Page 76 of Malaise
“Nothing could put me off you,” I reassure him quietly.
He doesn’t look so convinced, staring out at the property before opening his door with a huff. I get out also, and wait for instruction beside the car. Last time I was here, things went so damn pear-shaped it feels cocky just sauntering up to the gate.
Carver rounds the hood of the car and stops before me, his hip leant on the side panel of the Falcon and his arms crossed over that ridiculously hard chest.
“Things are rough right now, right?” he asks.
“Right.” I find myself mirroring his stance.
“You feel like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel, like things won’t ever be the same.”
“Yeah. What are you getting at with this?”
“You’re grieving, Meg. It’s natural how you’re feeling, but it’ll also pass.”
I roll against the car so my back is against the window and my side is to him, facing the way we came down the dark semi-rural street. What he’s inferring already aggravates me: that this divide in my family will pass and all of this will one day blow over. I’m not sure I can hear what he’s actually going to say.
Carver sighs and runs a hand through his growing hair. “You’ve got a good family, Meg. Your parents might be bastards right now, but they’re going through something they never planned for. It won’t last forever, I’d put money on it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I bite out. “You weren’t there when they said the things they did. You only know what I’ve told you.”
“Yeah, I do.” He paces the driveway, passing through my line of sight while I do my best to ignore him. “But the reason why I brought you to meet Dad was to show you that life could be a lot worse. As horrible as you think your parents are right now, they still love you.”
“Do they?” I throw my hands in the air, irritated that he won’t just cut to the chase. “Are you trying to tell me that misplaced parental love excuses their behaviour? Because even if that were true, it doesn’t. And besides,” I say, slamming my arms back over my chest defiantly. “At the end of the day, everyone’s parents love them, whether they want to admit it or not.”
He shakes his head and marches toward the steel gates, highlighted by the glow of the headlights. “No, they don’t.” The catch makes a horrific screech as he slides the bolt out of the ground and swings the gate open. “Come and see what obligation, rather than choice, looks like.”
The house is front and centre to the right of the gates, an old weatherboard villa with a covered porch across the back. Light spills from the uncovered windows, illuminating our way through the scruffy garden. We follow a paved path that I remember dashing down last time, and reach the steps to the house.
“Whatever gets said to you inside,” Carver warns, “none of it is personal, okay?”
I nod, staring at the welcoming white door I vaguely remember stumbling through last time, and wondering what in fuck he’s on about. His dad can’t be that bad, right? I mean, he seemed gruff when we bolted, but I wouldn’t have said he was anything other than a hard-arse.
“I mean it, Meg,” Carver stresses. “Promise me you won’t take his insults personally. Dad is just a real cunt at times, and that’s when he’s being nice.”
“Promise.” His words of warning begin to sink in, and the previous calm I had when I thought he was simply being melodramatic, vanishes. Foreboding crows beat their wings inside my gut, turning my stomach into a flapping, roiling mess as we step up to the door.
Carver lets us both inside, guiding me behind him to keep me close as we step through the entrance hall and into the kitchen.
“Hey, bro,” Tanya greets from where she’s situated at the dining table, painting her nails. “Hey, Meg. Good to see you again.” She jerks her head toward the lounge and silently mouths something at Carver that I don’t quite catch before she returns a warm gaze my way. “Want your nails done?”
“Uh, no. Thanks, though.”
I hesitate awkwardly between the two of them, expecting Carver to direct us through to the lounge to where I presume his father is, given Tanya’s gestures. I mean, introducing me would be the polite thing to do if he wants to get us off on the right foot, isn’t it?
Oddly enough, nobody moves.
“So,” Tanya calls out, breaking the silence. “Drink, Meg?”
“Um.” I look to Carver for an answer, but he’s not giving away anything in the way of what our plans are from here. “I guess.”
Tanya places the brush back in her bottle and screws the lid on. With her hands held out in front, waving them to and fro, she pushes her chair out from the table and stands. “How about you, bro?”
“No. I think I’ll pass.”
They both glance around the corner to the lounge room. Anxiety sets in, my skin warming and my hands pulsing with each beat of my heart.
“If tonight isn’t a good night—”