~ Present ~
“Hey, honey. I’m home,” I say, slamming the front door so hard it shudders.
Mereki doesn’t turn to acknowledge me. I’ve learned to simply be grateful he’s still here at all, when each time I come home, I wonder if today’s the day he’ll be gone for good. I’ve learned to accept the heartbreaking anticipation and take joy from the gift of another day, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less when he ignores me so blatantly. I’ll find a way to turn this all around.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say, breaking the crushing silence. Making my way to the bedroom, I strip off my flour-covered clothing and hit the shower. I need to wash my hair most days. It’s an occupational hazard of making cakes for a living.
Clean and refreshed, I collect my strewn clothes and place them in the laundry basket. It’s then I notice the pebble on the floor. I left the park a mess, but thankfully, Carrie didn’t notice I’d been crying when I got back to work. One little pebble, responsible for such mental anguish. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket, and I quickly pick it up, smoothing my thumb across the surface.
When I return to the lounge room, Mereki appears completely exhausted but still devastatingly handsome and still very much mine. He doesn’t look at me, but I plonk myself down beside him anyway.
“Do you remember the day we met?” I ask, gripping the pebble in my closed fist. Gaining his attention is becoming an almost impossible task lately.
He nods but doesn’t smile or even look at me. I’ve loved this man for more than half my life, and I hate what has become of us. This isn’t what I wanted.
“I think back to those days by the river when we were kids.”
Nothing.
He is blocking me out, and it’s suffocating.
Before I can say anything else, he pushes himself up and walks out the door. No backward glance or simple goodbye—he just leaves, and my always-hopeful heart takes yet another blow.
Rather than focusing on where he’s gone or when he’ll return, I spend the evening reading. At least I can allow my mind to take me away from my increasingly bleak reality.
When I finally go to bed, he’s still not home. I am sadly accustomed to going to sleep alone but know I’ll stir from sleep at some stage, and he’ll be there because we love each other on a level that transcends all.
Ki has already left when I wake up the next morning. He works so hard, and I’m sure he’s going to quickly climb the corporate ladder. I know there is travel coming up that he’s excited about it. His job is going to take him places—places far away from me.
Reaching over to my bedside table, I pick up the framed picture of us. Mereki’s mother took the photo at their home on my eleventh birthday. Realising that my own mother probably wouldn’t even remember my birthday, she’d invited me to dinner and made me a cake. I was about to blow out the candles and make my wish when Ki put his arm around my shoulders. We both had the biggest grins on our faces. It was a perfect moment, and I’m so grateful it was captured.
Absently, I run my finger over the photo, tracing Ki’s strong profile, still taken aback by how much he already cared for me, even then.
Eventually, I drag myself out of bed, throw my hair in a bun, and pull myself together for work. My morning train ride to the city is around twenty-five minutes, and I typically spend the time reading. Today, I pull the smooth, white pebble from my bag and stare at it. I have become completely fixated on it, and I pull out a scrap piece of paper, place the pebble down, and trace around it with my pencil. As if on instinct, I start to shade it in. By the time the train arrives at my stop, I’ve covered the paper in shapes of varying sizes, some shaded dark and others left as just outlines. I am focused and my heart is racing.
On my walk from the station to work, I collect several more pebbles that catch my eye and place them in my bag. Somehow, they make it feel lighter.
My morning is a blur of baking, icing, and decorating. I love the creative side of this job, and Carrie allows me free rein on the cupcakes we sell in the shopfront. The custom orders are usually quite specific, but I do love it when the client consults us for design and colour inspiration. This morning, I spent hours cutting one hundred twenty various-sized butterflies from pink fondant, folding them into shape, and leaving them to dry in pre-prepared foil. The result when they set is a beautiful flurry of winged beauties looking ready to take flight.
Instead of heading to the park on my lunchbreak, I go for a walk. I try telling myself I don’t have a destination in mind, but when I stop in front of the art gallery, I know exactly what I’m doing there. Ever since I heard about Josh’s art therapy classes, I can’t stop thinking about them. Why now? I gave up art years ago and thought I’d found peace with it. Now that I think about it, all I’ve done is become an expert in avoidance.
Gallery on the Park has a well-maintained frontage. The brickwork around the large picture window is painted a deep crimson. Several easels are set up on the other side of the glass, and I find myself moving closer to get a better look. The one that makes me gasp is a sketch of a man’s face. Half is perfectly drawn with such fine detail, it’s almost like a photograph, but the other half is mostly shaded and drifts off to the edge, distorting him completely. Before I have a chance to look closer and read the artist’s name, the door at the back of the gallery space opens. I don’t want to be caught here, but I don’t know why. I dash away, which is irrational but instinctual—and I don’t ever fight instincts anymore.
I finish work at five but offer to stay behind to clean the ovens. Who does that? Perhaps I’m just killing time, but they do need a clean, and we’re always too busy during the day to get it done. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I can see it’s not long until Josh’s class will be starting. Carrie always tells me I can take any cakes that don’t sell, but I rarely do. Tonight, I pack them into a small box and lock up.
Sarah Holland is a potentially fantastic client and Josh is her son, so I tell myself that I’m doing this to help Carrie’s business. It sounds so legitimate in my head—as if I have no other motive.
I am an excellent liar.
I walk down the street whistling a tune that I have stuck in my head. I don’t know what the song is called, but it’s catchy. It allows me to feign a carefree attitude. My stomach, however, twists into knots when I see Josh holding a crate under one arm, hovering on the footpath at the gallery door. I’m too close to risk turning around, but I slow my pace and do my best to relax.
Glancing in my direction when I’m only a few feet away, he smiles. “Emerson,” he says, pulling a key out of his pocket. “Are you coming to my class?”
Balancing the cupcake box in one hand, I push my other hand against my stomach, willing the knots to loosen a bit. “Oh no,” I say, furrowing my brow and shaking my head. “I just thought you and your students might like these.” I push the box towards him. “They were leftovers and were just going to be thrown out.”
Balancing the cake box in one hand, Josh lowers his crate of art supplies to the ground.
His eyes light up as he lifts the lid. “Thank you so much.”
I nervously shift from one foot to the other. “Well, I hope you enjoy them.”
He gestures to the door with an upward nod. “Are you sure you don’t want to check out my class tonight? You’re welcome to just pop in to see if you like it.”
Part of me wants to scream yes, drawn to the art supplies and the happy childhood memories, but I don’t. I shake my head. “I’d better get home. Maybe another time.”
With a disappointed expression, he shrugs. “Well, thanks again for the cupcakes.”
I begin walking away, leaving Josh right where I found him, except now he’s weighed down by cupcakes and a confused look.
Cursing myself for being so inept, I pick up the pace, determined to avoid the gallery from this point forward. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic and I’ll never see him again. Then he calls my name.
Stopping dead in my tracks, I slowly turn around.
“Do you want to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks.
Delight tingles through me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt something like that, and those tingles are reserved for Ki.
Of course, I can’t accept, so I politely say no. The light disappears from his eyes as he’s rejected for the second time by me this evening. With nothing left to say, I continue my lonely trip home.