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‘He probably thinks he’s better than me. Typical hot guy.’ She rolled her eyes and put her phone down.
‘I wouldn’t go that far, Deb. I just think he might be a little weirded out by the random catch-up remark,’ I said soothingly.
‘Hmm … whatever … Do you reckon he thinks I’m fat?’ She shifted her eyes back at me.
I tried to hide my annoyance. We’d had this conversation many times already. ‘Deb, I don’t want to go into thisconversation about weight with you again. No, of course, he doesn’t think that.’
‘What, because I’m a size eighteen, and he’s a model, so he thinks he’s too good? I’ll show him,’ her voice was so loud, some diners stopped and looked at her for a moment.
‘Deb, cool it. He didn’t even say anything wrong. His message was fine,’ I assured her in a calming tone.
‘Yeah, you’re right. I hate how some men make me feel so insecure. I regret eating and drinking this. Now I feel fat.’ She blinked, on the verge of tears.
Because we’d had this conversation so many times before, I knew what to say to cheer her up. ‘Who gives a crap what he thinks anyway? Or about any guy who makes you feel like you’re not enough? I know we’re both hard on ourselves sometimes, but no one is perfect, and men who judge you, and especially on your looks, aren’t worth your thoughts or your emotions. They clearly don’t care about yours … Honestly, you deserve better than that. You’re Debra frickin’ Ricci, the sassiest chick I know.’ It was my turn to reach my hand out to hers. ‘Men who make you feel inadequate aren’t worth it. They’re nothing but an insignificant waste of time.’
‘You’re so right, Naomi.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘Fuck him and every man who has made me feel like shit.’
‘Come on. Let’s go. And please don’t letmenbe the judge of whether you’re beautiful or not. You’re that judge, no one else.’ I smiled at her as I stood.
‘You’re always so good with your words, Naomi. You just know how to lift me up.’
‘That’s what best friends are for, and I don’t know Patrick, but from what I’ve seen, he seems like a good guy, though he’s clearly rubbed you up the wrong way. Move on. Don’t worry about him. For all you know, he has a crazy girlfriendmonitoring his messages, plus he is very well-known. He probably doesn’t like saying much online.’
‘You’re right, chickie. You’re so damn right. Hey, fuck it. Let’s get some ice cream!’ She pushed her chair out and stood.
‘Alright.’ I laughed. ‘Then I better have a rest before dinner at Mum’s.’
She nodded, feeling revived as we walked to Coles arm in arm.
9
Dinner At Mum’s
Ismiled as I walked up the orange, paved driveway to Mum’s cosy four-bedroom house. The cottage-style exterior was decorated in soft-grey stone, with a pointy grey roof and white double-hung windows. As I reached the pale-green door, I pulled out my keys from my handbag and unlocked it, revealing Mum sitting on her cobalt-blue velvet couch. The Chesterfield couch was a recent gift to herself. Before that, it was a crimson camelback that she’d had for ten years.
‘Naomi, you look lovely,’ Mum said as she leapt up with her arms wide open.
Her toffee-brown hair was gathered in a stylish bun and golden tassel earrings dangled from her earlobes. I noticed her honey skin was considerably more bronzed than last Monday, which only meant one thing – she’d been gardening all week.
‘Have you been shopping again? Is that a new dress?’ She looked me up and down with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
I looked down at my black T-shirt dress and felt flattered my plain outfit stood out as something new and worth noticing.She looked gorgeous herself with her flowing purple silk dress – material imported from India, of course.
‘Uh. No, I haven’t.’ I stepped onto the travertine floor (arranged in a French pattern) and shut the door behind me while giving my most reassuring smile. She gave me a quick cuddle and patted my back while I dropped my keys back into my bag.
The house smelled like roast lamb and blooming flowers, and as I stepped further inside, I was almost overwhelmed with nostalgia. A funky orange vase Mum made in her pottery-making days sat on the coffee table. The vase was filled with flowers. Yellows, purples, blues. Every time I saw colourful flowers, I thought of my childhood. For twenty-five years, Mum had bought a fresh bunch every week, along with the groceries.
I turned back to the rest of the room and craned my neck, looking for my brother. ‘Where’s Carlos?’ I raised my eyebrows at Mum.
‘He’s in his room, playing computer games as usual,’ she said with a polite nod and a small smile.
‘Oh,World of Warcraft, of course. How’s he feeling this week?’ My eyes filled with sisterly concern and sympathy.
‘I believe he’s doing a lot better, but I’ll lethimtell you how he’s feeling when you see him later.’ She gave another small smile as we walked to the dining room, and my eyes widened as I caught sight of the wall.
‘Umm, did you repaint the walls? I don’t remember the dining-room wall being blue?’
‘Yes, just that wall. I wanted it topop, you know, like they say on TV.’ She chuckled and took a step back, admiring her handiwork.
