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After another hour of browsing sales on fashion websites and makeup on Mecca and enjoying the rare peace and quiet, my phone vibrated in my hand. A Facebook message from Patrick appeared on top of the screen. I exited out of Mecca and opened his message.
Patrick Vitello:How was the party? I saw Debra stumbling along Hastings St as I was driving home from work. I hope you’ve had a good evening.
Me:Oh haha. Typical Deb. I’m in bed relaxing. I tapped out early, so don’t worry, I won’t be hungover for work tomorrow. I stuck to soda water.
Patrick Vitello:Sounds like you should have come into work after all … It wasn’t the same without you on, everyone missedyou. Hey, I’m wide awake from the buzz of work. Do you want to come over?
Patrick and I had formed a good friendship over the last couple of weeks. We often chatted after our shifts, but he’d never invited me over so late before. The last time I was at his house was his birthday.Hmm.I wonder what’s going on with him?I hope he isn’t after a quickie.
Me:Yeah, sure. I can hang out for a bit. Is everything okay?
Patrick Vitello:Everything is fine. I just feel like one of our chats. What’s your address? I can pick you up?
I was startled by his offer to pick me up; no one ever offered to pick me up. I was always the one who had to drive.
Me:Yeah, sure. 16 Blossom Court, Tewantin.
I ran into the bathroom and checked the mirror to see mascara smudged beneath my eyes.Oh God, please don’t tell me I looked like this all night.What was with that restaurant and me coming home with racoon eyes?
After washing my face with oil cleanser and patting it dry, I got out my new glow oil that had arrived in the mail earlier that day and added a few drops to my face, hoping it would make me look semi-refreshed, before reapplying my mascara and berry-tinted lip balm to accentuate my features. My cheeks were already flushed so there was no need for blush.Fabulous, I thought as I took a step back and looked at my dewy skin, although my face did feel rather itchy.Oh well, no time to waste. Got to get dressed.I changed into a white shirt-dress, pulled on my Doc boots, and spritzed myself with Chloe perfume, and then waited on the driveway for him.
Patrick arrived fifteen minutes later in his purring white Jaguar convertible. The roof was down, and he was listening to a mix of eighties music. As I got closer, I noticed red-and-black leather seats.
‘Hello,’ he said, smiling. ‘Hop in.’ He patted the vacant seat beside him.
‘Wow. Nice ride.’ I opened the car door and shut it in the gentlest way possible, then buckled myself in.
He turned to me and smiled again. ‘Ready?’ His hands were gripped on the steering wheel, and his foot was pressed on the brake.
I couldn’t help but notice the way the red-and-black seats set off his olive skin.Gorgeous man. I nodded and smiled back.
He pulled out from the side of my street, the car making typical V8 sounds of vrooms, pops, and crackles. I looked up at the dark sky speckled with thousands of stars as the wind whipped through my hair and realised it was the first time in months I’d taken the time to look at the stars. They were beautiful.
‘So, tell me. How was the birthday?’ Patrick asked in a playful tone.
I scoffed. ‘A bit boring, to be honest. I just don’t find it fun sitting at a bar getting blind drunk anymore. I guess I used to like that when I was younger, but now I just see the consequences of overindulging and how it ruins people. I just can’t seem to be able to escape it.’ I sighed and thought of my dad’s alcoholic ways and how Deb was going down that path.
‘Mmm. I agree. Moderation is key.’ He nodded to himself, eyes on the road. ‘I don’t see any harm in a wine here and there to complement a gorgeous meal but drinking to oblivion isn’t my style either.’
‘I guess that’s the Aussie culture. We’re surrounded by messages about how much fun it is to drink.’ I sat back in the seat, picturing my dad out on the patio sculling his shiraz with one of his friends while Elvis was playing through the stereo. They were laughing, playing card games, and I was jealous I couldn’t drink too, being thirteen at the time withno understanding of the consequences. ‘Some people don’t understand the concept of moderation.’
‘Si.’
‘And I don’t know … maybe I blame alcohol for ruining parts of my childhood.’
‘What do you mean?’ He glanced at me before turning his attention back to the road, which was illuminated by his car lights. Toads skittered into the gutters to escape the rolling wheels.
‘Oh, my parents broke up over Dad’s drinking, and he … well … Dad passed away earlier this year, and I can’t get this haunting image out of my mind of him dead with a wine bottle in his hand. It just upsets me so much even to think about it.’ I turned my face to the window, hoping Patrick wouldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes.
‘Oh, Naomi, I had no idea. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I lost my papa too, to a stroke. I know how hard it is. And you want to put the blame on something for taking them away.’ His voice was full of hurt, and then he whispered, ‘I miss my pa every day.’ He exhaled a shaky breath, which made my stomach sink, and told me he’d been battling hard with grief too.
I nodded, not quite trusting my voice.
He must have realised I didn’t want to reply because he continued. ‘One good thing, though, is that it makes us realise what’s important in life, and that’s family and friends. You have to always cherish your family because you never know when it’ll be the last time you see them.’
I cleared my throat and took a breath before responding. ‘Very true.’
He took one hand off the wheel and reached out to squeeze my hand. ‘Things will get easier, Naomi. I promise. You’ll always feel like a piece of you is missing, but you’ll learn to cope.’
