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Kate wasn’t sure how she’d wound up in a café with her childhood crush. The morning had taken on the hallucinatory shimmer of a dream. Rapunzel’s crush was Deidre Peterson—the worst person to graduate Colac Secondary since the guy who ran over an echidna on purpose. But when confronted with her, she hadn’t run away in a haze of bullying flashbacks, she’d told Deidre Peterson off. Straight up confronted her, the way she had in a thousand revenge daydreams. Right in front of her dad, Kane Peterson.
While Kate had thought of Deidre semi-regularly—usually when someone in retail was mean to her—she barely thought of Mr. Peterson. He wasn’t a real person. He was a fairy-tale character from a badly written book called My Dumbass Teenage Life. Only he wasn’t. He’d driven Deidre up from the coast, and now he was sitting across from her in a faded blue t-shirt, ordering a coffee and a crème éclair from their waitress.
He must have felt her staring because he smiled at her. “What would you like?”
Déjà vu goose bumps crept down her spine. She might have been back in his van in 2005. They could have been going through the drive-through, ordering McDonald’s pancakes before school because Mr. Peterson knew she hadn’t had breakfast.
“I don’t know if I should get anything. Rapunzel and Deidre are expecting us back, aren’t they?”
“Ah, they’re fine,” Mr. Peterson said comfortably. “Did you want an éclair too? Oh, you don’t like them, do you?” He dismissed the politely hovering waitress as Kate gaped at him.
“How do you know...?”
“You brought me leftover éclairs for ages, remember? From your job?”
“I...” Kate licked her lips. They were so raw they felt like they’d been rubbed with chilli. The truth was, until Mr. Peterson explained, she didn’t remember. Between her untreated ADHD, pot smoking, family crap and helpless infatuation, the bulk of her teenage memories were covered in Vaseline, less believable than the movies she’d loved—The Virgin Suicides, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Kill Bill, Marie Antoinette, Goodfellas, The Lord of The Rings...
“Having a cotton moment?” Mr. Peterson grinned, and then his hand was on hers.
A jolt went through her like she’d touched a car battery. “I...yes.”
She’d forgotten he called her space outs ‘cotton moments.’ Forgot he knew she spaced out.
He knows so much about me. Everything.
“You do remember,” he urged. “You worked at Doughnut King for years. That’s where you got the éclairs.”
“Oh!” A barrage of memories returned to her; the scratchy pink polo shirt, the perpetually greasy windows, pushing room-temperature éclairs into paper bags. She paid for them, but she told Mr. Peterson they were free because giving them to him made him smile like she’d invented the moon. She licked her lips again, trying to let the Technicolor thoughts settle. They were too bright, and the man in them wasn’t the guy sitting across from her. The man in her memories was bigger than a mountain, sweeter than talking woodland animals, handsome as a fairy-tale prince. He was her first crush and her first friend and entirely made from fantasy. She smiled at the flesh and blood Mr. Peterson, a nice-looking older man with thinning hair, and, for the first time since he’d gotten out of his van, she felt comfortable.
“That’s better,” Mr. Peterson said, giving her hand a pat. “You still cotton out, huh?”
“Not often.” Kate glanced out of the café window. She felt paranoid. Watched, almost. As though anyone cared where she was or why. She returned her gaze to Mr. Peterson and forced herself to smile. “What about you, Mr. Peterson, how’re things in the Otways?”
“Kane,” he said with a wry smile.
“Kane.” The word tasted bittersweet. Once upon a time she’d dreamed about calling him that. Now it was just expected. “How are things in the Otways, Kane?”
“Same, same. I’m still surfing the same beaches, White’s in winter and—”
“Point Impossible in summer.”
Mr. Peterson beamed at her. “Good memory.”
Not really. While her young adulthood had more holes than Swiss cheese, Kate was sure she could remember hundreds, if not thousands of inane facts about Mr. Peterson. He had a brother called Simon, chicken was his favourite flavour of chips, he hated pineapple, and he cried when his both his kids were born, even Deidre, which had struck teen Kate as a waste of salt...
