Chapter 11

Polly

Hiya, Princess.

This is Luca, your Cowboy. Surprise! I have a name.

I don’t know if you tried to message me, but I swear to God, I did not stand you up. I wanted to see you more than anything, but I lost my phone and couldn’t remember your number. I came to SWING and found Katie. She is sweetly protective of you. A little scary, too. She tells me your mom isn’t well. I hope she is better soon, and maybe if she is, we can see each other again before I fly back to the States next month.

This may sound forward. I promise I am not a weirdo, but I want you to know that our night together meant something to me. You mean something to me.

Hope that doesn’t freak you out too much.

Please. Give me a call.

Luca.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Foreign, smoochy, girly feelings swirled in my lifeless heart as I Face Timed Luna while hiding in the pub basement, the cool metal of freshly tapped beer kegs tempering my full body flush. I must have read that message aloud ten times, asking the same questions, over and over. “So, you’re saying he looked hot?”

“Yes, Pol. He looked hot ... better than hot. Fucking gorgeous hot. Chef’s kiss hot. Sexiest man alive hot. You should call him.”

“And he smelled delicious?”

“Uh-huh. Like a big, sexy, walking … um, smelling good guy that you should call.”

“And he dressed like he was drunk or high, but didn’t speak, walk or appear to be in any other way?”

“Right. Call him.”

“And you didn’t tell him my name or where I was?”

“Nope,” popping the P, she ran her hand down her weary face. “For the twentieth time, I told him nothing, not only because he is essentially a stranger, but because it’s your story to tell. I also wanted you to have another surprise to give him. Kinda like the photo you left on his phone, only less porno. If you don’t believe me … call him.”

“Call him?” I snapped, ignoring her exaggerated wink. “Why do you keep insisting I call him? Are you nuts? There is a snowflake’s chance in hell I’m calling him. A second hotel room hookup is one thing. Going to the guy’s house, meeting his friends, or him coming to meet mine is a whole other thing.”

“Normally I would agree. But Pol, we’ve been talking about one message for an hour. He’s come from America to Sydney, randomly met you in a bar and is now staying in freaking Byron. Don’t you think that’s fate?”

That wiped the smile off my face.

“Fate? The same fate that had him losing his phone? That pushed Mum in the back, so she’d smash her femur all to keep us apart this weekend. Did you think about all that? No, you didn’t. This is a freakish coincidence, at best. Also, I live in Ewingsdale which is just outside of Byron.”

“Pfft. Since when? I have never heard you say any place other than Byron.”

“That’s because I’m vapid and like to namedrop Byron because people think I’m rich. No one even knows where Ewingsdale is.”

“Good point,” Luna said with her infamous, ‘I’m pissed at you’ tone. “Come to think of it. Why didn’t I know your part of town is called Ewingsdale, and why in our over two years of friendship, have I never been invited there? Is it because I’m deaf? You and your parents got something with deaf people?”

“Please.” I scoffed. “Don’t play the deaf card with me. You know my grandma was born deaf. That’s why I volunteer with you as an interpreter at an organization to support the deaf .”

“Fine. Then why?”

Because I think I like him. “For fuck’s sake, Loon. You know I have my worlds strictly compartmentalized. Home is home. Sydney is Sydney. Work is work. Play is play. You and this … this Luca are firmly planted in the Sydney play pot. There is no cross-pollination. There can be no blurring of those lines, crossing of fences, or migration between worlds.”

‘You’re mixing your metaphors, Pol. And you’re full of shit. And… ” she said, jabbing her finger into the screen, “you’re wrong. Luca isn’t in the Sydney box, field, or pot. He’s in Byron. And you’re in Byron. That makes him the same pot. Your home pot.”

Home. The thought of my Cowboy, of Luca, setting foot inside these walls sent a shiver down my spine, and not the type I got when Mum called me. It was a good one. A thrilling one.

That’s why Luca would never come here.

My stomach lurched with disappointment. “Sorry. It’s just too good … to be, I mean. It’s just too risky. Besides, Mum will be home from hospital in a day or two, and she would flip the fuck out if she caught wind. Not to mention that Holly and Piper have to get back to Sydney. I have to help Dad at the pub and home, and this morning while I was burning his toast, he let slip that Mum’s shipping in that guy, the long-lost cousin from Greece. I’m about to be married off.” Luna’s gasp failed to halt my words. “American hockey coaches or players, no matter how sexy, can’t fit into my world.”

“Which world, since you have so many?”

I sighed, and like I should have done that first night, officially, and silently, said goodbye to my cowboy. “None of them.”

The weight of disappointment I refused to acknowledge bore down on me during my first shift back behind the bar. That stale beer smell that clung to the rugs and invaded your nostrils, the task of refilling germ-ridden nut bowls, handing out menus to the same people who ordered the same damn thing every damn time, and tapping kegs—all of it rolled into a confusing, complex paradigm of comfort, fear, shitting-my-pants-level anxiety, and a cozy familiarity that I found grounding. My skills came flying back with only one or two headless beers pulled.

Loyal patrons I hadn’t seen for years welcomed me with kisses, cuddles, and words of praise. There were plenty of questions, too. But for the most part, their words were positive, which was surprising. By the same token, my tolerance for the bullshit those same regulars were spurting by night’s end was minimal.

The one thing I dreaded most—seeing Nate and Evie—didn’t happen. From what I understood, despite it being their closest pub, and Nate’s former favorite, the Austin-Myers gang refused to set foot in or near the family establishment. Thank the lord because this morning’s visit to Mum had been character test enough.

