Entwine (23 page)

“Thanks,” Sarah said, pushing around the food with her fork. Her tummy grumbled, and it looked delicious, but she wasn’t ready to eat yet.

“Something on your mind, Sez?”

Sarah looked up and nodded, a frown still playing on her lips. “First, how was your date?”

Her mum broke out into a grin. Friends? Yeah, right. It was definitely a date.

“Might see him again,” her mum said, smirking. “He isn’t in debt, has two kids but is a widower, has a steady job and doesn’t do drugs, or anything else especially weird or stupid. On top of that, he’s devilishly handsome, made me laugh non-stop, and even pulled out my chair for me to sit down first and took my coat. I think I hit the jackpot.”

“Sounds good for you.”

“Well, we’re very alike, yeah, but he’s a sales rep. He travels overseas for about two months of the year. And he comes from old money, but he’s a great guy for me in the ways that count.”

“I wish I had that,” Sarah mumbled.

“What?”

Sarah fluffed her hand in the air. Time to eat the breakfast her mum made for her. She cut up the bacon and forked it a few times, piling it up, then stabbed some fried egg, too, pushing the stack in her mouth. Mouth bulging, her cheeks flushed as she looked away from her mum’s gaze.

“Were you okay last night? I stumbled in to bed around midnight. I’m sorry I didn’t check on you. But I keep my Big Mumma panties on, and try to give you space.”

“No, you’re fine, Mum. It’s me. You’d think I’d be smart enough to know who to trust.”

“You do.”

Her mum signalled for her to wait. She turned off the stove, poured the Bolognese sauce into a few small tubs, and stored them to the side to cool. She came to sit next to Sarah, resting her elbows on the bench. “Now …”

“Yup …”

“Was it Malik? Or your dad?”

“You have it out for the men of the world.”

“Wrong. I have it out for your dad, who’s a boy who can’t control his urges. I’m concerned for you and Malik.”

“I trusted him, worried myself stupid yesterday and then stalked him, anyway. Well, I thought I was being insecure and silly. That was, until I found him kissing Alyssa on a ‘family movie night’ out with Lucy. They were touchy and all over each other. When we spoke this morning, he said he didn’t even realise he had drunk, let alone drunk that much, and didn’t really remember kissing her.” Sarah waited for her mum’s reaction, but she was still listening. “What a load of crap! He obviously still feels something for her, and is obviously in denial with himself. He was
so
sincere when he said he wanted me in his life, seriously, and he said he didn’t think of her or feel for her one bit.”

Her mum reached out and touched Sarah’s hands. She wanted to slap her away, slap away anyone who wanted to feel sorry for her or help. There was no helping. Her instincts had betrayed her, and so had Malik. Nothing could make this better. But Sarah let her mum squeeze her hand. Within seconds, it soothed her, and she smiled. Her mum knew her better than she knew herself.

“For what it’s worth, when I saw him for a moment that day, and from what I’ve heard of him, he’s an honest, incredible man. Nothing like Alyssa. To be honest with you, I’m surprised he did that. That’s a 180 from what he said and how he acted with you, and from what you’ve told me. Sometimes there are ratbags who seem sincere, and you fall for them. Later, you realise you should have noticed. Sometimes, the ratbags are blatantly honest, and you know to stay away.”

Her mum shook her head, appearing to think before saying her last piece. “But sometimes, things happen that don’t make sense, and even later, after much time, they still don’t make sense. Don’t rush into any decision, on either end of your thoughts. Just take some space and think, re-assess. Time is the only thing that works sometimes.”

“Time is also a frickin’ killer.”

Her mum rubbed her shoulder then pulled her in to kiss her temple. “The best things in life can come with baggage.”

Sarah sat there while her mum cleaned up, and then moved on to somewhere else. Sarah sat, motionless, just staring at an insignificant spot on the wall in front of her, until her bum was numb and she had to move on, too.

HEALING

NOW

For days, Sarah was like a tumbleweed in the wind. She didn’t have a purpose to her methods, she just accepted and did what she had to—work, clean, a coffee with a girlfriend—without her heart engaging with anything.

