The Marriage Gap Year, page 23
Weren’t men supposed to be insatiable? Or was it just her he didn’t want? Could he have been cheating? It seemed absurd. But then maybe that’s why he seemed to distrust her, tried to control her in a million little ways, like when she was driving, the way he swiveled in the car as if she was bound to crash if he didn’t survey the world outside her window. If it was caution that led him to behave this way, it didn’t stop him from driving after drinking too many beers. Far too many beers.
Dr Priya reminded her to be grateful for the people in her life, to thank them for the gifts they imparted through their actions, both good and bad.
Rob was also passionate. The way he talked about his work, his clients, the way he stood back, arms akimbo, admiring the store of salvaged timbers he kept in their garden shed, treasured like dinosaur eggs. She didn’t get it, but she could respect it. He loved Will. Of that, she was sure. He’d do anything for his family.
It felt true what Kendry had said, that things were different now that they had fewer years ahead of them than they had behind them. She could start something new, something serious. But Emma didn’t need someone else to save her. She could rely on her own drive and ingenuity the way she used to, the way she’d had to, the way she knew she could.
But she also knew these things were no longer entirely true. They were in the sense that she could call on those strengths if she needed to, but she no longer wanted to. She just wanted to be happy and comfortable, and if her younger self was inclined to judge her for this, then her younger self did not, could not, understand what life was really like. “Fuck satisfaction,” she’d once said. “I want my life to be full, a bonfire of the soul.” But that was before she knew how rare contentment was.
Rob knew her in a way that no one else did, that no one else could. He’d known her when she was young, had met friends she no longer kept in touch with. He was one of the few people in her life now who’d had an actual conversation with her father. That stuff mattered. More than ever. They filled out a relationship, those experiences, and made of them a living scrapbook, a midden that would see them through the longest winter. What she and Rob had was irreplaceable. But she wasn’t sure she wanted it back.
“You know what,” Kendry said, wiping her nose with her sleeve, “maybe all you need to do is disappoint people for once. And not apologize for it. Just own it.”
“I’m trying,” said Emma.
“And how’s that going?”
They laughed.
“You’re going to like this,” said Emma.
“Oh?”
“Erik’s invited me to a music festival.”
Kendry smiled, steepled her fingers. “Seriously?”
Emma nodded. “Him and his mates. It’s stupid, right?”
“Oh god.” Kendry rolled her eyes. “I’d pay to see this. Well,” she said, slapping her thigh, “you said you wanted to go all in. That is all in, but seriously, sleeping in a tent on the ground?”
“Oh no, we’d have a cabin.”
“Fancy.” Kendry tubed her lips.
“I’ve never been to one.”
“Yes, you have.”
Emma shook her head.
“You did! Ninety-four, we all went to Meredith.”
Emma shook her head.
“You were there,” Kendry insisted. “With Mel and Sophie. You don’t remember Spiderbait?”
“I didn’t go, Ken. I worked that whole summer.”
Kendry squinted, remembering. “Really?” Emma nodded. “Well, they were overrated,” said Kendry, chuckling.
“I’m not loving the idea,” said Emma, “but I should be open to new experiences, right?”
Kendry snorted. “Take clean undies and some cranberry juice, luv. A yeast infection’s the price you pay for rooting in the dirt.” She stood up. “Come on, Em.” Kendry held the collar of her coat tight around her neck. “Let’s get inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”
They left the beach, past the sand dunes where the green tufts of seagrass bent and swirled in the wind.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rob watched Sareena through the chain link fence of a worksite. Beyond it was a wedding-cake of a house, a Victorian jewel with a lot of fretwork and chimneys. She hadn’t seen him yet, was too busy zooming in on something on her tablet. Sareena showed it to a stumpy little man, who lifted his glasses and leaned in close to examine whatever it was. The little man smiled, lowered his glasses and said something to Sareena, who playfully slapped him on the shoulder. She saw Rob through the fence, then, and her expression dulled slightly. She raised her index finger.
Rob retreated and leaned back on a pallet of timber, wrapped in plastic and dumped on the boggy nature strip. He waited, moving some gravel pebbles around the stomped grass with the toe of his work boot. He heard the clang of a metal gate and looked up. Sareena didn’t approach, just stood there on the outside of the fence.
Rob pointed his thumb at the pallet of wrapped timber behind him. “It’s the wrong stuff,” he said. “Should’ve used engineered timber.”
Sareena stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her puffy orange vest. “What do you want, Rob?”
He looked at her sideways. A jackhammer started up someplace inside the house. “I was thinking,” he said, peeling himself off the pallet of timber, “that, maybe, we could finish what we started.”
Sareena shifted her weight onto her hip. “I think I was pretty clear.”
“I know.” Rob held up his hands in submission. “You were. It’s just…”
“I’m not building that Frankenhouse,” she said, crossing her arms.
Rob scratched under his chin at the itchy stubble growing down his neck.