Mr. Peterson gave her hand a final pat and settled back into the red leather booth. “So, you said on the way here that you’re seeing someone?”
Kate picked up the brown sugar dispenser and squeezed it tight. “Yeah. Are you still at the garage?”
Mr. Peterson gave her a faux stern look. “Don’t think you’re getting away with saying barely anything about your bloke.”
Kate ducked her head. She’d been hoping to avoid that part, but she didn’t how she could. “His name is Ty. Tyler Henderson.”
Mr. Peterson studied her. “Do you two work together?”
“We used to! How did you know?”
He blew on his knuckles, grinning. “I can’t see you on the apps. You always had to get to know people before you opened up to them.” He glanced at the sugar jar she was clutching like a talisman. “We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to, Katie.”
Kate let go of the bowl, feeling like a nerd. “Sorry, it’s all just a bit strange.”
Mr. Peterson nodded. “I can’t believe it’s been almost fifteen years since you rode in the van.”
“I can’t believe the van’s still going!”
“Of course! She’s a tough old bird.”
“Indestructible,” Kate agreed, and realised an amazing opportunity lay in front of her—the chance to thank Mr. Peterson for what he’d done for her like an actual adult. “Hey, thanks for driving me to school, by the way.”
“No problem.”
He hadn’t gotten it. She’d been too insubstantial. Kate drew in a deep breath.
“Thanks for talking with me and being nice to me as well. My teenage years weren’t great—you might have gotten that from my talk with Deidre.”
Mr. Peterson’s easy smile became a little wooden. “I knew she could be difficult; I didn’t know she was picking on you. I’m sorry, Katie. You should have told me about it.”
Then you wouldn’t have seen me as stepmother material.
Smiling a little, Kate shook her head. “It’s all over now, but yeah, I just wanted to thank you. You made me laugh and feel...stuff I needed to feel. So, yeah...”
It was a pretty dogshit ‘thank you,’ but Mr. Peterson beamed at her, the same open smile that once slit her teenage body from stem to stern. “You were always my favourite kid to drive.”
Kate’s insides heated. It was only an echo of the glow she used to get when he complimented her on her reading or new haircut, but it was nice all the same. “Thank you for talking to me and taking what I had to say seriously back then. It meant a lot that you treated me like a grown up.”
Mr. Peterson chuckled. “I defy anyone not to treat you like a grown up. Even when you were thirteen, you sounded thirty-two.”
Kate smiled, feeling a fondness for her younger self that she’d never felt before. She was so separate from that girl, it was like remembering a little sister. “I grew up eventually. Learned to talk like everyone else.”
“You shouldn’t have. You should have stayed just the way you were.”
Kate rolled her eyes at him. “I’m happier now, fitting in.”
He gave her another faux stern look. “You should have made everyone fit around you, Katie.”
Kate fought to keep her smile in place. It was all well and good for Mr. Peterson to say that, he didn’t have ADHD and a shitty family. And she kind of wished he’d stop calling her Katie. These days the only time she heard that name was in bed with Ty, where she liked the patronising, girly undertones.
Mr. Peterson smiled at her, clearly unaware of her irritation. “So, how long have you and your boy been together?”
Kate almost laughed. Tyler Henderson hadn’t been a boy since the ‘80s, but she couldn’t think of how to say that without sounding naive or like she was bragging or something. “Almost five years.”
Mr. Peterson let out a low whistle. “Impressive. How’s it all going?”
Kate glanced at the street. She still had a weird feeling she was being watched, but the passing Melbournites in the window weren’t paying her any attention. Maybe she was just thinking of Ty. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew about this little reunion. Then again, she hadn’t planned to run into Mr. Peterson, and they were getting a coffee, not eating each other’s faces. Perhaps her twitchiness was just residue from the time she was terrified someone would uncover her deep lust for Deidre Peterson’s dad and send her to kid jail.
“Katie?” Mr. Peterson’s smile was patient. “Is everything okay with you and your boyfriend?”