She found a package addressed to and waiting for her when she checked the mail, after work. Weighing it in her hands, she knew it contained something heavy, like the weight of a brick, but dispersed thinner.

The bills and other envelopes could wait. Sliding them across the bench, she hugged the package to her chest then laid it on her bed. Sarah pulled the tab and opened it up, peaking in to see a black … a black book?

As she slid it out, the realisation of what it was made her inhale.

She smoothed over the hard cover, feeling the texture rough under her touch, and gripped her fingers on the edge to peel it open. There was a photo of Sarah. She remembered the shot. It was from her twenty-first, and to this day she didn’t remember who took it, but her friend, Brittany, sent her a load of shots, and Sarah put this one as her profile picture on Facebook. In it, she had on a sombrero and was clutching a tequila bottle with its own mini sombrero lid. She remembered what she felt like when she laughed at that point, giddy from drinking, and happy, without a specific reason to be.

Now, looking at it in this album, she touched the photo, feeling a jolt of emotions as if it had sparked an electric shock. Did he pick it because the alcohol symbolised something deeper? Or did he pick it because he could tell how free and happy Sarah seemed?

She flicked to the next page to find a sketch. Lucy had drawn—Sarah assumed, from the darted and jagged pencil lines—her dad, with a crown on him. The scrawled writing spelt “Malik”, and next to it, a slightly less awful, and less childish drawing—somewhat between a stick figure and a full sketch—was a woman with long, mocha brown hair, grey eyes and a little tiara of her own.

Sarah smiled, noticing the differences in the drawings that Malik had drawn of herself.

She flipped the page to see a shot of Malik’s and her heads pasted on the body of Jason Statham and his heroine in his arms. There was a caption reading, “Just want to be your perfect man.” And when she flipped the page again, a professional shot of Crown Casino had been taken at midnight, with the blazing columns and shooting flames atop, taped down.

She flipped and flipped. There was Malik when he was Sarah’s age, in the gorge, rolled on the floor with dirt caked over him, and his mates pointing and laughing, blurred in the background. There was one of the most gorgeous pair of pink heels Sarah had ever seen.

Finally, there was a makeshift pocket attached to the last page. Sarah tipped the book upside down and shook it. Photos fell out, but before she looked at them, she knew which ones they were.

They had big paper numbers sticking up from them, so she picked up number one, smiled sadly at the action shot from when Sarah had entered the booth and was staring at Malik’s lips, saying something she couldn’t remember now as the first shot had snapped.

The back read, in Malik’s penned words, “I want to give you the space you deserve”

She picked up number two and continued, “because you’ve given me love, life and laughter in a world where I didn’t believe in that perfect trifecta anymore”

Now, her heart had sped up, and she scrambled for the third, though it was just in front of her. She read, “Although you’re the first and last thing I think of every day, and I can’t forget the way I let my past ruin the one perfect thing in my life, you …”

Sarah’s eyes felt heavy and bulging with tears when she started reading the last one, “… I love you enough to give you this wish, even though you’ll always be entwined with my heart, no matter if you cannot take me back.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Sarah couldn’t lift her head from the bed. She sobbed into the pillow and wanted to call him up. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling. But couldn’t, due to the enormity of her range of feelings—elated, hurt, excited, sad. So she clutched the ends of her pillow to her face, and scrunched it to sink her head into.

The pain in her chest was heavier than she’d experienced before. It was as heavy as wearing winter clothes in the deep end of a pool, as hot as a searing fry pan, and sharp as the moment a needle inserted through flesh.

She nudged the album up with her toe, too helpless and heavy to move, and met it with her fingers to pull it closer so she could see. She flipped through each page, and forced herself to hold back her tears.

Maybe Malik truly did love her. Everything Sarah had thought she’d known shattered in that moment.

Her dad had seemed so in love with her mum for every moment until she was sixteen, that night. She would have never picked what he was going to do to their family.

Lust and skin-deep attraction brought Sarah and Malik together, and they’d formed a sexual relationship almost as quickly.

Yet.

