“What’s a thermomix?”
Evie slaps the back of her hand against Henry’s bared stomach. He has lovely washboard abs, but I’m immune. Men are not on my radar. “I told you that stupid appliance was a waste of our savings.”
“It’s supposed to do everything!” he protests.
Evie sets her lips in a grim line. “It does nothing but sit there gathering dust because you don’t know how to use it,” she hisses.
“I can chop things,” I interject, fascinated by their argument. They act like brother and sister, yet they look nothing alike. It makes me wonder who they are to each other.
“Like?” Henry prompts.
I huff. It’s a ridiculous question. “Like carrots and onions.”
“That works,” Evie says and offers me a grin. “I’m Evie Jamieson and this is Henry Paterson. Welcome to our humble abode, Macklewaine.”
I arch a brow. “It’s Mac. Mackenzie Valentine.”
Her grin widens. “Mac Attack.”
“Mactard,” Henry offers.
My gaze pins him to the floor. My brothers use the nickname liberally. At least they did. I haven’t heard it much in the past two years. The reprieve had been nice. “Henrietta.”
“Yes!” Evie hisses loudly and jabs a finger at Henry. “I love it! Perfect for the times when you’re acting like an unwaxed vagina.”
His jaw locks. “I’ve never acted like a vagina in my entire life. Waxed or unwaxed.”
An argument ensues, causing my head to pound. The two of them clearly need a parental figure to keep them in line. It seems that figure is going to be me. I clap my hands together smartly. “People!”
They pause for a breath.
“Perhaps you can show me where my room is?”
Evie leads the way. Henry follows, scooping his Doritos from the floor. He munches on them as I’m showed to the third bedroom. I wheel my suitcase inside and take it in. It’s not much but it’s furnished. A double bed fills the majority of space, and I have one bedside table and a built-in wardrobe. One acoustic guitar and two electric ones occupy the bed. We eyeball them for a moment.
“We’re musicians,” Evie offers.
“Oh?” I prompt.
“We have a band,” Henry adds.
“Called?”
“The Futons.”
I snort.
Evie and Henry look to each other and then back to me. “No good? We came up with that this afternoon.”
“While you were sitting on one?”
“Well … yeah,” Henry says, and shovels a load of chips inside his mouth.
My lips mash together. Be nice, I tell myself.
“You don’t like it?” Evie asks, hands on her hips.
Fuck it. Being nice is for dogs. I tried it once but it just didn’t stick. They can either like me as I am or not at all. “It’s a shit name,” I tell them, “but we can work on it. Where do you play?”
“We don’t,” Evie says, not seeming bothered at all by my blunt honesty as she reaches for one of the electric guitars. “Not yet.”
“You don’t have any gigs lined up?”
They both shake their heads.
“We can work on that too.”
My welcome to the apartment begins with a mini party. After spending a half hour unpacking my suitcase, the three of us go shopping for snacks and alcohol.
It takes two painful hours as I quickly get to know the two people I’ll be sharing living space with. Evie is indecisive when it comes to food purchases. How long does it take to choose between crinkle cut or thin and crispy? I’ll tell you how long it takes. Ten whole minutes. Do we want salted cashews or the mixed nuts? I don’t know, but let’s stand in the supermarket aisle and discuss it for an hour. Henry is no help. He’s clearly used to her indecisiveness and entertains himself on his phone. Frustrated with her antics, I start grabbing at the items she can’t choose between and throw both in the trolley. It’s piled high when we reach the checkout. The total cost is tallied and it’s beyond our budget. It’s my fault apparently. Evie has deemed me too excessive. We spend another lifetime choosing which items to put back before we make our escape and arrive home, exhausted.
“I’m never going to the supermarket with your indecisive ass again,” I announce to Evie.
“Yeah?” she retorts, dumping our shopping bags on the kitchen counter. “Good. Because we can’t afford to take your excessive ass.”
I set the bag of alcohol down. “Let’s set a schedule and take turns.”
Evie nods as if my suggestion is brilliant. “That’s a great idea.” I pull a bottle of vodka from the bag and set it on the counter. “You know what else is a great idea?” she says with a grin.
“What?”
She whoops. “Getting this party started!”
We set our snacks on the coffee table and line the kitchen with spirit bottles, juice, an assortment of fruits, and a blender. I’ve never made a cocktail in my life. It would have been the one good life skill I could have taken with me from Fucking Dick Head school. With the price my parents were prepared to pay for my attendance, it would have been an expensive skill too. Thankfully, they were issued a refund. The money is helping pay my living expenses here in Melbourne.
I grab a bottle at random and pour with a flourish. Done, I screw the lid back on and reach for another.
Evie watches for a moment, giving the impression she’s as clueless as I am. After throwing in a handful of ice cubes, I put my hand on the lid of the blender and flick the switch. It comes to life with a frightful revving noise, and my ears go into shock.
“Right,” she says, startled into life by the sound. “I’ll chop some fruit.”
Henry walks in, rubbing his hair with a towel after having a shower. His lips move.
“What?” we both shout.
“What are you making?” he yells.
“Mai Tai’s!” Evie screams helpfully.
I nod because I have no clue. It looks like the right colour for a Mai Tai. I flick the switch off and unclip the jug attachment. My ears ring as the apartment settles into relative stillness.
Henry stares at the contents, appearing doubtful. “You don’t need a blender for those.”
“These ones you do,” I say and thrust the jug toward him. “Take this into the living room.”
“You’re bossy,” he informs me as he walks the short distance to the couch. Henry sets the jug down and goes to choose some music. Moments later a thumping beat fills the apartment. He fiddles with the volume and the walls begin to vibrate.
There are no screaming parents here to yell, “Turn it down!”
I grin, picking up glassware while Evie throws the makings of a fruit salad into a bowl. “Get used to it,” I yell over the music, feeling almost normal.
I take a seat on the couch. Henry and Evie pull up cushions on the floor. We pour drinks and add random pieces of cherry and orange. I’m watching Henry and Evie joke with each other when it hits me harder than a basketball to the face. I haven’t thought of Jake in three whole hours. A lump rises in my throat. I swallow it down with the icy concoction I created.
“I’ve met someone,” Evie announces before I can give the realisation any more thought.
Henry flinches, appearing alarmed.