She started. “Oh yeah,” she said quickly. “We live together, and we’ve been to South America and London, and he’s really into whiskey and CrossFit and...menswear...” She shut her mouth, embarrassed, then felt compelled to add, “We’re really happy.”
Mr. Peterson raised his eyebrows. “That’s great. Five years is a long time to be in a committed relationship.”
“Not as long as you and Mrs. Peterson.”
Mr. Peterson looked up at the ceiling. “Ahh, now’s probably as good a time as any to say Jenny and I have split up.”
Kate gaped at him. Mr. Peterson single? It made even less sense than him being here, in Brunswick, awaiting an éclair. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He gave a small smile. “We got divorced a year ago. She’s in Sydney now. Got herself a new boyfriend and everything.”
A hot ball swelled in Kate’s ribs. How often had she daydreamt that this would happen? Enough that she felt almost responsible. She looked at his hands. She hadn’t noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring, but he’d been bare-fingered a lot when she was younger. He took his ring off before he surfed.
“Surprised?” Mr. Peterson asked, his brown eyes twinkling.
“Completely,” Kate said, her brain hurtling through infinite space. God, Ty would really not be happy this reunion was happening.
Stop thinking about him and be nice to Mr. Peterson. You know, like he used to do for you?
She focused on her old van driver’s face.
“It’s not a big deal,” Mr. Peterson was saying. “We’d been on the rocks for a while, and now Deidre and Megyn are grown up, we thought it was time to call it a day.”
“Right,” she said, at a complete loss for what to add. “Right. Yeah. Right.”
The waitress returned with their coffees, Mr. Peterson’s éclair and Dede and Rapunzel’s takeaways in a tray.
“Thank you,” Kate said.
“Yeah, thanks.” Mr. Peterson flashed the young woman his girl-slaying smile. “What’s your name?”
“Corinne,” the waitress said, grinning back. She was French, dark-haired and pretty. “Don’t spoil me with compliments, I’m just doing my job.”
“But you do it so well!” Mr. Peterson said.
She tapped her cheek. “I do love my work.”
Kate glanced from one to the other like it was the grand final of the Australian Open. Mr. Peterson and the waitress flirted like grownups, executing verbal swashbuckling in a way she had never, ever replicated. Her flirting was limited to blushing and abrupt requests for sex. Possibly because of her ADHD, but she’d never been good at nuance. Maybe that was what she liked about daddy role-play with Ty—she could lean into her awkwardness, be even more naive and sexually incompetent than she was.
Someone behind the counter called for the Corinne, and she waved an impatient hand at them. Her blue eyes locked with Kate’s. “Your boyfriend is very charming.”
Kate would have given a lot to have spontaneously gone invisible. She tried to smile, but her lips felt like they’d been superglued together. The old fantasy again, too bright and hot and sweet, éclair left in the sun to curdle.
“Katie isn’t my girlfriend,” Mr. Peterson said breezily. “I’m too old for her.”
The waitress scoffed. “Ridiculous! You are, what? Forty-five?”
Mr. Peterson laughed. “Fifty.”
“That’s how old Ty is.” Kate didn’t know what made her say it. The words were out before she could stop them.
The waitress made an ‘I couldn’t give a fuck’ face—for which Kate could hardly blame her—but Mr. Peterson’s could give a fuck. Mr. Peterson had gone pale, his mouth was a twisty line. “He’s my age?”
Kate wasn’t sure why it felt like her stomach was bottoming out, but she didn’t like it. “Not quite. He’ll be fifty next month.”
The waitress gave a Gallic shrug and strode back toward the café counter, but Mr. Peterson appeared dazed.
“Are you...okay?” Kate ventured.
“I’m fine.” Mr. Peterson took a long swig of coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So...your boyfriend’s fifty?”
Kate nodded, wanting to say more but unable to manage it.
“And you’ve been together five years? So, you got together when you were...twenty-six?”
“Twenty-five.”
Mr. Peterson’s brow furrowed, and Kate instantly regretted the correction. “It’s not one of those weird things. Ty and I are good together.”
