Page 8 of How To Not Need You

“Do you think Liv will be at the café again tomorrow?” she asks, balancing precariously on one foot.

“Not sure, bug. She might be busy with work.”

“She works there?”

“No, she just drinks the coffee.”

Tilly ponders this. “Then she must have lots of energy.”

“Probably. Why do you ask?”

She shrugs, which is complicated by the fact that her backpack threatens to topple her sideways. “Because if she’s tired, maybe she needs a nap. You should tell her that.”

I glance both ways again as we cross, but Tilly’s already several steps ahead of me. She waits for me, hands on hips, looking like an exasperated flight attendant waiting for a slow passenger.

“She doesn’t know me well enough for me to tell her to nap,” I say, mostly just to see what Tilly does with that. She blinks, uncomprehending.

“She is my friend,” she says, like this is both a threat and a promise.

“Okay, but you can’t force someone to be your friend.”

“Yes you can.” No hesitation. “You just have to ask enough times.”

She gives me a look I’m only just learning to decode, the one that means “You can trust me, I’ve got this.” I’m halfway convinced she actually does.

We reach the top of the street where the primary school sits wedged between a row of weatherboard cottages and the ocean, visible beyond the playing field and the chain-link fence. There’s already a crowd at the gate: parents, kids, at least three prams and one large golden retriever. Tilly waves at everyone and is acknowledged by name at least twice before we even make it to the gate. I’m not jealous, just impressed.

I kneel to check her backpack straps, rethread the left one where it always slips, and crouch at eye level.

“You remember who’s picking you up today?” I ask.

Tilly’s face screws up with the concentration of a kid reciting state capitals. “Mummy. Because you’re working.”

“Right.”

She bounces on her toes, eager to get through the gate, but waits for the rest.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, after shift.”

She nods, then leans in to whisper, “Don’t forget me.”

It’s not said to make me feel guilty, just something she started saying one day that seems to have stuck. I squeeze her shoulder and give her the same answer I always do.

“I never do, bug.”

She hugs me, a quick but affectionate wrap of arms and cheek pressed hard against my stubble. Then she wriggles free and is off through the gate, already calling out to a cluster of classmates. I watch her go, left backpack strap slipping again, wind catching the hem of her fairy skirt, until she disappears into the jumble of uniforms and bright jackets.

For a while, I stand there with my hands in my jacket pockets. Nothing to do but watch the crowd thin out, wait for the stragglers, let the wind that is blowing off the water clear my head.

I think about giraffes, and coffee, and the way Tilly never doubts that a stranger can become a friend just by wanting it enough.

Maybe she’s right.

The walk from Seabrook Primary to the station is less than fifteen minutes if you don’t stop at the servo. I do, almost every shift, for a steak pie. The owner knows my name and never judges me for the detour, which makes her one of the few people in town who doesn’t. Pies may not be the best meal choice for a forty-eight-hour shift but there aren’t many other choices in town.

I think absently about Megan as I walk. My ex-wife and I have finally settled into a rhythm that works. It took three years, two lawyers, and a lot of boxed wine to get here, but “here” is better than most people get. We didn’t work as a couple, but we work as parents. Tilly deserves two people who can stand in the same room without a third person acting as referee. She gets that, even if it means she also gets two Christmases, two birthday parties, and two sets of rules.

I like the version of Megan I see now. She is happy, steady, working her real estate job and still managing Tilly’s schedule. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s easy for her, but we both agreed a long time ago that being together for the kid was worse than being apart. Tilly’s only complaint is that there are different rules in different houses, but she exploits that fact with ruthless efficiency, so I don’t lose sleep over it.