Page 11 of Because of Her

We laugh together, and the sound brings back some warmth to my cold heart. After all these years, I wonder if I’ll ever get back to the carefree guy I used to be. If I’ll remember how to push the anxious thoughts to the side and enjoy myself. It feels like too much has changed; so much that changed me.

As the laughter fades, she sighs.

“Sometimes I regret quitting.” She says it so quietly I barely hear her, and wonder if that was her intent.

“Why?” I ask, reaching across the table to place my hand on hers. My heart has not beat in this haphazard way since the day I met Audrey. It feels exciting and off-putting all at once. I must be more tired than I thought, because emotions are swirling around in my brain like thunderclouds and I need to work out how to get them under control.

“I lost a lot of friends.” She looks down and pulls back her hand. “A really good friend.”

It feels like a knife through my chest, and where it was beating fast, it now feels like it stopped. It’s fallen to my stomach and left an ache where it once was. My younger self had no idea how much my lack of contact had hurt her. My current self feels atrocious for ever thinking we could have been something more. Clearly, in her eyes, we were friends. I pull my hand back in response and take a long sip of my beer.

“I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

“That we can agree on.”

All day, my shoulders have been lifted with tension, but the muscles ease a little at Cassidy’s light-hearted tone.

Cassidy flicks at the metal pull ring of her can. “Anyway, what’s a hot shot, board executive doing renting a tiny, two bedder in the inner suburbs?”

I take a long pull of my beer, savouring the taste and remembering all the beers we shared as teenagers, before either of us should have been indulging.

“I’m not,” I finally choke out.

She raises her perfectly arched eyebrows and gestures around the room.

“Did someone else move in today then?”

I shake my head. The wealth I built myself still feels extravagant, and I’m not sure how to tell Cassidy I’m her landlord.

“I, uh, own the building. This apartment was empty and I needed a temporary place while I look for a new house.”

Cassidy stares at me with wide eyes and forced smile. I hate that I’ve made her feel uncomfortable, but appreciate the lack of follow-up questions. There is so much of my history I’m not ready to share with her.

After we’ve finished our drinks, and Cassidy has retreated across the hall, I wash the dishes. As exhausted as I am, it’ll be even worse if I wake in the morning to a sink of dishes. While I’m rinsing glasses I attempt to straighten the storm cloud of emotions before I settle in for the night and attempt to sleep. Yes, I used to have a massive crush on Cassidy, but it was a long time ago. We barely know each other as adults, and she made it clear how upset she was when we lost contact. I can’t do anything to jeopardise the chance ofour friendship rekindling, regardless of how absolutely stunning the woman is.

Not to mention, how fresh the pain over my marriage breaking up still is. I’m in no place to pursue any kind of relationship. All it will lead to is pain and heartache for everyone, and I’ve had enough of that to last me a very long time.

CALLUM

By the time a whole week has rolled around, I’m missing my daughter more than I ever thought possible. The phone calls every night have done little to ease the aching that has spread through me. The way she giggles at the smallest of things, and how she is the only person in the world to appreciate my dad jokes. The way she always demands an Elsa braid even when she knows my attempt will fall out within minutes. The songs she loves to create, blending lyrics of all her favourites into a Kidz Bop worthy mashup.

And the way she finds her calm in my arms, and how when she snuggles in close, I feel every single worry of mine melting away.

I’ve always found comfort in knowing I’m Maisie’s safe place. Spending so much time apart, I’m realising just how much she is mine, too. I never realised how much I depended on her to cheer me up after a long shitty day punching numbers. But as much as I miss her, I hate thinking about how hard the past week must have been on her.

As I rush to tidy my small apartment, I have a skip in my step knowing I will get to see my daughter soon. Audrey is going to drop her off after breakfast. Maisie and I will be spending the whole day together. I had tried to convince Audrey to let her stay, especially considering how tired she will be after my nephew’s birthday party. But my ex-wife had held her ground, still convinced Maisie deserved the stability her old room provided. I’m hopeful when she sees the place I’ve set up for Maisie here, I’ll be a little closer to nudging herover the line. I hate the thought of getting lawyers involved in such a personal situation, but if she doesn’t agree to start following the terms of the custody agreement, I might have to.

Without a child in the house, there’s not a lot to tidy up, but I find myself straightening the picture frames I placed on the TV stand and refolding the tea towel hanging under the sink. I mock myself as I fluff the bright cushions I ordered to make the clinical grey couch look more appealing. I doubt Maisie will notice, or care, before she jumps all over it.

My goal is to show Audrey I’ve set up a perfect little space for Maisie, and I’m not giving her anything to pick at.

The second bedroom has been set up as Maisie’s space. A repeating ballet shoe pattern covers the bedspread, and a doll’s house sits in the corner. I’ve asked Audrey to bring over a couple of soft toys and Barbies to live here, but bought a small selection just in case. Everything Maisie could need to express her creativity is set up on the table under the window. Scrapbooks, felt tip pens, pencils, glue, scissors, and the like, are all neatly placed in desk organisers. She’s always bringing her creations home from kindergarten, asking to stick them on the fridge or the wall. I have a good feeling she will love being able to create things here, too. I’ve also loaded the shelves of a small bookshelf with some picture books and puzzles. My favourites, Julia Donaldson and Dr Seuss, as well as Maisie’s favourites likeFrozenand other Disney tales.

The place looks perfect, but it’s notright.Sitting on the edge of the ballerina bed, I glance around the room and run a hand through my hair. Any five year old would love this room, but it feels like something out of a catalogue. It’s too neat, not lived in, and lacks Maisie’s creative flare. I hope that in time, she feels comfortable here. That it starts to feel like home.

The intercom buzzes, interrupting my contemplation. I jump up to answer it. The grainy video shows Audrey standingoutside the lobby with Maisie clinging to her leg. Her favourite toy ballerina tucked under her arm.

I hit the button to unlock the entrance, and push the speaker button. “Come in, I’ll start heading down to meet you.”

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