“I’m happy to hear it...” Mr. Peterson didn’t look happy. He drank more coffee, his gaze firmly in the middle distance.
“What?”
“Katie, we can be honest, can’t we? Like we used to be?”
“What do you mean?” Kate felt panicky. Torn open. “What’s wrong with my relationship?”
Mr. Peterson sat back in the booth and sighed. “You’re a smart girl, you know relationships like yours have a big power imbalance, right?”
“We don’t have a big power imbalance!” But as soon as Kate said it, she could feel the contradictory information pushing up to the surface. Ty had more life experience, he made more money, he knew more about the world, he assumed the dominant role in their sex life, he was her first boyfriend, he chose where they travelled...
And where they didn’t travel.
As she weighed her thoughts Mr. Peterson smiled at her, concern softening his gaze in a way that irritated her. Why did he have to be here today? Why couldn’t he and Deidre have stayed in the Otways with Kate’s family and the rest of her baggage?
Mr. Peterson leaned forward. “Katie, I’m only asking because I care about you. And I know you’re vulnerable.”
The word echoed in Kate’s ears. Vulnerable, vulnerable, vulnerable. “What...what do you mean?”
“Well, you had a bad time at school, didn’t you? And I know part of that was Deidre—and I apologise for not taking a stronger hand in managing that, but school aside, I know things at home weren’t ideal...”
Kate giggled, wishing she could vanish. She didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t think mining around in shitty memories was healthy or even helpful. There was so much pointless cruelty in her past, she never knew where to begin. Besides, whatever absolution she and Deidre found in the driveway at Rapunzel’s, the fact was she had managed the Colac Secondary ‘I hate Kate McGrath’ campaign, and Kate didn’t want to discuss that with her dad.
Hey, that’s like a porno as well! You fuck your childhood bully’s dad and then rub it in her face, possibly engaging her in a threesome—your call.
Shut up. Kate licked her cracked lips. “It wasn’t too bad. No one has a good time at school, do they?”
His smile had far too much sympathy in it.
Kate tapped her coffee cup. It was annoying that Mr. Peterson knew so much about her. They’d met when she was raw and immature, and now he saw her in a way that was so transparent it was almost obscene. He had a window into her tender, underfed girlish heart. And it didn’t feel nice the way it did when she was young, it felt...one sided. Unfair.
You don’t mean that. It’s not his fault you poured your sadness all over him when you were a kid.
A warmth closed over her hand. Mr. Peterson had put his palm over hers again. “We don’t need to push this. If you say you’re happy with Ty, I believe you.”
It was so, so strange to hear him say Ty’s name. Like a bridge between two separate realties.
“I am happy. We are.” Kate picked up her cup and took an oversized gulp. Coffee dripped from the corners of her mouth and onto her t-shirt. “Shoot!”
Mr. Peterson chuckled. “Still doing that, huh?”
Kate picked up a napkin and dabbed at herself. “Not for ages! It’s like I’m regressing before your eyes.”
He laughed, and Kate’s stomach swooshed. Not with attraction exactly, more relief. Things didn’t have to be weird. They could be fun and light. She could peek back in time to when she was fifteen without wading back into the horrible stuff. Surely that was possible?
“So,” Mr. Peterson said. “You’ve spilled your guts with me, would you like to know what happened with Jennifer and me?”
Kate hesitated, then realised the time for subtlety had probably passed. “What happened?”
Mr. Peterson’s forehead wrinkled. “It’s hard to say. It was a long time coming, then it happened all at once.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked, dread prickling the back of her throat.
“You keep changing. No one tells you that. Ten years go by, fifteen, twenty, then you’re a different person and so are they, and no matter how much you know about each other, you can’t remember what you used to see in each other.”
Kate swallowed, trying to wet her tongue, her patched throat.
“No.” Mr. Peterson stared deep into nowhere. “Not see, feel for each other. You don’t have that click anymore, that connection. You think back to when you first met and you have no idea why you acted like you were crazy from needing one woman’s attention so badly...” His gaze found Kate’s. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you.”
