Page 75 of An Accidental Flatmate

Bea leaned sideways to whisper in her sister’s ear. “He’s a big fan of basketball.”

Lisa played for the university team and was an ardent supporter of the state’s NBL team. Lisa waited for Fran to take a mouthful of food and seized her chance. “Bea says you like basketball. Sydney Kings are giving a demonstration at Sydney University next Saturday night. Are you going?”

Bea could relax. Her sisters had no interest in Casildo and Bea, merely Casildo.

“I’ll be working. You’re lucky if you’ve got a Saturday night off work,” Casildo said, while Bea searched the table for something she could throw at him.

“I’m at university. Primary school teaching. I’ve only got day classes.” Lisa fluffed her hair as if that was all the answer needed.

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “All my friends worked part-time at university. It was a rite of passage. Who had the most bog-awful job, although I would have thought hospitality—mixing with lots of different people—would be good prep for teaching. Hunt actually studied part-time. He worked as a full-time builder’s labourer at the time.”

“Did you work?” Fran’s voice was stilted.

“Sure. At a printer’s. Had a lot of fun, met new people and got paid for it. I had a scholarship for fees, but it’s still expensive. I’m one of four. Big load for my parents.”

He was one of four if you counted Hunt. He always counted Hunt. She loved him for that. Not only that. And she couldn’t believe that if Raed Hariri had paid some of Hunter’s university fees, he would ever be disappointed in a son as gentle and sensitive as Casildo Hariri.

One day she might be able to tell Casildo she loved him. Telling him now would mess up his dreams and his plans.

Dinner was a ... revelation, from her being treated as a guest, to her parents’ informality with Casildo, to her sisters being assigned the clearing of the table and the cleaning up. All the normal routines had been upended in her absence, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Her parents had even seemed keen to push her out the door.

“Thank you for coming.” Her mamá kissed Casildo on the cheek.

Sitting in the car, waiting for Casildo to pull away from the kerb, Bea reflected on that kiss. A welcome to the family when her mamá knew Bea wasn’t free to become involved with anyone. Her mamá’s uncharacteristic insensitivity hurt.

“Nice girls, your sisters. Pity they’re spoilt.”

“I should take the blame for some of it.” But the pattern had started when Bea was a child, before she understood it was unfair. “I told you, Mamá nearly lost Daniela. She took the government-funded parental leave, but then needed to go back to work.”

“She needed your help.”

“You said your mum needed Maha’s.”

“This isn’t a competition, Beatriz. I know how migrant families work. How many families work. Work being the critical word. They’re here for us to do well, so they sacrifice a lot of their own dreams to see us thrive. It’s disrespectful to take that for granted.”

How am I going to leave this man?

I’m not ready to move on.

Except, I’m relying on him to do just that.

* * *

Cas allowed himselfto savour the contentment for a precious moment. Beatriz was snuggled under his arm, seemingly inhaling the smell of her man after a vigorous round of late afternoon lovemaking. Cas loved that she was gloriously indulgent when they made love, a sensory banquet.

He was finding it harder and harder to think past the coming weekend.

A pit opened in his stomach. He didn’t want a break up with Beatriz, pretend or otherwise, but all of Beatriz’s actions in the last few days, including dinner at her parents, suggested she was withdrawing from him publicly. Why so desperate to tell her parents they weren’t dating.

Not privately. She initiated sex at every opportunity. Like this afternoon. Made love to him as if she couldn’t get enough of him. With the kind of desperation suggesting each day or night might be their last.

That’s what you agreed, bro.

“What are you thinking?” she asked drowsily.

“Probably the same thing you’re thinking.”

“They’ll be home tomorrow. What are we going to tell them?”

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