Chapter Five

My mint green Barina hatchback stands out like a sore thumb in the public parking lot as I walk towards it. I take a moment to remember the day I picked up this somewhat unusual coloured car. It was right after I’d moved here. It was the day I told myself my life would change forever, and my many problems and mistakes would remain buried far away back home in Queensland where they couldn’t haunt me anymore.

I ran away from home. What twenty-seven-year-old woman finds herself running away like a confused teenager? Me, that’s who. But I had a choice to make, and the one I made ensured I stood on my own two feet after such a colossal downfall.

Coming to Melbourne was my fresh start. The place I would find the new and improved version of myself. I knew I’d have to figure out how to fit in with society and not hide away from all the things happening around me, and I believed, at the time, Melbourne would be the perfect destination to accomplish such a task. That and to find the love of my life. It appears I was wrong.

Finding the love of my life: IMPOSSIBLE. He’s not out there anywhere. Perhaps I wasn't created in a pairing of one soul split into two. Maybe I have been doomed to walk this Earth solo from the very beginning of my creation.

Climbing into the car, I turn the ignition over. The automatic windshield wipers swish back and forth without hesitation. I sit, waiting for the misty fog to be wiped from the glass. It doesn’t take long, and as I pull out from my parking space, I have only one destination in mind: The Quarter.

The Quarter is my favourite café. It’s the place I met Chris not long after I arrived in Melbourne, and it continues to be the spot where we catch up after each one of my shifts, be it early morning or late afternoon.

The streets are quiet as I commute into the city. The traffic lights shine green the entire way down the main drag, and before I know it, I round the final turn and pull into a car park right out in front of the café. I leap from the car and dart through the empty tables filling the sidewalk. I don’t stop until I’ve charged through the front glass doors and marched to the usual booth Chris and I have claimed as our own.

Chris is seated, tapping away on the keys of his laptop when I reach the padded cream seat with the well-placed buttons that don’t end until halfway up the chocolate-painted wall.

Chris doesn’t look up or even acknowledge my arrival.

“Indie knows,” I blurt out, bypassing any polite greeting.

“Hello to you too.” Chris flicks his eyes in my direction.

“Hello. Indie knows.”

“Knows what exactly?”

“She knows I have an online dating profile. I’m deleting mine as soon as I get home. I shouldn’t let you talk me into these things. What must she think of me?”

Chris shakes his head. “You won’t delete it.”

“Morning, Mindy. How are you this morning?”

I swivel my head and spy an outstretched hand holding a mug of coffee beside me. “Morning, Annie.” I force a smile.

“You look like you need this. What’s up, buttercup?”

“Arrrgh. You don’t want to know.”

Annie blows her brown fringe off her eyebrows before sitting down beside me. “That bad, hey?”

“She's dramatic. And here I thought I was supposed to act the queen.” Chris giggles

Annie giggles.

I do not.

“I set Mindy up with an online dating account, and it seems her co-worker has found out. She’s having a fit about nothing. If she took a moment to think about it, her co-worker only knows she’s on there because she too must have an account."

My shoulders suddenly drop. I hadn’t even thought about such a scenario.

“Everyone’s doing it, boo-boo, so chillax and drink your coffee,” Chris instructs calmly.

“I have an account," Annie admits.

“You do?” I’m surprised by this because Annie’s beautiful, young, and has flawless brown skin. Her dark eyes, long, slender face, and well-kept physique complete her impressive package. She has no reason to need an online dating account, so why does she? “Good for you."

Why did I say that?

Annie places her hand on my arm. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about for either of us, Mindy.”

“Annie, table six,” a man’s voice I don’t recognise shouts.

“Gotta run. New duty manager. He’s not with our program yet. He’s all like ‘I’m the boss, bark, bark, bark’. He’ll learn, though. Drink your coffee and let it go.” Annie turns on her heel and scoots across the room.

“See? Told you.” Chris drops his chin and turns his eyes back to the screen of his laptop.

I take three deep breaths and tell myself to release the tension I carried in here with me as I close my eyes.

CLANG!

I open my eyes swiftly, swivelling my head until I see Annie bent down picking something I can’t quite make out up from off the floor.

“I don’t know why you care so much about what people think. I thought by now I’d have talked this out of you. It turns out you’re a stubborn project,” Chris interjects.

I point at my chest. “Project, huh?”

“A very difficult one. I’ve met politicians more relaxed than you.”

I laugh.