Kate shook her head. “You can keep going if you want.”
“Thanks. It’s hard to talk about these things. No one warns you how hard it is.”
“How hard what is?”
“To be together long term and stay interested. You just cruise and life keeps you so busy you don’t realise you’re not interested in each other’s lives, your hopes and dreams...”
I listen to Ty, Kate thought in a panic. I’ve been interested, haven’t I? Paying attention?
Not about getting married.
Kate twisted her hands, locking her joints together to the point of pain.
“...until I realised that we were just running in circles. Toward the end I asked Jenny if she wanted to move to Sydney. Get a place by the beach. Try again.”
An ice blade plunged into Kate’s chest, stopping her heart. “What did Mrs. Peterson say?” she asked in a voice like a whistle.
Mr. Peterson cocked a brow. “Well, she’s not Mrs. Peterson anymore, so there’s that.”
“She said no?”
He nodded. “Then she cheated. With the man she lives with now.”
Kate clapped her hand to her mouth.
“Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.” He exhaled loudly. “It happens. Now we’re divorced. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I resented her. We had a chance to give it one last push, and she said no because she secretly had other plans.”
Kate’s breathing was high and tight. She remembered the tram trip, longing for something she didn’t understand. Was she planning on leaving Ty? Cheating? Was that what that feeling was? Was that why she wanted to go to Paris? Or was not going to Paris what would end them, like not going to Sydney had ended things for the Petersons?
“Katie.” Mr. Peterson squeezed her hand. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded, trying to slow her breathing. “I’m fine.”
“Katie, I’m sorry to bring this up again, but are you sure you’re not having relationship problems?”
“No. I mean, if I seem freaked out, it’s probably because that’s my worst nightmare, being so bored and unsatisfied I won’t have the motivation to change things.”
“Oh Katie, don’t worry about that. Something always comes along and shocks you out of the slump, for better or worse.”
Was that what this was? Was Mr. Peterson being here a bad omen? The sign that her relationship with Ty would be ending? Or irrevocably changed?
Mr. Peterson straightened his wide surfer shoulders, releasing her hand once more. “It must be hard to be with someone long term when you’re at such different stages of life.”
Kate looked at her coffee. He didn’t mean it in a horrible way, surely? He was just concerned for her. Looking out for her the way he used to. “We’re not so different. Ty doesn’t want kids, and he’s not old-old, exactly, he’s...I don’t know...”
“Young at heart?”
“Don’t be mean, Mr. Peterson!” Kate swatted the air between them in mock irritation. Tyler Henderson wasn’t young at heart, he was something out of time, but saying that would be ridiculous.
“So, Ty’s happy to have an unconventional life?”
“I think so.” Kate chewed her lower lip. “Or I did. Lately he keeps talking about getting married.”
Mr. Peterson’s eyebrow went way up. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t want to get married, but Ty wants it so badly.”
“Getting married for someone else doesn’t end well.”
“That makes sense.”
Mr. Peterson sipped his coffee. “You know, usually people our age aren’t naive about love. They understand getting married is more complicated than you think. Maybe your boyfriend’s a little immature, Katie.”
Don’t, Kate wanted to say, but she wanted to know what Mr. Peterson thought. “Really?”
“Maybe. If he hasn’t had to make a commitment like that, maybe he doesn’t get how challenging it is in the end.”
Kate stirred her spoon through her coffee. “When I was little, I thought the decisions I made would stay made, but the story just keeps going, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm.”
She felt a stab of irritation. That was a pretty good line, and he hadn’t even acknowledged it. Ty would have been impressed.
Mr. Peterson sighed. “Katie?”
Stop calling me that. “Yes?”
“Is there anything else? Anything troubling you?”
Another pang of irritation. Why was he milking her for sad stories? Didn’t he get that she wasn’t a weirdo teenager anymore?
Maybe Mr. Peterson sensed her discomfort because he pressed his hand to his chest, his heart. “It’s me, just like the old days. Don’t see it as a confession, don’t think too hard. Let it out.”
