We returned to Sydney three days later. Mum and Dad were relieved to see me home, but they treated me like a shattered picture frame that had been taped back together. We downplayed the accident so as not to worry them, and they didn’t know about the baby. I made my brothers promise to keep it quiet. I wanted to mourn the loss in private and move on. That’s what I came home to do.
I spent the next few days in my room, leaving only to shower and eat. Weeks into my convalescence, I made the trek outside to the pool. I sat there for an hour and stared at the rippling water, thinking of nothing. I returned the next day, and the next. It gave Mum hope. She came out and sat beside me, brandishing university brochures. I’d been accepted to five exceptional institutions, having applied for them before I left. The applications had been a last ditch effort to escape finishing college.
I grabbed the first brochure I saw. “This one,” I told her so she’d stop talking.
Mum took care of the enrolment. She was thrilled to see me making a decision. She had no idea that I didn’t care which university it was. I couldn’t think about my future. It was too dark and bleak.
Over the next two years, I became the Stepford daughter they always wished for. The funny thing was, no one seemed to like it. My parents hovered more than ever. My brothers, including Eli, returned from their studies at Charles Sturt whenever they got the chance. Once again, I was smothered, though this time it was for different reasons.
At the end of my second year of university, I discovered I barely knew the people I studied with. I barely knew my campus. And I didn’t have a single real friend. None of them really knew me at all. I hadn’t been living for two whole years. I’d simply been existing. The realisation hit me harder than a jackhammer. It was time to move on. And I couldn’t move on at home.
I told my parents. I expected an argument but instead they gave in with equal expressions of defeat. Perhaps they thought it would help. They were desperate to see me return to my normal self, but I’d forgotten who that was.
Arrangements were made and my enrolment was transferred to a Melbourne university. I wasn’t sure why I chose to return there, but something pulled me back. The city held such bad memories, but it held the best ones too. I loved hard and I lost deep, but I lived so much in that short period of time with Jake.
A shout comes from behind the apartment door. It jolts me from the memories of my past.
You’re here to move on, I remind myself. To remember who you used to be. Find that girl again. And if you can’t, fake it until you do.
I raise a fist and give the apartment door a sharp rap. A female voice filters through in a shout. “Hussy, get the door!”
“It’s your turn, Sandwich,” comes the pissy reply.
A loud smacking noise follows, like the sound of a ball hitting a wall. “You’re so lazy!”
“And you’re a greedy bitch.”
The response is a wheezy gasp as though someone is caught in a chokehold.
“I am not!” comes the indignant, yet strangled reply.
I rap again.
“You ate all my Doritos, Evie!”
“Not all of them.”
A loud squeal results.
“Ooomph! Get off me, Henry!”
There’s a loud thump. It sounds like a body hitting the floor. Annoyed with waiting, I try the handle. It twists easily beneath my hand. The door isn’t locked. I push it open. The girl, whom I’m assuming is Evie, is on her hands and knees on the floor. Her face is stuffed full of corn chips, her cheeks resembling a chipmunk. Her hair is the colour of dark caramel, her skin like nutmeg with a dash of rose, and her wide eyes the colour of chocolate. She’s wonderfully exotic and beautiful, even with the thick layer of orange seasoning that covers half her face and lips.
The guy behind her must be Henry. He’s cute. His hair is so blond it’s almost white. His eyes are bright blue, and his bared muscular chest is currently sporting four blood-red scratches. He’s busy pulling a chunk of Evie’s long hair. His other hand is mashed into her back, pinning her down. An open packet of Doritos rest on the floor beside them, chips strewn carelessly across the floor like casualties of war.
“Spit them out,” he growls.
She makes a garbled sound as if trying to say no.
He uses the hand fisting her hair to shove her head down further. “Spit them out, Sandwich.”
The manoeuvre is aggressive, and Evie sputters. Two corn chips break loose from her mouth. They drop to the floor along with a string of saliva.
“And the rest,” he growls again.
A muffled sound escapes her mouth. It sounds a lot like “Fuck off.”
The scene reminds me of the relationship I had growing up with my brothers. It leaves me feeling at home in an instant. Armed with the knowledge I’ve chosen the right apartment and the right roommates, I wheel my suitcase inside and slam the door behind me.
They freeze in position, their eyes sliding my way. A brief pause ensues while we all stare at each other. It’s followed with a loud crunch, which draws a glare from Henry. Evie swallows hurriedly, wincing as the solid mouthful forces its way down her throat.
“I’m your new roommate,” I announce, because they don’t know it yet. Their ad was pinned to a board in a local university pub named The Elephant.
ROOM AVAILABLE
Looking for the best, ass-kicking roommates that ever lived? Then we are your people. We have a great apartment near campus. We are both undergrads at Melbourne University and our interests include music and food.
YOU: must share similar interests, be financial, not steal food, be a good cook, be able to operate a thermomix, excel at maths, dislike country music, exhibit hygienic tendencies, and not lick windows.
PS we’re not racist but no vegans need apply.
I unpinned the sheet of paper before anyone else got to it and wheeled my suitcase directly to the address listed. Finding an available room near campus is the equivalent of God turning water into wine. I’m not giving them a chance to say no, so I stare them down with brows high, daring them to refute my statement.
From what I can see, the apartment is fairly ordinary. The furniture appears pre-owned but clean. The windows are oversized and let in an abundance of light. The walls are beige but the floors are timber, and my small heels made a pleasant clicking sound when I walked inside.
With one last shove into Evie’s back, Henry gets to his feet. He rubs a hand along the scratches on his chest with a wince. “Can you cook?”
“No.”
He looks to Evie. She’s getting to her feet and brushing hair from her face. She shrugs and both pairs of eyes return to mine. “Do you eat meat?”
“Your inquisition is unnecessary,” I state coolly. “I’m your new roommate and that’s that.”
They purse their lips at the same time, like peas in a pod.
With an impatient sigh, I hold out a hand. “I’m Mac.”
My gesture is ignored.
“She didn’t answer your question, Evie,” Henry says. His brows draw together in a wobbly line of worry. “I don’t think she eats meat.”
Evie clears her throat, drawing my attention. “You can’t be vegan. We love bacon and we won’t tolerate death stares while trying to eat it. It gives us indigestion.”
“I eat anything,” I tell them.
“Can you operate a thermomix?” Henry asks.