“Drink your coffee.”

"Yes, boss."

The sweet aroma of the coffee Annie delivered takes over my senses. I sigh, then immediately relax back into the soft backing of the booth. I bring the mug to my lips. The tip of my nose separates the artistic foam, and the first sip of my daily ritual slides down my throat like silk. I hope when I die, heaven is like The Quarter: posh, full of elegant furnishings and coffee, and lots of coffee in every variety. Life isn’t worth living without coffee, especially the ones The Quarter serves.

“Really, Frothelupagus?” Chris throws a black napkin at my face. “You’re such a messy drinker and eater, by the way. You have foam on your nose again."

"I know." I take the napkin, dabbing it gently against my skin. “Some guy might find this to be an endearing quality one day, you know. Like your giggles.”

“I think not. Your oink-like eating style has nothing on my giggles.” Chris rolls his eyes.

“Shut up. Tell me, what’s the special today?” I peek over the rim of the coffee mug which I again cup in my hands.

“Caramel tart with fresh whipped cream and strawberry ganache.”

I swear I’m instantly drooling, but I should say no to the tart. New diet, new willpower needed. “I might pass on the tart,” I confess. “I’m starting my diet again.”

“It shouldn’t be too far away.” Chris ignores my confession the same way he always does when I speak of dieting. “I ordered about five minutes before you stomped in here all worked up and seething.” Chris taps away on his keyboard.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Chris bobs his head. “Yep.”

“Well, you should know I’m serious this …”

“You’re not fat. You’re always announcing your diet status. You’ll eat the tart because it brings you happiness, and because life is way too short to deny yourself such pleasures, so give up while you’re ahead and save your energy for shoving your crusted shell with caramel lathered inside it down your throat.”

“I’m serious, Chris!”

“Okay,” he scoffs. “The lemon meringue we got yesterday was not my cup of tea, but caramel tart … hell, anything ending in tart ... yes please.” Chris licks his lips.

“Yeah, because you’re a tart. It’s why you’re all excited—”

“Born and bred, sweetheart,” he declares.

“—And I’m going to pass on dessert today,” I finish.

“Sure, whatever. You’ll eat it.”

“I might ask for an apple. I can’t keep eating special mystery desserts every day with you. I can’t even keep asking you what they are when I arrive. Maybe I need to look for a new venue, a healthier alternative to our daily catch-up.”

“Said ya mum.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Just that. You’re acting like a mum—quit it. Dessert is an important part of happiness.”

“Whatever,” I say, shifting my attention towards Annie, who gives me a subtle wave from a few tables over. “How’s your Twilight-inspired, male-on-male vampire novel coming along?” I shift my attention back to Chris with full interest in knowing the answer, and not just because I want to change the direction of our conversation.

“Yeah, so I’m not doing that anymore. Yesterday’s news. It turns out vampire books need lots of blood in them, and I am not a fan of blood. I seriously get queasy to the point where I think I’ll pass out, even writing it.” Chris pokes out his tongue. “It’s yuck.”

I laugh.

“I’m currently writing a romance about a fab and a drab guy who meet. The fab guy makes the drab guy completely fab. They fight for gay rights on a picket line, fall madly in love, and become the first gay couple to wed on the day marital equality passes through parliament. Perfection!”

“But gay rights have already passed through parliament.”

“I know, but this novel is set before that.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think?”

“Bestseller right there, Chris. Soon, you won’t even have to be a personal shopper to the rich and snobby to earn your keep.”

“I know,” he chimes, so matter-of-factly. “One day I’m going to be a world-renowned author, and you’re going to be my busty sidekick-slash-PA-slash-manager-slash-bestie until the day we die. Oh, and don’t forget my drug-delivering doctor, because something tells me to be such an author, you have to reach a level of insanity which requires a lot of prescription drugs.” His lips part as he portrays an exaggerated expression of shock. “Did I say the drug thing out loud?” He presses his fingertips against his mouth. “Our little secret, right?”

“You’re a clown.”

“Whatevs, girl! You’re goin’ to wanna go everywhere I am. You know ya will.” And there’s his fake Southern accent coming out to play once more.

“I’ll be at your beck and call, don’t you worry.” I roam my vision across the restaurant. I take a rather ambitious mouthful of coffee while observing each new face popping up. I scan the service counter.