“Let what out?” she frowned. “I’m fine. I’m not perfect, but I’m okay.”
“But you seem unhappy. Confused.” Mr. Peterson was watching her closely, and when their eyes met, a tremor ran down Kate’s spine. His eyes...the way he was looking at her. It made her feel thick and full of mud. Like she’d stepped into a fuggy swamp. He wasn’t...was he?
Don’t be stupid. He just likes you. He was your friend.
He keeps touching my hand.
So? He used to do that on the bus, and it wasn’t wrong. And don’t flatter yourself, he’s not interested.
Kate made herself smile, an act that had always, would always be easy as breathing. As horrible as throwing up. “I’m fine, Mr. Peterson. I promise.”
He shook his head. “Okay, Katie, but you know if you leave things unsaid, they’ll only get more painful, right?”
She could feel him wanting to make her feel the way he used to. Safe. Understood. Her neediness rose up to meet his. She felt like she was wading in a sticky swamp, the impulse to collapse back into her neat little role tugging at her, sucking at her feet, pulling her down. Then she gave in, the way she did in bed with Ty. She let herself feel fifteen, small and young and confused. The world was too big, and she’d been lied to about so many things. Everything. People weren’t nice, family wasn’t safe, home wasn’t a refuge, and love could twist until you felt like your partner was the biggest thing holding you back. Wasn’t there anything firm to hold onto? To trust in?
Kate’s eyes burned, and she pushed her coffee away, burying her face in her hands.
“Oh, Katie.” She heard Mr. Peterson step out of their booth. “Come here.”
He stood beside her, holding his arms open. Kate let out a dry sob. At that moment there was nothing she wanted more than a hug. She stood up and threw herself into his arms. Mr. Peterson’s big, muscly biceps closed around her, and Kate smelled his deodorant mixed with the salt of the Otway sea. Her heart squeezed tight. After all these years he still smelled like safety. Like friendship. He held her tight and it was salve to her teenage soul.
“Thank you,” she said into his chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He laughed softly in her ear. “Nothing’s wrong with you. I’m here for you.”
Kate smiled and looked up. She wanted to tell him she was glad, but the second they locked eyes, words failed her. Mr. Peterson wasn’t looking at her right. He wasn’t concerned or protective, not her father or a friend. He was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her. He looked like a guy you moved away from in a club because you didn’t want him to get ideas. Kate wanted to move away from Mr. Peterson, to run away, but her arms were stuffed toys and her stomach was full of static electricity. She’d been stupid. So stupid.
Mr. Peterson brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Katie, I’m staying in town tonight. Have dinner with me?”
In town, she thought dazedly, my parents call the city that too. Maybe all old people do. Kate’s guts churned as the voices in the café had faded to nothing. There was no one here to distract her from this. “To catch up?”
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that old, familiar way. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for more.”
“I....”
He looked at her, and beneath his smile she saw hunger. He was Ty turned inside out. Ty’s love was sometimes coated in hunger, Mr. Peterson affection was painted over with lust. His body was hard against hers, his skin as hot as a furnace. Kate wanted to run. In her mind’s eye she saw herself running, but she couldn’t move. Her feet felt glued to the café floor.
“We don’t need to tell anyone,” Mr. Peterson said, leaning down so they were sharing a secret. “I just know we’re not done saying what we need to say to each other.”
“About what?”
“Love. Relationships.” His hands smoothed down her lower back. “The future.”
No! No fucking more!
Kate shifted her shoulders, extracting herself from Mr. Peterson’s hug. She took a small step backward and panic pinched his handsome features. “Is everything okay?”
Kate tried to smile and found she couldn’t. “I’m okay. I don’t think we should have dinner. It might be a bit weird.”
“Why?”
She looked down at her shoes, white sneakers. Good for walking. Okay for running. “I don’t know. Can’t we just be friends, like we were when I was at school?”
“Katie!” Mr. Peterson reached out and gave her side a playful pinch. Kate stood there, saying and feeling and knowing nothing. He rubbed his forehead, his eyes wide as a schoolboy’s. “Come on, we were always more than friends.”
