Page 27 of Pieces of Us

The difference in the people standing and surreptitiously gawking at me now is that I know them.

‘Where should I place these?’ I hold up the fruit and pav. ‘It needs to go in the fridge.’

‘Fridge in here’s not full yet,’ Dad grunts, stirring in his seat. He looks uncomfortable. I head to the enormous double-door fridge to place the food inside.

‘Hey, Lara. Long time, no see. Leo here?’ I kiss her on the cheek before hugging her. Leo is Lara’s husband and Lily’s dad. I think the last time I saw him was when he picked Lily and I up on our last day of school. I didn’t hang around for formal, and I opted to skip graduation, too.

‘Outside, by the barbie. Go see everyone,’ she says, shooing me away.

I peer at the open French doors to the outside area. The offending spa has been removed, which inflates my demeanour. I can smell barbecued meat wafting in the air, which makes my stomach rumble. About forty or so people are hanging around the deck and pool, which I can see is being put to good use in this heat.

Spotting an animated Lily and Rome sharing a pool bed, I also see a few more of our old high school peers whom I haven’t bothered to stay in touch with.

Over by the barbecue is Uncle Jacob and Leo, manning the tongs. A few other men are also crowded around on onion watch. They are doing that manly bonding thing. Among the group is Joel—the dickhead friend of Lincoln’s who never gave me the time of day. He was always a bad influence on Lincoln, but it isn’t fair to just blame Joel the jackass. Lincoln is fully at fault for his actions.

As I observe the group of men, I’m struck by a tall, lean man approaching Uncle Jacob, handing him a tray of sliced potatoes. A man who has distinguishable dark strands and an all-too-familiar smirk. I lived for that smirk back in the day.

Seeing him brings a swarm of butterflies to my stomach. Or is that the sting of bees? I immediately lose my appetite and have the urge to run.

Turning around, Jas is bounding my way. Thank God.

‘Hey, babe!’ I greet her enthusiastically. To distract myself from Lincoln, and to throw Jas off my nervous scent, I delve into my upcoming interviews. It works until we’re interrupted by Lincoln and Jas’s stuck up aunty, who has the body of a forty-five-year-old and the mind of a fifteen-year-old.

She is four times divorced with no children and lives for drama. We rarely saw her growing up, with her living in Victoria, but when she did manage to fit us into her busy schedule, it was always to ask Uncle Jacob for money. In all honesty, I have zero idea why she is even here. I never particularly liked her because she’d always make snarky comments, like, ‘Oh, you’re going to have a second plate?’, or ‘Do you know how many calories are in that?’ Her voice became my voice when I began my descent.

‘Oh, Amity! I was so sorry to hear about you and Lincoln!’ she practically yells, pulling me into a bear hug.

Jas shifts uncomfortably, letting out a nervous chuckle. ‘Aunt Yvonne, that was like ten years ago.’

‘Oh, I know, but I haven’t seen her since she went and got all hot and famous. No more bread rolls on your body anymore, huh, doll?’ Yvonne jokes as if we’re best friends.

Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Breathe and keep fucking smiling. This is the mantra I keep chanting loudly in my mind.

‘Guess I lost all the baby fat after all,’ I shrug. ‘We can’t all have a perfect figure like you, now, can we?’ I fake indulge, which delights her. It works like a charm, because she preens off my compliment, turning so I can see ‘just how much reformer pilates has changed her life.’

Jas and I stand there, listening to her go on about how we both needed to start botox years ago and how strained cucumber juice is the best colonic.

Just as she is about to launch into why white pedicures on the toes are so out—she’s wrong, by the way—Uncle Jacob saves us.

‘Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re here. You’re definitely not the kid who used to play hide and seek anymore.’ I can tell he’s upset. I’ve been missing for seven years.

Yvonne slaps his chest. ‘Of course she isn’t. She’s super famous and grown up now. Not an ounce of fat in any of the wrong places. And look how hot she is!’ Again, my weight is brought up.

‘She never had any in the wrong places. Shut it, Yvonne,’ he spits back, ignoring her crude remarks.

‘Thank you, Uncle Jacob, but after a few of your sausage sizzles, that might not be the case.’ Over my dead body am I having more than one, but they don’t need to know that.

Moderation is key to sustainability.

‘You’ll still be drop-dead gorgeous,’ Jas complains, looking me up and down in mock disgust as if it offends her.

I did take extra care today with my appearance. I often wear a full face of make-up for my job, but today I wanted to go au naturale—especially because there was a one-hundred percent chance that it would melt off.

Thankfully, before I left, I made sure my eyebrow feathering was on point, as well as my full set of lashes, so my emerald eyes were accentuated. I have naturally plump lips, so fillers weren’t necessary, but I might have slid on some bee sting lip balm for some extra pout.

There was no way my long raven hair would look anything but frizzy with the humidity, so I’ve opted for a high, sleek ponytail that pulls my face taut. It is sort of a natural forehead and eyebrow lift.

I certainly miss my make-up and hair stylists on call, but it’s nice not having to sit in a chair for over an hour while my face is polished to perfection.

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