“Anyone tell you that you look like shit?” said Sareena, one eyebrow cocked.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She shifted her weight onto the other hip. “So, is that it?”
Rob sniffed. “What if…” He looked past Sareena at her construction crew moving around behind the fence. “What if you had more input, more control?”
Sareena sighed. “It’s tempting, I’m not going to lie. Thing is,” she said, balling up her fists inside the front pockets of her vest, “you weren’t straight with me. And I’m not sure I can forgive you for that.”
“I know,” Rob admitted. “It’s just that—”
Sareena held up her hand. “What I’m saying is that nice vibe we had, that flow we all had going on…I don’t know if we can get that back.” She shook her head. “When you don’t let me into your shit, don’t put everything out on the table, then I can’t do what I do. You can’t treat people like they’re a project, Rob, something you manage. You’ve got to let ’em in.”
Rob put his hands in his pockets. “Sorry you feel that way.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“So, what? That’s it then?” said Rob.
“Guess it is.”
He looked at her, glanced away. “And what if you took over?” he said. “Did it all the way you want?”
Sareena smiled. “I’d say that ship’s sailed, mate.”
“Seriously?” Rob frowned. “I’m offering you full creative control.”
She smiled. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“What?”
“How I work, mate. Didn’t you notice? I’m not about full control. I pick my crew because we work together. I pay the bills, but you don’t see me bossing them around. You said I’m always on the phone talking,” she smirked. “Well, you were half-right about that. What I do mostly is listen, mate. All these people back here” – she motioned over her shoulder, at the crew working behind the fence – “they show up here every day because I respect what they do. I rely on their expertise and ask them to help me with everything. It’s not just me making the decisions, mate. It’s a big, messy discussion, and that shit takes time. Would you make time for that, Rob?” She looked at him sideways.
He took a deep breath. “Not sure. Maybe. I’d have to know where I was meant to start.”
She laughed.
“What?” said Rob, encouraged by her response.
“Look at you.” She looked him up and down. “Man of action. Always looking to find the thing you can do.”
Rob was puzzled. Of course he was looking for what he was supposed to do. Wasn’t that what Sareena was doing right now? Telling him what was what? Schooling him? Her turn to gloat. To win.
“Dude,” she continued, “I’m not suggesting you do anything. Just the opposite. I’m saying you can start by doing less and listening more.”
“I listen.”
She slowly shook her head and smiled big, all her teeth showing. “Nah, mate, you hear people out. There’s a difference. I’ve seen you. You make up your mind before the other person’s even finished talking. Look!” She pointed at his face. “You’re doing it right now.”
“I’m not.” He blushed.
She smiled wryly and stamped mud off her boots. “I’ve got to get back,” she said, adjusting her hard hat. “You’ll be right. Just do what feels right.” She turned and walked toward the gate.
“So, is that a definite no, then?” he called out.
“See you, Rob,” she said, without looking back. The gate buzzed open and shut behind her with a wiry hiss.
Parking in the city was always a pain in the ass. Too many vigilante cyclists with a grudge against cars, hogging the road and daring you to hit them. It was a pride thing with those people. They’d miss fossil fuels as much as everyone else if they got their way.
Easy Robbie, you’re sounding a little too much like the old man.
Rob leaned close to the windshield, looking up at the high-rise buildings to glimpse a street number. Will said the bar was around here someplace, in one of those grungy city laneways that tourists like so much. Rob didn’t see the appeal of eating and drinking around trash cans and graffiti, but he wasn’t about to miss out on a drink with his son.
Ah, a parking spot. He stopped his truck. Someone beeped behind him. “Yeah, yeah,” he said to himself, opening the window to wave the angry driver around him. “There you go.”
Rob parallel-parked, gratified by how his truck eased into a spot barely larger than his vehicle, all in one fluid motion. He learned that from the old man too.
Rob balked at the price of parking and grudgingly swiped his credit card on the meter. Everyone was out to fleece you. Banks and governments were the worst.
He found the entrance to Milk Man down the end of an alley, a double steel door between a tattoo parlor and a Nike store, where a group of Asian tourists were taking pictures of each other, posing with their shopping bags. Rob had an urge to jump into one of their photos, but they probably wouldn’t like that. Could’ve been fun though.
It took a moment for Rob’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bar. There were no windows in here, just pools of dim blue and purple lights that gave the place a permanent sense of night. The room was narrow, but deep, with sculptures of headless male torsos tucked inside niches all the way down, the muscled busts of decapitated Roman gladiators.
On the other side of the room, a huge bar stretched all the way to the back of the room where a few people sat drinking at round tables.
Will sat at the bar, his face lit by his phone. Behind him, a lone barman fed a mountain of glassware through the hissing jets of the glass washer. It was mid-afternoon, but Rob couldn’t tell if the place was opening or shutting.
“Nice piece of timber,” he said, running his hand along the glossy, varnished bar as he approached. Will looked up, smiled, glanced back at his phone, hammered his thumbs on the screen and sent whatever it was. Will had a whole life Rob knew nothing about. When did that happen?