The moment my eyes connect with his, I choke out, “Oh shit!” before gulping heavily and sliding down the soft material of the chair until my butt cheeks connect with the carpet flooring. With one quick flick of my wrist, I pull the white linen tablecloth, the one hanging over the sides of the table, across my head and use it as a shield. “Son of a bitch,” I curse between clenched teeth.

“Mindy, what are you doing?” Chris’s large eyes suddenly appear upside down in front of me. “Get yourself off the ground and out from under there.”

“I can’t.” It’s a hushed deliverance. “Vamoose. I’ll explain later. Act normal.”

“Normal? Because what you’re doing is soooo normal.” I hear Chris say as he disappears, lowering my tablecloth hideaway.

“She’s under the table, isn’t she?” It’s a deep voice that causes my heart to thump wildly.

Oh, crap. He saw me. Not only did he see me, but he also came over here. What’s wrong with this guy? Why would he do such a thing?

“And you would be?” Chris says. I picture one of his eyebrows cocked high on his forehead as he pistol grips his chin.

“I would be Arlie. And you would be?”

“Chris, the under-table escapee’s best friend.”

Arlie—what an uncommon name. I’ve never met anyone called Arlie. It’s not like he gave me his name at the grocery store when he was making me squirm with embarrassment.

“So, she’s under the table, Chris?”

There’s silence.

“I’m guessing you know why she’s under the table, Arlie?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s behind. How have I not heard about you, Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”

Chris, now is not the time to be hitting on the poor man. Just tell him to go. I telepathically try to send Chris this critical message.

There’s a long pause.

“Would you like to join me? I’m sure Mindy would prefer you’d leave, considering she's hiding like an outlaw. But hon with the buns, I sure would like to get to know you better,” Chris says in his fake Southern drawl. “Take a seat. Relax your bulging muscles, or don’t—I’m good either way.”

Oh, not today, Chris. You’ll not take this man home, turn him gay, or do whatever it is you do to make men fall in love with you.

“I’m here,” I yell like a deranged woman while crawling out from my shelter, only to be stopped when I reach a pair of white sneakers. I tilt my chin up and stare into narrow eyes.

“So, it’s Mindy? Nice name.”

“Melinda.” My voice is barely audible.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Arlie asks.

“Melinda.” I speak louder.

“Melinda. Even prettier." He grins. "Arlie.” He reaches out his hand.

“I heard.” His warm fingers wrap around my wrist, and with one quick pull, I’m standing. His lips stretch across his face. “I’m guessing you dropped something under the table and you were down there looking for it?”

I rip my hand from his and nod. I don’t know what else to do.

“I’m going to use the gentlemen’s room and leave you two to get introduced, or whatever’s happening here. Mindy, you owe me one hell of a story later,” Chris says.

I swallow hard, not taking my eyes away from Arlie’s to look for Chris.

“Hi.” Arlie’s tone is soft.

“I-I-you know—” My tongue ties.

“I wouldn’t have come over if you hadn’t dropped to the floor so quickly.” He folds his top lip under his bottom as if stifling laughter. “So what were you looking for?”

“You know, just things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah, things.” I rock on my heels, pretending to place my hands into imaginary pockets at the front of my dress.

“Like a lost earring?”

I look at the floor.

“Did you lose an earring?”

“Well—” I turn my eyes back to his. “No! Not an earring.”

Arlie wears his smirk like some smirk-trained professional. I run my fingers over the hoops dangling from each of my earlobes.

“A fork maybe?”

“Possibly,” I mumble, knowing full well that no matter what I say, he’ll be able to tell I’m lying.

“Whatever you’ve lost, I hope you find it.”

I sigh a breath of relief. He’s letting this awkward situation die. “Oh, me too,” I say, way too enthusiastically. What am I doing? “Hi, bye. Have a good breakfast.”

“Hi,” he says as if we had just bumped into each other and the previous conversation hadn’t even taken place.

“I was just leaving.” It flies from my tongue like verbal diarrhoea.

“Okay. Hi. Bye. Have a good day then.”

“You too.” Without thinking, I grab my handbag and walk back out the glass doors of The Quarter as tense as I was when I entered through them.

Arlie, what’s your deal?

Five minutes later, Chris stands in front of the car outside the café with his bright multi-coloured laptop bag slung over his shoulder. A crowd forms behind him as he waves what I believe to be a receipt in front of his forehead. His nose crinkles. His mouth opens wide. His lips move. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I believe he’s shouting, “What gives?”

