Page 41 of Love at First Sight

‘I’m almost asleep over here. But I don’t want you to think that’s a reflection of you. I’d talk all night if I could.’

‘I should go to sleep too. I have a seven-year-old to entertain all weekend. The trampoline park won’t bounce itself, and the lemon cake won’t bake on its own!’

‘Big plans,’ says Cal. ‘I’m kind of jealous.’

‘We’ll save you a slice,’ I say. And then I add, ‘Probably.’

‘I can live withprobably.’

‘Then you’re a kinder fellow than me.’

We’re talking nonsense, but saying goodbye feels too hard, for some reason.

‘Do you have any recurring dreams? Or nightmares?’ Cal asks. ‘Like the story your subconscious comes back to again and again.’

‘Huh,’ I say without meaning to.

‘Huh?’

‘My mum. I don’t know if it’s a dream or a nightmare but … she’s there a lot. I guess I must miss her.’

‘I’m sorry. How long has she been gone?’

‘She’s not dead,’ I tell him. ‘But sometimes I think that would be better, not to sound too harsh. She moved to Australia when I was eighteen. I think I don’t let myself wonder how she could have ever left her only daughter behind when I’m awake, but when I’m asleep …’

‘The questions live on,’ Cal supplies.

‘They do. I’ve been out there once, now she’s all set up with her new husband and his kids from a previous marriage, and the two children they’ve had together.’

‘So you have siblings?’ Cal asks.

‘Half-siblings. I’ve met them once. My mum just has this whole new life, in the sun, as though me and Dad were her practice family and now she’s gets a do-over. She was really young when she had me, only eighteen herself, so I guess she feels like she deserves another chance at life. But. I find it all so baffling, really. We don’t talk much now. Birthdays, around Christmas. That sort of thing.’

‘Fuck,’ he laments. ‘You deserve better than that.’

‘Thank you. I agree.’

‘Good.’

‘Good.’

Cal yawns again, and it makes me yawn.

‘All right then,’ I say. ‘On that cheery note …’

‘No, I’m glad you told me. That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Tell each other things.’

‘You sound like you once read a book on friendship,but have never actually had one,’ I say, then I realise that sounds mean, considering he’s trying to let me know it’s all right to be vulnerable. ‘Sorry,’ I add. ‘I know you’re only trying to be nice.’

‘My book says friends make mistakes, but friends also forgive them. So don’t worry about it, pal.’

I give half a laugh. ‘Ha ha.’

‘I try,’ he says.

‘It works,’ I reply.

Another awkward pause.

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