Yet all those years, Sarah had acted in a certain way because of what her dad did. Made sure she wasn’t silly enough to let a guy rule her world. Made sure no guy made her weak and stupid. Made sure she didn’t let any guy into her heart, because they couldn’t be trusted, not absolutely. All those years, she’d thought she was smarter than other girls who got their heart trampled on.

But Malik was fighting for her love, even after they’d begun their relationship on lust and sex. He’d been the last one she expected to fight for her feelings.

Her dad never did.

Her mum never showed her how to be happy and move on.

Nicholas didn’t come after her after the break up—just disappeared to Sydney, another state.

But Malik was showing her he loved her enough to give her space, even if that meant letting her go from his life completely, but was reminding her he was there, and cherished every single moment they had together, no matter how short.

She texted, “Thank you for everything, Malik.”

She went to quickly reply, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way—thank you for the gift, or thank you for the time we had together—but in the end, she didn’t even know which one she
meant.

DISCOVERY

NOW

A month later

Sarah made it without talking to or seeing Malik. During her days, the editorial team had thrown not just piles of work at her, but headache-inducing tasks from authors who were always late or sloppy with their manuscript submissions. A friend she’d made there told her the manager was impressed with Sarah, and knew she could handle stuff older employees couldn’t. So Sarah worked hard, and dealt. She got there at least half an hour earlier to find some quiet time to catch up on emails and got started before work, had just a twenty-minute break for lunch instead of an hour, and then left whenever she’d finished her work. She knew employees who worked hard got promotions; if the manager recommended it and Sarah wanted to climb all the way to the top role of lead editor someday. Maybe she could, in just a few years.

But that night she came home and saw her dad’s car parked out the front of her house, and it started a domino effect.

She hadn’t seen her dad since the surprise visit and pregnancy announcement. That was the day she’d worried about Alyssa’s motives and nature. Soon after, she went out with Malik and they kissed. Sarah was left heartbroken.

Malik
. She remembered his name, meaning “King” in Arabic, and how hers meant “Princess” in Hebrew, and the moment they simultaneously thought how perfect for each other they were; just another reason on top of a long list.

She shook her head, slammed her car door and locked it, as she stalked to the front door. She wouldn’t let men like her dad or Malik get to her. They were both ill-fitted for someone like Sarah, who wanted men in her life who cared for and looked after her. And
stayed
.

“Sez, darling,” her dad called. “Come, sit down. Your mother and I were just catching up.”

“Catching?” Sarah paused, waiting. “Up?”

Her dad nodded, Sarah noting how damn happy that smile was. Not good. “Come, sit. There are more biscuits here, and a pot of tea if you want.”

“Nah,” Sarah said, purposefully taking a chair down from her father, leaving a space between them. “I’m good. Really.” She looked at her parents.

Her mum rolled her eyes. “Your father was wondering if we had any cash. Would you believe that?” Contrary to her words, she also seemed damn happy, but Sarah noted quickly that she was mocking her dad.

“Cut to the chase. What’s going on, you guys? I haven’t seen you in a month, dad, and now you turn up for cash?”

“It’s just hard with the baby. Alyssa’s needed so much, spending like crazy for furniture and clothes, and any known baby invention. We have opposing ideas about preparing for a baby at the three-month mark. She isn’t even showing and my child is set up for birth. Every time I come up with thousands, she demands it goes right into a trust fund for the future.”

“And now you want my mum to give you money for a baby that’s not even hers, biologically or even socially connected?”

“It’s your sibling.”

“Half,” Sarah corrected.

“Does that make he or she half as important?”

Her dad suppressed a sigh. Obviously, he wasn’t in a position to wager here, nor did his history encourage Sarah or her mum to fall at his feet and offer help for being so kind to them all their lives.

“Don’t make me feel shit. I don’t like asking my ex-wife and daughter for money. I just thought that you might want to help me out. Never mind.”

He stood, and pushed back his chair. Grabbing his jacket, he flipped it over his arm and headed to the door. Sarah’s mum eyed her, nudging her to the door with her gaze. Sarah threw up her hands and shook her head. No way was she going to crawl up to him and beg forgiveness for being so callous. Her mum mouthed please, and as Sarah heard the front door open, she called out, “Wait!”