Holly, Piper, and I timed our trip to perfection. She had just come out of recovery, and by all accounts should have been drugged to the eyeballs and weak as a kitten. But no amount of anesthetic or class-A pain relievers could numb my mother’s contempt or blunt her razor-sharp tongue … when it came to me. As always Holly could do no wrong. Those childhood insecurities that haunted me into adulthood, were reinforced as I listened to an hour-long fuss-athon. Holly’s appearance was praised, her motherly skills commended, and every anecdote adored. The only contentious issue involved the young family’s diet. But once convinced neither she nor Piper were underweight, Mum bestowed her final blessings and ordered Holly to return to her husband in Sydney.

Within seconds of their departure, my mum’s gaze was fixed on me. “At least I don’t need to worry about your weight, Plop. You look like you’re in a good paddock. Are you eating all the food your sister doesn’t?”

“No Mum.” I sighed, shifting in my seat to hide my stomach, “I’m actually the slimmest and fittest I’ve ever been.”

“Huh, maybe that’s what it is. All that working out is adding unfeminine bulk. Muscles weigh more than fat, you know. You’ll never land a husband if you let yourself go again.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t want a husband. I’ll even make sure I increase my weights. Might even ask the trainers for the most un-feminizing exercises I can perform.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mum scoffed. “Un-feminizing isn’t even a word. Besides, I’m sure the trainers have more important people to look after.”

Right.

Resisting the urge to slide the pillow from beneath her head and hold it over her face, I stood and paced back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the hospital’s perfectly manicured gardens. This private, double room was the best in the house. It also wasn’t the one Mum was given after surgery. But her frequent and loud complaints before the surgery—about the odors emanating from the man opposite her and the lack of natural light making her appear jaundiced—led to her being moved.

In what was certain not to be a coincidence, it was also the furthest from the nurses’ station.

Maybe I should have spent an hour sitting with and listening to them rather than mum, especially when she was all kindness and praise for Holly and cold criticism for me. For years, I was as jealous of my sister as I was of Evie. That ended when the shit in my life hit the fan and Holly was by my side in a way I would have never imagined. Deep-rooted shame over my envy haunted me to the day.

Perhaps Mom felt a hint of that as well, as her expression softened, and she changed her approach. “Come sit next to me,” she said, tapping the mattress by her leg. “I won’t bite.” Doing as she asked, I took my place by her side and readied myself with a slow, deep breath. “I’m hard on you because I want the best for you, Plop. Now that you’re thirty, it’s time to quit the partying and—’

“Settle down … Yes. I know Mum. But what if that’s not what I want?” I snuggled closer, covered her hand in mine, and drew circles over her cool skin with my fingertips. “What if I don’t want to settle down. I want to travel? Work in a field, and place I love, and build a life bigger than the one you and dad had?”

In a heartbeat, her expression hardened, and her warming hand was whipped away, buried beneath her elbow as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, so not only was the car your dad bought you for your eighteenth—the one you refused to drive—not good enough, but our whole life, the one that paid for your fancy clothes, jewelry, and the deposit for your first house, isn’t up to your standard either?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it? Pretty sure that’s what I heard.”

I bit my lip. Battling the urge to fight a war I could never win. “You and Dad gave me everything I ever needed. I know that. And I loved the car. But I wanted to buy my own house. It’s important to me to be independent. A lot of families would praise that, not condemn it.”

Mum waved her hand as if to shoo my words away. “Well, we aren’t a lot of families, we’re our family, and we do things our way. That includes showing respect for tradition and for your parents. From the day you began to talk, all you’ve done is resist and struggle against everything I advised and look where it’s got you. Barren and alone.”

Bit by bit, as her tirade continued, the glacial facade I tried so hard to maintain was chipped away. When she got like this on the phone, I could distract myself with meaningless tasks and pretend to listen. But here, right beside her, with her shrill voice bouncing off the sterile white walls, I could do nothing but absorb every word, and the worst thing was, she was kind of right.

As a child, my parents gave me everything. I was spoiled. Defiant. Arrogant. When I came of age, when Evie and Luke did what they did, the newly fostered fear of rejection and vulnerability fused with the same hubris Mum continued to berate me for and bred my craving for independence. If those I loved so much could cause such pain, no one could be trusted. Never again would I rely on anyone. It was rejected before rejection. Leave before being left. If I wanted something, I’d get it or do it myself.

The pricey therapist I paid to fix me helped me see I’d built those patterns to protect myself, but as the old lady so eloquently put it, where had that gotten me? Alone and barren.

The chiseled face of my Cowboy … of Luca … appeared before my eyes. Our night together meant something to me. You mean something to me.

He wouldn’t think that if he knew me. I said to myself. I was no one’s first choice, sloppy seconds at best.

“You’re not even listening, are you? You won’t even consider it, and I lie here on my deathbed.”

“What?” She was right. I’d completely spaced out. How I could do that in a hospital room so bright I could see my miserable reflection staring back at me on the floor, I don’t know. That was just the power of my mum. Out there laying guilt trips and killing brain cells like no one could. “Yes, of course I am.” I nodded.

“You are? So, you’ll do it then?”

“Ahh, Sure. Yep. I will. Consider it done.”

Her mouth twisted into a smile befitting Cinderella’s step mum, and I knew I’d irrevocably fucked up.