Chris’s stance becomes rigid. His eyes dip down until he’s scowling, and I know he’s pissed at me. I can always tell when Chris is not happy because he takes the same stance and demeanour every time.

Beeeep!

I hold my hand hard against the horn for a moment, hoping Chris will hop out of the way and take the train home today instead of relying on a lift back to his place from me. The engine of my car idles, and as it does, I sit, staring at Chris through the windshield. I take long, deep breaths to lessen a sense of stupidity currently steamrolling my guts. Not today, Chris. I would like to leave now. Let me go. Everybody from inside the café is looking at us, Arlie included.

“Move,” I shout.

Chris shakes his head.

“Move.”

Chris shakes his head again.

“Bloody move.”

Chris doesn’t move. Instead, he takes a step closer to the bonnet, which annoys me. I’m beyond tired. I want to go home. I wish Chris would piss off. I want Arlie, who is now standing on the footpath, and the other people outside the cafe to go away and stop staring at me in my car. I’m sick of the direction my life is taking. I’m sick of everything. I wanted a speedy getaway, and Chris is preventing such a getaway.

“What’s your problem?” I don’t hear Chris say this, but the sudden movement of his lips implies his words.

“Do you want to know what gives, Chris?” I flip both my arms into the air, knowing full well Chris can’t hear me. “I’ll tell you what gives. I’m not a functioning, mature twenty-nine, almost-thirty-year-old. I’m an immature, confused runaway with the invisible word ‘coward’ permanently inked to my forehead.” I drop my arms and tap two fingers above my eyebrow. “I’m tired of my low self-esteem. I’m wavering on the edge of a profound and deep sadness because I thought, in life, I wanted success, to help people, to make a difference, to contribute to society, to feel important, and to be looked up to and respected in my chosen career path by both my peers and my patients.” I inhale a needy breath. “But what I’ve come to realise is all I ever really wanted was to fall madly, deeply, insanely in love. To be held by a man who gets me and all my little quirks, and who cherishes me for who I am. He embraces my weaknesses and harnesses every one of my strengths. I’m his, he’s mine, and no matter what happens around our happy little life bubble, it won’t matter because we have each other, and life is outstanding. I’ve also realised while I've worked my bum off to get a medical degree only to stuff it up, all I wanted was to settle down and be someone’s mum. What I wouldn’t give to have a bunch of kids running around my ankles, almost tripping me over, demanding my help. How ironic. How very fucking ironic!”

I drop my head onto the steering wheel and moan before repositioning until I’m staring deep into Chris’s eyes. “I chose the wrong path. I followed my nattering brain over my needy heart, and now I’m struggling to find my way in life. Where’s the street sign, Chris, that leads me to the life I want?” I say, turning my palms upwards and holding my arms out to my sides in question. “What corner do I have to turn to find it? Do I take a left? Or would it be better to go right? Where is it, Chris?” I drop my arms and slump my shoulders. “WHERE IS IT?” I shout.

“I can’t understand what you’re saying. You look crazy, by the way. Open the door. Seriously, what are you doing?” This time, I faintly hear Chris.

I shrug.

He shakes his head.

I roll my eyes.

He flips me the bird.

I flip him the bird back.

Chris laughs.

I laugh …

And, as my shoulders shake from my laughter, I realise that wishing for a different life and losing my mind in a car in front of a café with a gay dude stopping me from leaving and a hot dude watching on won’t change my past.

What will? Finding a different way to direct my future.

But where do I start? What dotted line do I sign on to say today is the beginning of the new me? Because this life, the one I’m currently drowning in, isn't working.

“Mindy, can I get in the car?”

“Fine,” I yell flailing my arms about wildly while sitting in the seat.

Chris rushes to the passenger side and opens the door. “Mindy, you are losing your goddamn mind,” he says as he ducks his head and climbs in. “God, you’re one of a kind.”

I am one of a kind. One of a kind who’s going to work as damn hard as I did to become a doctor, only this time the work will be to find my Mr Perfect. I’ll get my dream home, and those needy kids I crave, and I’ll live happily ever after even if it kills me.

“He exists, Chris,” I mumble staring out the windshield.

“Who?”

“My Mr Perfect. He must exist. He’s out there somewhere, wandering lost. I need to locate him. I need to pull up the granny panties I slipped on last night and grow the hell up.”

“How about you drive, and I’ll look out the window for him as we go, because I’m not sure if you know this, but a bunch of people are looking at us, you crazy lady.”

Fuck!