Page 100 of Malaise
“You’ve got time to figure it out, and plus, once you’ve talked with him he might be able to help you come up with a plan.”
Two hundred dollars, all for sitting on my arse and getting what most people pay way more than that for. What would Carver think? He’s inked—covered in it—but I’ve never asked what he thinks of chicks with tattoos.
“I’ll do it.”
“Awesome.” Tanya skips to the end of the twin bed and flops down, phone in hand. “I’ll call him now.”
I pick up my own phone and light up the blank screen again. It’s bugged me since yesterday that I only got to talk to Dad. What if Mum had been home? Would she have felt any different? My finger taps the side of the device as I toss up the idea.
“I’m just going to nip out for a bit,” I whisper to Tanya as she waits for this mystery guy to pick up.
She pops a thumb up, and I slip off the bed to grab my wallet and keys. Her call connects as I slip out the door, and her laughter follows me into the car park where I hesitate, giving the thought one last doubt before I decide to go with my gut and at least give it a try.
Wednesday is Mum’s day to volunteer at the old folks’ home across town. If I hustle, I can get there before she’s due to knock off and grab a moment with her on her own to plead my case.
It takes me forty minutes to walk there, hot and uncomfortable in the afternoon sun without a scrap of water to drink. By the time I step into the reception at the home, I’m sure my face is beet red, and a trail of sweat trickles down my spine.
“Meg, it’s been an age.” Moira, the receptionist who isn’t too far off the average entry age of her residents, gives me a large smile. “Your mum is just doing last-minute paperwork. Do you want me to call her up?”
I shake my head and gesture to an empty chair. “I’ll wait for her.”
I’d come here with her sometimes when I was younger and read to the ladies in the main lounge. But like so many other things that brought me small joys, I gave it up in my effort to be another “cool” kid. In a way, Mum and Dad did have reason to worry about me. Now that I look back on it, I literally killed off the strands of my personality in the name of trying to be another sheep.
Baa-aa.
Fifteen minutes tick by before Mum shows her face, shocked one that it is. “Meg, this is a surprise.”
“Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” She says her goodbyes to Moira and collects her bag from under the reception desk. “Where would you like to go?”
“Somewhere with a cool drink would be nice.”
She drives us into town to grab an iced coffee at the café. Her perfect bob blows gently in the afternoon breeze as we sit at one of the outdoor tables, watching people as they walk by.
“What did you want to talk about?” She absently stirs her drink with the straw.
“Dad told you I dropped by yesterday?” Happy birthday might not go amiss, either.
“He did.”
“And?”
“I’m not going to fight him on it.” She lifts a finger. “Oo, I have something for you.” I sip my drink as she rats around in her bag and comes out with a small wrapped square. “I kept it with me in case your father saw it while I was out, and you know….” No, I don’t. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
“Thanks.” I honestly pegged her as having forgotten in the midst of all of this.
“Open it.” She nods toward the striped paper.
I tear it along the tape, unfolding the sides to reveal the underside of a ceramic drink coaster.
“Turn it over.”
I flip it the right way up and frown at the child’s drawing glazed on the white surface. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you not remember it?”
I shake my head, spinning it around so the picture is the right way up.