“Red mahogany.” Rob’s fingers traced the pleasing curves of wood grain.
“It’s nice,” said Will, without conviction. He turned his phone upside down on the bar.
“You know,” Rob smiled, “this piece of timber probably got to Melbourne on a ship that would’ve sailed right past our little house on the hill.” Rob felt an unspoken tension settle between them at mention of the stone house. “Isn’t that something?” he added, trying to clear the air.
“I guess,” Will turned on his stool.
“You guess? Well,” Rob said, pulling out a bar stool, “I think that’s pretty cool.” He sat down and a sigh of air escaped the stool’s leather upholstery. “Wasn’t me,” he grinned. “It was the stool.” The barman was unmoved by Rob’s arrival and continued placing dirty glasses onto the conveyor belt of his washing machine, the clean glasses jamming up at the other end.
Behind the bar, among the bottles of booze, hung framed black-and-white photos of naked men with flaccid penises. Rob looked away and scanned the ceiling. A circus trapeze hung up there.
He turned to his son. “Should we get a beer or something?”
Will grimaced. “I really only drink rum and coke.”
“Okay, we’ll get that then.” Rob waved to get the barman’s attention. “Two rum and cokes, mate,” he called over.
The barman fished a pair of glasses from the clean side of the washer.
“You mind using glasses that are already on the bar?” said Rob. Will huffed.
“What?” said Rob, turning to Will. “The glasses are all hot when they come out of that thing. Who wants a cold drink out of a hot glass?”
The barman slowly walked over to where the dry glasses were stacked, wiping his hands with a towel that hung out of his pocket. “I don’t like it either,” said the barman, laying the tumbler glasses in front of them. “Hot glass melts the ice,” he said gravely. “Waters down the booze.”
“See,” said Rob, nudging his son. “He knows.”
The poker-faced barman scooped a mound of cubes into the glasses and free poured the rum with a flourish of the wrist. Rob liked the way the ice cracked at the touch of alcohol, made him think of a foundation settling into place.
“Thanks,” said Will, accepting the drink from the bartender.
Rob, put a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “There you go, mate.”
“It actually comes to thirty-six fifty,” said the bartender, pinching the bill between his fingertips. “You can pay by card.”
“Here,” said Will, holding out his bank card.
“Nah.” Rob pushed away Will’s card and fossicked in his own pockets, jangling with loose change. “Geez, pretty steep, eh?” The barman opened his hands, palms up. Rob pulled some bills and coins from his pockets and left them on the bar. “All good,” said Rob. The barman wordlessly took the money and returned to his dishwasher.
“Cheers,” said Rob, holding up his glass.
Will clinked glasses with his father and sipped through the straw. Rob slurped his from the rim, his eyes moving back to the trapeze swing that hung above the bar on a metal wire. He took a long drink and gulped up a piece of ice, crunching it with his back teeth.
“So,” he said, “how’d you find this place?”
Will took another sip of his drink. Held it with both hands, elbows resting on the bar. “I don’t know, just some friends.”
“Yeah?” Rob looked to the back of the room. Some people were playing cards back there. “Anyone I know?”
Will shook his head. “Mostly people from uni.”
“Well, that’s good. See, university’s good for something.”
Will smiled, his cheeks rosy. God, he looked like his mother. Lucky for him. “You know,” said Rob, without turning to Will, “you didn’t need to bring me here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, to shock me or whatever.” Rob slurped his drink.
“Are you shocked?”
Rob looked up, caught a glimpse of the framed pictures of naked men above the bar. He jutted his chin out. “No.” He saw Will in his peripheral vision and realized that looking at him directly was sure to make Rob cry. He just wanted Will’s life to be easy. And this would make it harder.
God, he looked like his mom. But he also looked like he did when he was a little boy. He was half man, half boy now. Rob would always see him that way. Like right now. He wanted to pick his son up in his arms, like when he was little, make raspberries on his belly and fold his little body into his own. Where did all that time go? And why didn’t he savor it more when he had the chance?
This wave of emotion had come from nowhere and Rob didn’t know what to say now. He wanted things to be good between him and Will. Easy. The way they used to be. Time had a way of complicating things.
Rob swallowed past the lump in his throat. “What’d you think I was going to say?”
Will turned his drink on the bar.
“I’m still sitting here, Will.” He looked at his boy. “That tells you all you need to know, son.”
Will nodded, swirled his finger in a puddle of water on the bar.
Rob wiped his face with his hand. “Did I do something to make you think I wouldn’t be okay with this?”
Will sighed. “It’s not like I thought you’d freak out or anything. I guess I just…I don’t know.”
Rob absorbed the weird space between them. Didn’t Will realize how much he loved him. No matter what. “Will, look at me.” Will, head still tilted down, briefly met Rob’s gaze. “I just want you to be a good man. Stand by the people you love. And stand up for the things you believe in. You’re a good man. This doesn’t change that.”
