Page 47 of Then Came You

Time has flown with her by my side. I find it unbelievable that it’s already the end of July, but more so because I’ve kept my hands off her.

We have both been on our best behaviour, only engaging in slight flirtations here and there.

I continue to visit her for my weekly haircut or groom, physically incapable of staying away, but I also ensure I schedule time with her at my office to go over particulars for our upcoming events. She seems to enjoy those days the most when she can step away from the day-to-day monotony of the salon. So far, she’s been to schools and a few corporate events to do colour and shaves.

Today we’re meant to be heading to our biggest corporate sponsor event, but she’s late. I see her racing toward my door, flustered and face flushed as if she’s been running a marathon.

I peer through my door that is half slithered open and observe her fanning her face. I can see a trickle of sweat on her neck which my taste buds are bursting to try. She’s dishevelled. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail like someone has been pulling it all night. Her shirt is buttoned up all wrong, and one of the straps on her inexpensive heels is unfastened. I appraise her, making the sound assessment that she’s obviously had a rough morning.

“Row, do you know what time it is?” I tsk through the door, hoping she gets the hint to get a wriggle on.

“I know. I know.” She limps toward the door, her breathing heavy and choppy. I want to shower her in affection and make all the worries marring her pretty face vanish.

My baser instincts want her to tell daddy what’s wrong. But I can’t.

I can’t do that to my son. I can’t be that guy. We agreed we’d be friendly professionals at best.

This is all I will ever be able to offer her.

When she plonks herself down on the chair, I chastise myself for my line of sight going straight to her cleavage peeking out from the haphazard button job she did this morning. It’s only 9.30 am, but she looks like she’s had a whole day already. When her head rolls back, I’m annoyed she’s dragging this non-explanation out.

I need answers. I need to know what kept her away from me.

“Well?” I question a little too harshly, and way too inappropriately for someone who technically isn’t her boss. Her head flexes back to normal position, and I can see the sheepish look on her face.

“Tori hasn’t been feeling well. I thought it was just the change in weather and the common flu, but she developed pneumonia. I had to take her to the hospital at four in the morning, and wait around for the results.” My heart lurches in my throat. This poor fucking girl can’t catch a break.

“Where was your Mum?” I ask, simply not understanding why Row seems to bear the brunt of her sister's illness. If Haven was sick, I’d never expect Zee to act as a parent in my place.

“She was working,” she mumbles a little too quickly.

What the fuck is wrong with this woman? One of her daughters is dying, and she chooses work? I want to shake the hell out of her and tell her to wake up and prioritise.

I try to tamp down my frustration, but unfortunately, I sound way harsher than I intend.

“Row, I get things are difficult, but you could have called. Where was your phone?”

“It was out of charge.” At this point, tears start pooling in her eyes, and it makes me so fucking sad to see how broken she is, but I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated at her careless single parenting. I’m frustrated at her lack of self-care. I’m frustrated that her sister doesn’t seem to be getting better, but worse, and most of all, I’m frustrated at myself and the fact I still want her so much.

I’m in my forties. You’d think I’d be able to control myself.

“Unacceptable,” I grit. “Why?”

She scrunches up her face. “The power points at home don’t work at the moment. The power went out a few nights ago from the storm, and it hasn’t been turned back on.” All the air is sucked out of my lungs at the misfortune of this woman. How can someone who has so much lustre be so luckless?

“What’s the latest on your sister?” I go for a balmy tone, but I’m anxious because I’ve been through this thousands of times before.

“She has machines to help her breathe, and they’ve knocked her out with some pretty heavy drugs to give her body a rest.” Her voice wobbles, and a lone tear slips from her ducts, sliding down her cheek and onto her chest. She crumples to pieces before me, putting her head in her hands.

I round the table and make small circles on her back. “Take the day off, Tink.”

“I can’t. I need the money. God knows how expensive this stay is going to be,” she sobs, wiping her nose on the back of her arm.

“No amount of money can buy this time with your sister.” I thought it was the right thing to say, but the way she jerks away from my touch tells me otherwise.

“That’s exactly it. Money will buy me time with my sister. That’s just the way it goes, right? The rich get to live while the poor get to die. Poor people can’t afford to pay for fancy treatments, and fancy doctors, and fancy nurses who stay in their homes. They can’t buy the organic food or miracle water that is supposed to be better than regular tap water,” she spits irately.

I never thought about it from the other perspective, but truthfully, I didn’t have to because all the money in the world didn’t save my Mum. I don’t bother responding because it won’t do much good. She’s aching, and she’s irrational to anyone who tries to sway her opinions right now.

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