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I haven’t seen Roch since the day he dragged me out of the sea. That doesn’t prevent me from being jittery when I leave the house. I’m constantly scanning the faces of the people in the street or in the mall. Both Colin and Mattie remark how nervous I seem when I’m out, but I’m attributing my behavior to the stress of the matric year.
Celeste and Ryan’s baby boy is born at the end of January. We drive to Cape Town to visit them at the private clinic where Ryan has arranged to sleep until Celeste and the baby are strong enough to be discharged.
Mom, Dad, Mattie, and I stay at Ryan and Celeste’s house, a big property with white-washed walls and a gable in the typical Cape Dutch style in Bloubergstrand. Jared booked into a guesthouse. Mom doesn’t want him to sleep in the same house as Mattie before they’re married.
The name-giving party for the baby is on the day that Ryan and his family arrive home. Mattie and I set tables on the lawn and decorate them with blue tablecloths and white overlays. Mom is overseeing the flowers and the catering. Dad is constantly on his phone, standing apart from the rest of us.
I grab a bottle of sparking water from the ice tub and carry it over to where he leans against a tree.
“I have to go,” he says as I approach. “I’ll call you back later.”
“Here,” I say. “You must be thirsty. It’s hot today.”
Smiling, he takes the water, but he doesn’t open it. A frown pleats his brow as he looks out over the sea.
“Who were you talking to?” I ask. “I didn’t mean to cut your conversation short.”
“Just work. Don’t worry about it.”
I take his hand. “You look stressed.”
“It’s the upcoming financial year-end. It’s always a stressful period.”
“You work too hard. I’m worried about you.”
He squeezes my fingers. “It’ll calm down once the audit is over.”
Tenderness overwhelms me when I study his face. The bags under his eyes have become permanent features. “We haven’t been to the aquarium in ages.” I remember how relaxed he was when he took me three years ago, how he laughed when he lifted me onto his shoulders for a better view of the shark tank. “We can go to the waterfront tomorrow. We’re here anyway.”
“Maybe another time.” He lets my hand go. “I’m planning on heading back to George early.”
“Sure,” I say, not wanting to show him how much his rejection hurts.
I hoped my mistake wouldn’t cause a rift between us, but my dad has been more distant since the incident with Angelo. We’re not as close as we used to be, and I hate how little time he spends at home these days. I hate how it’s my fault.
He must’ve seen the dejection on my face, because he grips my shoulder and says, “You know what? There’s a documentary about the lifespan of an octopus on the Discovery channel, tonight. Feel like watching it? We can make popcorn.” He grimaces. “If we can find such a thing in this house. There only seems to be seaweed and tofu.”
I smile, but his attempt at humor doesn’t touch my heart. “Okay.”
He’s only suggesting watching the program because he feels bad about shooting down my idea of visiting the aquarium. It’s not a spontaneous invitation because he wants to spend time with me, not that I deserve his time. I can’t expect him to feel the same about me when I betrayed him.
“Sabella,” my mom calls, making her way over to us. “Celeste’s parents just arrived. Why don’t you help them to bring some of the…”—she makes a face—“…origami flower decorations from their car?” She acknowledges my dad with a strained smile. “I was wondering what happened to you. Mattie and Jared want to tell the caterers where to set up the wine spritzers.” She adds before walking off, “If it’s not too much trouble, you can give them some input.”
Celeste’s mom is a yogi, and her dad is a non-denominational minister, but he prefers to be called a spiritual worker. Her dad carries out the naming ceremony, which involves burning incense while asking the universe to bless the youngest addition to the family. When it’s time for the big revelation, Celeste and Ryan share their baby’s name. They decided to call him Bradfield Edwards.
Bradfield is Celeste’s maiden name. Mom hates the name instantly. Dad, as usual, is impartial.
“You’d think they’d call him Benjamin Junior,” Mom says through tight lips when Celeste and her parents are out of earshot.
“You didn’t call Ryan Benjamin Junior,” I point out.
My mom shoves her empty teacup in my hand and says with a saccharine smile, “Be a darling and put that on the table.”
I don’t care what the baby’s name is. With his blond curls, he’s the cutest thing ever. He looks just like Ryan. I cuddle him against my chest until Celeste pulls him away, saying he’s too young to be handled that much.
