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Whenever I consider accepting an invitation for a glass of cheap wine or sharing a pizza, I think about what happens after wine and pizza. A relationship? Sex? I’m not up for either. As I don’t have a minute to waste, I always end up declining. It has nothing to do with the memory of the sex I had with Angelo and the fear that no other man will compare. Neither is it related to the fear that Roch is watching me. At least, that’s what I like to believe. From time to time, I think I spot Roch’s shaved head in a crowd or outside my class, but if he’s there, he’s good at hiding.
Angelo’s phone remains charged and on my person, but he’s not sending text or voice messages any longer. He’s eerily quiet after I rejected his gift and donated it to charity. Is it the quiet before the storm? Will he show up next year in January? What will he claim this time? I gave him my innocence and my virtue. I gave him my love and my hate. Is there anything left to give?
When we break for the winter holiday in June, Colin goes to a game farm in the north with his family. Instead of going home to Great Brak River, I stay in Cape Town. I promised the association I’d present talks at the aquarium, and I need to brush up on studies in which I’ve fallen behind.
My parents come over for lunch on a Sunday. They’re staying at Mattie and Jared’s house for the weekend, but it’s Ryan’s birthday and Celeste invited the family for an intimate gathering. Her parents, Vida and Oliver, arrive windblown and bone-thin from the shack on the West Coast they moved into a few months ago. The relocation from their comfortable home in Constantia is meant as a spiritual retreat to reconnect with nature.
Oliver proudly tells us how they live on barnacles they pry from the rocks and the kelp the sea gifts them, shaking his head when Celeste offers him a duck a l’orange appetizer. My mom huffs something under her breath and makes herself scarce to play with her grandson.
“I’ll take that,” I say, grabbing the tray with caviar and olive ciabatta toast from Celeste.
“Thank you.” She offers me a grateful smile. “You’re a star.”
I exit onto the veranda with the tray. My mom lounges on the bench swing with Brad, reading his favorite book about a blue butterfly that leaves his cocoon to go on a trip around the world. Vida and Oliver are sipping lemon juice diluted with water while explaining the benefits of fasting to Ryan, who looks bored. My dad sits at the garden table, nursing a tumbler with amber liquid.
It’s only eleven. I hope the early drinking isn’t becoming a habit.
Going over, I make my voice bright. “Caviar?”
He looks at the tray and then at my face, seeming miles away. “Oh. No, thank you, darling.”
Leaving the tray in a shady spot on the table, I take a seat next to him. “I miss you.”
He smiles. “I miss you too. The house is empty.”
“Is that why Mom is away so much of late?”
His smile turns knowing. “Stop worrying about your mother and me. We’re not planning on leaving each other.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just want both of you to be happy.”
“We are.” He winks. “Relationships are dynamic. They have a way of evolving with time and situations.” Looking toward the sea, he continues, “It means constantly adapting to accommodate yourself and the person you love. It’s just something we have to figure out as we go along. Right now, your mother and my relationship has changed. We went from being alone in the world to having you kids and back to being alone, again. It requires some adjustments. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.” I lean my head on his shoulder. “Are you happy?”
“Very,” he says. “I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful family.”
“Good.” I straighten to look at him. “How about work?”
“Work is work.” He sips his drink. “You know my philosophy. I don’t mix work and my personal life. It’s a good motto for happiness, Bella.”
“I’ll remember that.”
We sit in an amiable silence, enjoying the winter sun on our faces, until his phone pings.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, fishing the phone from his pocket.
His expression changes when he checks the screen. Taking his handkerchief from his other pocket, he wipes his nape and his brow. I don’t miss the fleeting glance he exchanges with Ryan or how my brother’s stance tenses. Oliver is still talking up a storm, but Ryan’s attention is fixed on my dad. They’re isolated in the moment, sharing something that makes the rest of us vanish. I’m not sure why that scares me.
“Dad?” I say, touching his hand.
