Page 62 of Trouble in Love
“But she—”
“I said, do you hear me?” Dad’s stern words were followed by a string of Greek curses words mum would have slapped me for using, and a slamming front door. For a second, all was quiet. Then, suddenly, the back door flew open, and Dad marched out, his face red, His expression, broken. He stopped when he heard my whimper, regarded me with haunted bloodshot eyes, before dropping his head. Without a word, he stormed away, disappearing into his greenhouse, which shook violently as he slammed the door closed.
“Well, fuckity-fuck, if today isn’t just the gift that keeps on giving.” Teddy grabbed me by the shoulders and squared me to face him. “Polly, I am from the WORST family you could ever imagine, and that was hard for evenmeto witness. Are you okay?”
When I didn’t respond, Nate ducked into my line of sight and waved. “Pol. Do you want us to come in with you? Or call Holly?” The possible rupture of every cell in my lungs made breathing, thinking, replying impossible. Speech was suddenly the most unnatural thing in the world. Mental calculations. Stringing together words and facts and dates took the entirety of my brain’s capacity. In one crushing breath, so many little comments, so many sibling comparisons and actions over the course of my life suddenly made sense. The woman outright hated me. “Polly,” Nate repeated.
“Why are you even here?” I snapped, pushing him in the chest before taking a wobbly step toward the still-open doorway. “You hate me. Your wife hates me. I’m the bitch that tried to end you two.”
Nate shrugged and looked at his feet, straightening the welcome Dad’s hasty exit left hanging off the step. “Like I said. I recognized that look on your face and … you know … sometimes people do bad shit ‘cause they are bad and sometimes …” he sighed, then looked me directly in the eye. “Sometimes people do bad shit because they’ve been treated badly. I guess, just now, I figured out which one you were.”
Not sure if I wanted to slap him or hug him, I did neither. I just… stood. I didn’t know for how long. “Nate. How do I just walk in there after that?
Nate shrugged as Teddy handed me a cup of tea, its steam rising and vanishing into the air in a way I wished I could. “Fierce as fuck, that’s how. Here, take this.” Teddy smiled, pushing one of Mum’s favorite cups and saucers further undermy nose. “Sorry for letting myself in to the house. But I’m English, and tea is the answer to so many of our problems.”
“Thank you, I’m Polly, by the way. We were never formally introduced.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, my little crumpet.” He laughed, sipping from his own cup, pinkie perfectly raised. “I know all about you. Our pal Luca is quite smitten. Then there’s Evie … though, of course, what she’s said about you is not quite as glowing.”
“Of course,” I repeated.
The shut-the-hell-up look Nate shot Teddy softened as he turned back to me. “Murray loves you with his whole heart, Polly. And Connie does too.”
“Does she, though?”
“I’m sure of it, but maybe you should ask her.”
Humidity and the stench of Dad’s beloved blood and bone fertilizer slapped me in the face as I stepped inside his beloved greenhouse. Throughout my life, whenever the world, or Mum, had really gotten me down, the quilt my yia-yia made me for my thirteenth birthday was my go-to hidey-hole. Like she had always done, that hand sewn piece of cloth kept me safe from Mum’s cruelty, sheltered me from my fears, kept me warm. No matter how many years passed or how long I remained buried beneath it, it always smelled of her, too. This space, and the plants he nurtured within it were his yia-yia blanket. Knowing and respecting that meant it was a place I rarely entered. My rendezvous with Luca being a clear exception.
There was only one way in and out, it was only a few meters square so there should have been nowhere for him to hide, butstill, hidden he was. “If that’s you, Connie, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s not Mum. It’s me.”
“Plop?” His heartbroken whisper made my skin crawl, as did the name. I’d hated it my whole life, why it hit me so hard then was anyone’s guess. Perhaps I’d just had enough for one day.
“Don’t call me that.” I snapped, “I hate it.”
Dad’s face, wrinkled with stress and worry, popped out from behind a small palm frond. “Do you, Plop? Do you really?”
“What do you think? Plop goes the waffle. Plop, plop, plop, here comes floppy Polly Waffle. It’s hardly endearing.”
The rest of Dad appeared, and his expression darkened further. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I did. Why didn’t you ever listen?”
Dad exhaled, his body deflating as his lungs did. “Touché.”
An uncomfortable silence descended, and we both stood there gawking at each other while rubbing the leaves of the closest plant beneath our fingers.
“So,” I said eventually, “me and half the street heard you and Mum fighting.”
He deflated further. I’d be scraping him from the chipped concrete floor if he kept going, and I feared summoning the strength to do so may be imposable. “I’m so very sorry, my darling.”
“Am I your darling? Am I hers? Does she really wish I …?” Like a tidal wave of fear and doubt, vomit rose from my belly, ticking the back of my throat before I forced it back down. Perhaps I looked as poorly as I felt as Dad hurried to my side and pulled me against his big, broad chest.
“You are forever my darling. Forever my girl, and your mum feels the same way. She just …”
“No!” I cried pushing him away, “Don’t. You’re going to defend her, and I can’t hear it anymore.” I turned and ranthree whole steps to the glass door, slammed it open with my palms and barreled outside. The crisp morning air hit my lungs, stinging my red raw eyes as I rushed towards the house. With Dad hot on my trail, I raced through the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the hall towards my room. I didn’t even stop for Elias who popped his head out of the guest room door as I passed. Still fighting the urge to vomit, I grabbed my suitcase from beneath my bed, flung it open and stuffed it with every item I could find in my wardrobe, dresser, and laundry hamper.
