Page 59 of Saving Ren
After Jo’s son and his girlfriend arrived home from their overseas travels unexpectedly the Sunday after Lauren was attacked, I managed to convince her to stay with me rather than go back with Jo to her now full house. Jo agreed with me, Lauren conceded, and I’d gotten to keep her close. The downside of this is one of her girl posse is here almost every day or evening. I’m glad she’s had the company, but the endless talking blows my mind a little.
Lauren can spend an hour on the phone, either messaging or talking shit with her girls, and still find things to talk nonstop about when they come over. Despite having a daughter of my own, and being very aware of how much girls can talk, I swear these women not only have it off to an Olympic standard, they do it talking in some kind of code.
Jemma was over last night, and they spent an entire hour discussing the best filling for a European pillow if you want to chop it. Then they went off to my bedroom so Lauren could show Jem an example of a ‘quality duck down filled Euro.’
A day later, and despite apparently owning one, I’m still unsure of what exactly a chopped European pillow even is.
“Jo’s invited herself to dinner. You fancy Chinese?”
“As long as there’s zero talk about Euro chopping pillows or thread counts, I fancy whatever it is you’re going to actually eat, and not just pick at.”
I’d had a battle the couple of weeks Lauren’s been with me, getting her to eat more than just a few mouthfuls of whatever we’d had for dinner each night. She’d also refused to leave the house. I’m not sure if this is because of her bruises or if she’s scared of bumping into her prick of an ex.
“I told you you’d lost more weight. Has she not been eating, Gabe?” Jo questions.
“She eats, just not enough.”
“I am here you know, listening to every word. Sorry that I’ve not been hungry, a good hiding from your husband, homelessness, and an imminent divorce don’t exactly encourage much of an appetite.”
“You’re not homeless,” I tell her quietly. “And it pisses me the fuck off that you keep saying you are.”
There’s silence for a few beats.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Forgiven,” I tell her, instantly feeling guilty.
“Besides,” she adds. “I’ve got this hot as fuck boy toy I need to stay slim and sylphlike for.”
“Is that right?” I question. “Well, I have it on excellent authority, your hot as fuck boy toy likes the curves his new woman has, and he’d much prefer she keep them.”
“Well, my options here are limited. There’s barely any food in your fridge, except the humus the girls have bought over when they’ve come to visit, and there’s only so much chipping and dipping a girl can do.”
Again, another pang of guilt hits me square in the chest. She’s right. My fridge and pantry are both usually pretty empty except when Ava’s coming. She cancelled her last weekend with me and has been away for the past week visiting her grandparents interstate.
I get to see her at the end of this week, but I’ll pick her up from her mum’s and head straight to the airport for a week’s holiday up in Cairns with the rest of my family.
Lauren has messaged me daily with a list of things to pick up so she could make dinner, and she’s used stuff she’d found in my freezer and pantry, but I haven’t done a big shop and filled my fridge and pantry. And now I feel bad that I’ve been leaving Lauren at home with nothing to eat.
“Babe, order whatever you like from the Chinese. I’ll pick it up and grab a couple of bottles of wine on my way through. We’ll go out and do a grocery shop tomorrow; that way, you’ll have plenty of options and zero excuses next week.”
I hear her let out a sigh, followed by a too-long moment of silence.
“Shall I order from Wok?” she eventually asks.
“Of course.” Despite living in a popular tourist destination, surrounded by Michelin starred restaurants, there’s only one Chinese the locals use.
“What would you like?”
“Salt and pepper prawns, and Singapore noodles extra spicy, please. What wine would you like?”
“Far out,” I hear her whisper.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“That’s too cute. You two order the same thing from Wok,” Jo calls out.
“See, made for each other,” I respond. “This is the exact reason you should be letting me sleep in your bed.”
