“Good. Listen, about tomorrow. With the party tomorrow night, we’re all going to be busy. I was thinking we could go out to Whale Bay at sunrise instead of sunset, for Em’s birthday memorial. Is that okay with you?”
I nodded blankly. Em’s birthday memorial. She should be here. If she was, we wouldn’t need a memorial. We’d be having a party instead. Maybe even a joint party with Vinnie, like we used to.
“I just think it’d be better that way,” she shrugged, smiling half-heartedly. “It’s a special birthday for him, even more-so than usual. By the time his next birthday comes around, he’ll be a father.”
Yes, he would – an official one this time. No more of this surrogate shit. I could see him with a baby so clearly, I had to remind myself that Jas hadn’t yet given birth.
Bridget was right, as usual. He deserved a birthday party that was devoid of any of the usual drama, my own included.
“Okay, if that’s what you want.”
“Thanks, love. And I’ve asked Maia if she can give us a hand setting things up tomorrow night, too. Jasmine’s taking on far too much at this stage of her pregnancy. All she needs to do is point at what she wants us to do, and we’ll do it. She needs to put her feet up before the party. All this standing around isn’t good for her.”
I could imagine what Jas would say about that. A chorus of ‘I’m not ill, I’m just pregnant’ and ‘I’m fine, don’t worry!.’ But I’d let the two of them duke that one out, I was staying well clear.
Just then, Maia walked out of the kitchen, eyes on the clipboard in her hand.
“Over here, love,” Bridget called out.
She looked up and our eyes locked. I swear I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My first instinct was to bolt, but my feet were glued to the floor. That face, those eyes, that familiar buzzing through my veins. She wasn’t Emily, but she reminded me so much of her, I had trouble remembering my own name, much less hers.
The seconds seemed to drag. I didn’t know if it was my imagination or not, but she seemed to have a similar reaction. She just stood there, clipboard in hand, staring at me. It was unnerving. I felt like the room was tilting, like everything was spinning out of control. Again.
She recovered faster than I did. She smiled, thinly, but it was more of an effort than I was capable of making at that exact moment.
“Sorry to interrupt, I thought you said the café was closed,” she said.
Her voice had a familiar edge to it, yet at the same time, it was vaguely distant. As if heard through a tin can, at the other end of a piece of string.
“It is,” Bridget said quickly, gesturing at the spare chair in front of her. “Maia, this is Heath. Grab a seat, love. You deserve a break, after all your help today.”
I shoved my hand towards her, desperate to appear normal, even though that was the opposite of how I felt. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
“Hi.”
She slowly reached out to take my hand. The moment we touched, I had the weirdest sensation. It was as if time had frozen, stopped completely. The world shrank and floated away, taking the café and Bridget with it. Her eyes seemed to reach inside of me, as if she were searching for something. It was unsettling, this stranger with Em’s face staring at me like that. I felt exposed, as if I had just given her something, a piece of myself, and I immediately wanted it back.
“Nice to meet you,” I repeated, releasing her hand quickly.
I wished I wasn’t barefoot. I felt under-dressed and definitely under-prepared. Crazy to think that having shoes on would make me feel more capable, more protected from whatever was happening, but it was the truth. Something about having this girl in front of me made me feel vulnerable.
Bridget shuffled us over to sit down at the nearest table. I could feel the back of my neck heating up as I struggled to think of something else to say, but thankfully Bridget beat me to it.
“So, you’re heading over to Dad’s, are you?” she asked.
I didn’t dare look back at Maia, not until I’d gotten my head under control. It was too risky.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll get your coffee and his chocolate éclair ready, then,” she said, standing up and walking over to the coffee machine behind the counter.
I panicked. Alone with Maia, my brain shut up shop. She was even more like Emily up close. Those eyes – round and hazel-coloured, just like Em’s, only with more of a green tinge to them. Em’s eyes had been more hazel, mostly brown. The memory of Maia’s hand, small and delicate, was burned into mine. I swallowed down the lungs that were now sitting in my throat and forced fantasy aside, dragging logic forward.
It’s not her. She looks like her, but it’s not her.
I agonised over something normal to say, something conversational. Small-talk. Something other than ‘I don’t know if Bridget mentioned it, but you look a hell of a lot like her daughter.’
“So, Bridget tells me you want to learn how to surf?” I said instead.