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I didn’t want to say the words he wanted to hear.Couldn’t.
“Remember when you asked me a speed dating question in my kitchen? What was something I learnt from my mother? Well, I’ll tell you now,” I hissed. “I learnt early on not to rely on a man, that relationships end and promises of love are just a lie. I watched my dad leave his wife and daughters without a backward glance.”
“I’m not your father, Ari. And I sure as hell am not Wes. So stop holding me to account for what they did.”
“This isn’t true love, Jet!” I spat. “It’s not love at all!”
For the longest moment, no one said a word.
All I could do was huff out shuddering little breaths.
Deny my words, Jet. Say something!
“You’re right,” he finally said. “It’s not.”
Tears ran down my cheeks.If he loved me, he’d fight for me right now, wouldn’t he?
I felt like I’d been stabbed in my stomach. I wanted to sink to the ground, beside the stinking mess of the bins and dissolve into the dirt.
But why would he fight for me when I wasn’t fighting for him?
“You made that clear right at the start. I’m sorry I said that.” He made a noise. Sniffing? Was he crying? “I have to go, Ari.”
“Good.”
Neither of us hung up.
But then I caved, one last hit of vitriol. “I’m going on a date anyway.”
“A date?” Jet’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.
“Yeah. A date.”
“Right. I’ll let you go, then. Enjoy your date.”
The phone went dead.
I ran all the way back to the van and shut myself inside, locking out the world.
12
Ari
Sweet or Spicy: What’s the most impulsive thing you’ve done?
It took all of twenty minutes to match with someone on an app and agree to meet for a drink at dusk.
So what if I’d lied to Jet? It wasn’t a lie now, I thought, slamming Bessie’s door to head out to meet someone at Cable Beach.
Even though it was the wet season, there were lots of single men on holiday in Broome, looking to find single women on holiday as well. Some were tourists, others FIFO workers looking to hook-up before their next shift. Hugo, my match, was the latter.
We’d agreed to meet at a beachfront bar overlooking Cable Beach. The owners had converted a vintage caravan into a mobile bar with outdoor chairs and bean bags and oversized games like chess and Jenga.
It was a simply stunning location under palm trees, with the sun turning gold across the sea and distant clouds ballooning fora possible storm later. It was too early for the camel tours, but they’d be here soon.
I pulled out my phone, acknowledging compliments about Bessie to a few passing tourists and walked over to the edge of the grass to take a photo of the famous beach to send to Jet.
Nausea was an instant ache in my stomach.
