Page 66 of Special Delivery
Poppy ended the call and put the phone on the kitchen bench. Seeing the bench every day had the discombobulating effect of amplifying the highs and lows of her love–hate attitude towards James. Every time she saw it she would think,God, that was good, while simultaneously thinking,I wish that damn kiss had never happened, but then she’d follow that thought up with,But, oh god, that kiss was the best, and the cycle of mind-fuckery would continue.
Maeve was settling into her dinner—literally—by joyously massaging her chest with pureed sweet potato. Such were the dilemmas facing Poppy these days: answer the phone and let Maeve control dinner, or reject the call and maintain a semblance of order.
‘Ba-baa,’ said Maeve, slapping the table of her highchair with sweet-potato hands. ‘Baaaaaa! Ba!’
‘Ba-baa!’ agreed Poppy. ‘Shall we try using a spoon again, Maevey?’
She picked up the silicone teaspoon that had been flung onto the tiles with half the puree and handed it back to her daughter.
‘Ba-baaa!’ said her daughter happily, flinging it back to the ground. ‘Ba-ba! Da-da!’
Poppy froze. That last bit had sounded eerily like ‘Dada’.
‘Ba-ba!’ she reminded her daughter, picking up the spoon again. ‘Or Ma-ma! Let’s try that. Mama! Mama!’
Maeve looked at her, confused. ‘Ba-baaaaaa!’ She threw the spoon away again and began massaging the puree through her hair.
Poppy’s phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID.
James.
She looked at her daughter, now sucking her puree-covered fingers. Oh well, at least some food was making its way into her mouth. She answered the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, Poppy, what’s going on?’
‘I’m feeding Maeve sweet potato and she is feeding it to the floor—and to her hair. You could say we are redecorating with sweet potato. If anyone is still saying orange is the new black, we are right on trend.’
‘Sounds fun,’ said James. ‘I can also recommend dried Weet-Bix as an alternative to gyprock. That stuff is like concrete. I’m pretty sure the Egyptians used it to build the pyramids.’
Poppy smiled. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?’
‘Uh …’ James faltered. ‘I said I would call you, so, here I am calling you. You know, in an attempt to keep promises and not disappear for months. You’re still coming to the races, right?’
‘I am.’
‘Great. What tent are you in?’
Poppy looked at the paper flyer stuck to her fridge. ‘Twelve D. I think it’s trackside. It’s all you can eat and drink, which sounds potentially devastating, but apparently it’s the place to be.’ April and a few of the mothers’ group girls had booked places in the same tent, so there’d be a few friendly faces.
‘I’m Twelve H, just down from you. It’s the cricket club tent, so there’ll be too much testosterone flying around in there. I’ll come find you.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ replied Poppy. ‘Unless I have an electric drill–induced trip to emergency, I’ll see you there.’
‘Wait, what?’
‘Long story,’ said Poppy, ‘but a new dryer is being installed on Monday, which means I need to fix the laundry shelves I broke when I was trying to fix the dryer in the first place. Anyway, I’m going to attempt to fix them tomorrow so I don’t have to do it hungover on Sunday. I’ve been watching a lot of DIY how-tos on YouTube so I’m at least thirty-five per cent confident I’ll be okay.’
‘Do you want some help?’ asked James.
‘No, of course not,’ replied Poppy too quickly. She hadn’t told him that to coerce him into offering to help. If she actually wanted help she would have asked her dad. ‘It’ll be fine. I promise I didn’t tell you that to make you feel compelled to help.’
‘You realise I enjoy that kind of stuff? I have the power tools to prove it.’
‘Are you saying you want to help me?’ asked Poppy.
‘Are you trying to avoid asking me?’
Poppy exhaled. ‘I wasn’t going to ask for your help, James. We weren’t speaking two days ago.’
