Television was no distraction for April, it only intensified the contrast between her life and others.
How can people get so excited about renovating, I mean, seriously!
She switched the channel.
Oh for God’s sake, it’s a cooking show, not a life or death situation!
Switch.
Why are all the female characters in movies young and beautiful and the males are old and grey?
She turned off the TV and headed into her bedroom. It was still relatively early, but late enough that she could try to get an early night and be bright and energetic for her big day tomorrow. Work at the store would be first, then set up for the night markets, then enjoy the night markets and then pack up and go home. She was glad she’d have a busy day to keep her mind off the awful thing she’d said to Zac.
Her eye homed in on the seashell Zac had given her ages ago, sitting on her bedside table next to her candle. She picked it up and felt the ribbed surface, noticing its broken edge and the smudge of discolouration and cinnamon-like freckles.
Just because something is broken and blemished, doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful and precious.
She didn’t know where the words came from as they appeared in the doorway of her mind like unknown visitors turning up at the wrong house. Zac thought of words, April didn’t. But there they were, and she felt compelled to write them down.
She tapped them into the notes app on her phone and wrote them on her whiteboard.
Then she pressed her mum’s number in ‘contacts’.
‘Mum?’ she asked.
‘Yes, darling, is everything okay?’
‘Do you regret getting involved with Dad?’
‘What? Why are you asking me this now? I’m watching Rogue Renovators.’
April could hear the annoying overexcited renovators in the background having happiness attacks at finding the most perfect colour for the feature wall in their living room.
‘Do you?’ she asked.
The volume went down and her mum replied, ‘He wasn’t easy, you know that.’
‘But would you do things differently, if you’d known?’
There was a brief moment of silence. ‘No. Of course not.’
‘But why?’
Her mum chuckled. ‘Oh, April. Because he gave me you. And you were the best thing that ever happened to me. To us.’
The heavy feeling that had filled her muscles lightened as gratitude took its place. Her chin quivered and she sniffed.
‘Are you alright, sweetheart?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m okay. Thanks, Mum.’
‘Are you still having feelings for that man?’
That man.
‘Not really. I mean sort of, but I’m not getting involved. And I told him that.’
‘Well, good for you. Don’t settle for second best,’ Clarissa said.
Second best and Zac didn’t seem to go together. Why did living without him feel like that was second best? She shook her crazy thoughts away. She’d made her decision, and anyway, she’d no doubt hurt him and he would probably never forgive her, and she didn’t deserve his forgiveness. She wondered if he had written on his blog, but she’d unsubscribed after their night together so she wouldn’t get tempted by his prose.
‘So, having me, that made being with Dad worthwhile?’
‘Definitely, but even despite the difficulties, there were also the memories. The good ones,’ she said. ‘He was a real charmer, even sang to me once in public. Embarrassed the heck out of me, but it worked. Charmed his way into my life. I have the memories too, and sometimes that’s all we can cling onto.’
She had memories with Zac, even though she’d only known him six months. She could just take them for the gift that they were and move on
‘Thanks, Mum. That helped.’
‘It did? Oh, good. Well, anything else you want to talk about?’
‘No, that’s it for now. Thanks.’
‘Okay, nighty night.’
‘Night.’
She ended the call then called another number.
‘Hi, Dad, do you want a visitor?’
* * *
She arrived at his stale smelling apartment around nine, her father watching sport on television, a bottle in his hand.
‘Hello there!’ he said, staggering up to greet her, as she’d let herself in with her key. He kissed her cheek.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Lemme get you a sandwich, hang on …’ He stumbled towards the small kitchen.
‘No, Dad, it’s okay, I’m not hungry,’ she replied, ‘Are you? Would you like me to make you a sandwich?’ He probably needed something to soak up the alcohol.
‘Oh, really? Gosh, what a nice thing to do for your old man. Thanks, sweetie.’ He made his way back to the couch. ‘Salami,’ he said.
She got the salami and mayonnaise from the fridge and quickly made a sandwich. She tore a bit off it for herself anyway, not realising till it hit her stomach that she was hungry. She made a half sandwich for herself.
Her dad ate it eagerly, pointing and shouting at the TV occasionally, ‘You bloody idiots! Don’t know whatcha doin’!’
‘Who’s winning?’ she asked.
‘Dunno,’ he replied. ‘Can’t read the bloody scores. Broke me glasses.’ He gestured to the smashed glass spectacles on the coffee table, which was more like a booze table.
‘Oh, Dad? Why didn’t you call? We have to get these fixed.’ Damn it, she had a full day tomorrow. She’d have to try and make time at lunch to take them into his optometrist and ask for a replacement. ‘I’ll take them and sort it out, don’t worry.’ She popped them into her bag.
‘Aye, aye, cap’n,’ he said with a salute, then he laughed.
She smiled and pretended he was funny.
‘Dad?’ she asked, when an ad break came on.
‘Yeah?’
‘Why do you drink?’
‘Tastes good,’ he slurred. ‘Yum.’
‘But why so much?’
He shrugged then lowered his head. ‘Nothin’ ever feels as good.’ He looked at her, his eyes tired and dark bags under them. ‘You know I tried to stop once,’ he said, and she nodded. ‘But didn’t work. Nothin’ else ever made sense in the world, only my drink.’
‘What about Mum?’ April asked, knowing what she had sacrificed to look after him for so long.
And what about me?
‘I loved chasing your mum,’ he said. ‘Gave me a thrill it did.’ He chuckled. ‘Good wife, that woman. But a man needs a hobby, right?’ He took a swig. ‘This sure beats stamp collecting!’ He guffawed and slapped his thigh, then coughed and spluttered.
Boredom. That’s all it was. Boredom and lack of purpose in life. That was her dad. Then it had become a habit, and the habit had become an addiction.
Zac wasn’t bored. He did things; poetry, building, cooking.
Zac had purpose, or had had purpose, serving his country.
And unlike her dad, Zac had found a way to feel good without alcohol. A way to feel better. Working on himself, meditating, educating his mind … it had taught him how to get to a state that was more rewarding than the temporary bliss from drinking. If her dad had never experienced that, then of course he would keep going back to the one thing that always brought him comfort.
They were different, Zac and her dad.
They’d shared the same affliction, but for different reasons. And Zac had stopped, her father hadn’t.
She’d been wrong. Zac wasn’t just like her father, not even close. Yes he was a risk, and things would never be certain, but she still had feelings for him. Couldn’t help it. Maybe like some of his books talked about, this was fate, bringing her to him because she could be the one person who would understand him, understand his past, see what a huge accomplishment it had been for him to recover.
But it was too late. She’d overstepped the mark and made a mistake, said something that should never be said to anyone dealing with any sort of challenge, be it health, mental, or otherwise.
Either way, she had to call him.
Now.