thought it should last longer and that’s how I’d know for next time. But I never felt that again, for anyone, and I’ve always wondered, what if that was my soulmate?”
Kendry blew a raspberry. “Come on, ‘soulmate’? Hon, I know you’re kind of a romantic, but you sound like a teenage girl.”
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No, I’m glad you did. It’s a beautiful story, and I’m glad you had that experience. But…you haven’t accepted what love is.”
“Oh, and what is it? This should be good. Alright, go ahead, what is love?”
“Well, it’s a compromise.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“It is,” Kendry insisted. “It’s a compromise you’re both willing to live with.”
“Oh, real romantic, Ken. Even for you that’s fucking bleak.”
“I don’t think so. Not from where I sit. From here it sounds mighty peaceful, darl.” Kendry put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “It’s no fun being alone at our age.”
“I thought you liked being single.”
Kendry rolled her shoulders. “I do. I’m not going to lie. But it’s not nice all the time.”
“But what if things aren’t right?”
“Is that what you’re feeling, really? That it’s wrong? Or is it something else?”
Emma kicked at the sand.
Kendry hugged her coat close, shielding herself from the wind. “Can you honestly say that your marriage is no good? What’s so bad about Rob? I know he’s flabbier than he used to be and he’s not the most romantic guy going, but he’s good. He loves you. Agreed, he’s got a bone-headed way of showing it sometimes, but he does. I’ve seen it. How he looks at you and Will. Do you have any idea how much I want someone to look at me like that? It’s great being single, but it’s lonely out here too, Em. There’s no fairytale perfection, except in a dream or a vision under a willow tree. And as much I like being single, I can’t help but feel there’s something missing sometimes. There’s this hollow space in my heart and I want to fill it with something other than a partner but, deep down, I know that’s what I want. I wish I didn’t. But I do.” She rubbed her hands. “You know, my parents were together for fifty-three years. They weren’t all good years. But I also know, whatever happens to me, I’m never going to have that. You’ve got no idea what that’s like. You’re risking stuff you don’t even realize you have.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Aw fuck.” She blew her nose.
Emma looked over at her friend. The tall one. The boisterous one. The strong one, the one who always knew what to say or do, or where to take the party next. Emma could still see the young woman she’d met all those years ago in the quad at Melbourne University. But she could also see the older person she was becoming, breathing through her skin, the image fleeting, a shape in a cloud. “You know, Ken.” She cleared her throat. “You could always—”
“Don’t!” Kendry blew and wiped her nose again. “I know your heart’s in the right place. But don’t you dare tell me that it could still happen and that you never know what’s around the corner because, hon, I don’t even know if I can do that anymore.” She put her hands in the pockets of her coat. “I just want something comfortable, without having to go through all the hard shit to get there.” She sniffed. “I just want a thirty-year relationship out of the box. If they had that on the shelf, I’d buy it. A thirty-year marriage from five to eleven pm every night and then I get to go to sleep and wake up alone. Sold. Where do I sign?”
Emma put her arm around Kendry and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, Ken. I just want you to be happy.”
“Me too.” Kendry rested her head on Emma’s shoulder, the whole of their shared past summoned to the narrow space between them.
Kendry sniffed and blew her nose again. “Ugh, wet tissue,” she said, holding up the soggy Kleenex. “It’s coming apart. Christ, it’s a fucking symbolic tissue,” she sniggered. “You’re done,” she said to the soggy tissue, balling it up and putting it into her pocket. She fished for a fresh one in her coat. “Did I tell you I’ve been seeing an escort?”
“What?”
Kendry nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear, but the wind blew it out again. “There’s no need to look so shocked. I wasn’t even going to tell you.”
“I’m not shocked. I’m just…but why?”
“Why not?” Kendry squinted.
Emma raised her eyebrows.
“Because,” Kendry said, “guys my age want someone younger. Preferably, a lot younger. So do the math on how old some geezer is before he takes a second look at me. Unless you count the younger ones with mommy issues.”
“Oh, please don’t start on that again.”
Kendry slapped her own wrist. She leaned in close. “I bet it’s nice, though, eh?”
She jabbed her elbow into Emma’s side.
The two of them laughed. The waves crashed on the empty beach and Kendry’s dyed red hair leaped around her scalp in the wind like flames.
“What’s that like?” said Emma, looking out to sea.
“The escorts?” said Kendry, her eyes also scanning the horizon. “A bit weird at first, but it gets easier. I kind of like it now. They’re like lollipops, I pick a flavor.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.” Kendry looked at her hands, drained of color and papery dry from the wind. “I’d obviously prefer something a little more intimate, but I am nothing if not practical, a woman of action.”
Emma took Kendry’s hand.
“So, what happens now?” Kendry squeezed Emma’s hand. “With Rob?” They both turned to the horizon, which disappeared and reappeared behind the ocean swell.
Emma thought about the little things that had started her on this journey, how they had become indistinguishable from the bigger things. The way Rob lay in bed, the outline of his body like a quilted mountain range, pulling her into the dent in the mattress, the way he expelled air when he laughed, the way he snorted, and, if he was really laughing, the way it always ended in a coughing fit. The disgust she’d felt when she noticed his sudden growth of ear hair, coarse and wiry, like an animal’s. When had such small and seemingly insignificant things begun to annoy her? Or had she always noticed those things and had only stopped forgiving them?
But there was the bigger stuff too. The drinking. The way he’d pretty much given up on sex, always too stressed, too tired or too sore to accept her advances. He was never willing to discuss her concerns, dismissed her worry about the remoteness she perceived growing between them. There was always some reason to explain away his coldness, he had to get up early or he got to bed too late, had a lot on his mind. She could not help but feel that he was avoiding her. Questioning the motives behind his excuses only met with accusations: that she didn’t appreciate the stress he was under, how hard he worked, the weight of the “boring but important things” that pressed on his mind. She offered to discuss these things with him, to work them out together, but he always said it was “too hard to get into,” “not worth it,” or that the issue, whatever it was, would “sort itself out.” She came to hate those phrases, hearing in them only that he kept a part of his life separate from her. Was it too much effort to let her help him unravel the frustrations that kept him awake at night? Or was she not worthy of confiding in? In the end, Emma had stopped trying to bridge the gap between them and tried in vain to subdue her own unmet needs.