Somewhere deep inside her, a lightbulb smashed.
The waitress appeared at her elbow, all smiles and bustling hips. “Are you two leaving, or can I get you something else?”
For a single, wild second Kate almost told her everything. Almost shouted it to the whole café—this man was supposed to be my friend and he lied! He lied! He fucking lied! Salvation came in an old, well-tested form. She smiled, feeling bubble-gum sweetness expand through and over her like a saccharine suit of armour. She beamed at the waitress. “Could I please get four beef bourguignon pies to take away?”
“Of course!”
Kate waved a hand in Mr. Peterson’s direction. “They’re for Rapunzel and Deidre and the other girls. Do you want one?”
“Katie...?”
She ignored him, his wistful tone, his stupid self-pity. “I think they’ll like them. I know I do.”
She followed the waitress to the counter, feeling him walking in her wake.
Mr. Peterson touched her side with a hand as hot as pot roast. “I’ll pay.”
Kate stepped aside, rummaging in her bag. “It’s okay. Managers at my work get a food allowance. I never use mine.”
There was a short pause. “You’re a manager?”
Oh, fuck you, fuck you forever, Mr. fucking Peterson.
But she didn’t say it, she didn’t want to risk looking at him. Because he wasn’t real. He was never real. He was a dream who should have stayed in the late aughts. Should never have come to her in the first place.
****
In the years to come, Kate couldn’t fathom how she got through the next few hours at Rapunzel’s house. She had few memories of what she’d said or done or eaten, but she’d been there, helping Deidre carry boxes, chatting with Casey and Tambara.
Mr. Peterson had been relaxed, she remembered that. He’d been relaxed and Rapunzel barely held it together. She was the only one tapped into the electromagnetic tension of the situation. She kept shooting Kate panicky looks, clearly dying to discuss the situation but equally terrified she’d make everything worse.
Kate left before her friend could corner her, slipping out the back door without saying goodbye to anyone. She walked through the overflowing vegetable garden and onto the street. The second she was alone, she started crying great fat, wet tears. She wandered the streets of Brunswick for a while, but the tears didn’t stop. She felt as though a powerful internal pillar had been kicked and now everything else was crooked.
She wanted to call Ty, but if he was the slightest bit jealous of Mr. Peterson, the slightest bit ‘I told you so’, she’d shatter like porcelain. She wanted to call Rapunzel, but if she was the slightest bit defensive on Dede’s behalf, she’d crack like glass. For the first time in ages, Kate debated calling Maria. Her former mentor would go apeshit about Mr. Peterson in a way Kate knew would make her feel better. But Maria’s support was a poisoned chalice. You drank and you were under her thumb again.
I’m alone. I’m so, so alone.
An hour later, she was walking Sydney Road when Ty called.
“Hey,” he said, without waiting for her to greet him. “We’re not going to the awards tonight. We’re doing something else.”
Any other time, this would have surprised her. Or at least confused her. But right then, all Kate felt was dull relief that she wouldn’t have to get dressed up and pretend she felt normal. “What are we doing instead?”
“Playing.” Ty didn’t sound playful. His voice was cold as steel.
Kate’s cunt contracted as though he’d drawn on it with a string. It was such a welcome change from numbness that she smiled. “Will it hurt?”
“What do you think?”
Good. Bring the pain, the hurt. Ground me in sensation. Break me on purpose, Daddy, so I can build myself again. Without all these stupid mistakes.
“We’re not doing it at our place,” Ty said in the same icy tone. “I’ve got a new place. I’ll text you the address. Meet me at seven in a pretty dress or I’ll make you wish you’d stayed out with your friends all night.”
Then he hung up.
Kate stared at her phone. For a second pain threatened to hurtle her back into tears, but she bit down on it. Ty didn’t mean to be mean; he was pretending, and it would be her salvation. Her hurt would soon be transmuted into the best feeling in the world. Everything else could wait. Forever, if she was lucky.
