Chapter 7

Polly

“P olly. Polly. Are you listening?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mum. I’m listening.” Not at all thinking about hot Americans with ridiculous abs.

“Prove it. What did I just say.”

“Ahh.” I had no fucking idea but took a guess. “You were asking about the appointment, and reminding me that I want a family, I need to settle down, marry this nice boy you keep telling me about.”

“Mmm. Close enough.” Something rustled and crackled in the background, and I could just picture her that very second, sitting by the window in the little cane chair she got from Aldi, with my childhood photos lying on her lap, wondering where she went wrong. “Did you get the baby photos I sent you? The ones Janet Myers sent me when I saw her at the shops? That should be enough to motivate you. God has truly blessed Nate and Evie. Just imagine it, Polly—two sets of twins.”

In all honesty, I could think of little worse. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. “Yes, I got them, Mum.” But I have not looked at them. “And yes, the babies are very cute, but I’m still not sure—”

“Gorgeous is what they are. To think they could have been yours. They still could be if you stop all this silliness, move back home. Sydney is no place for a nice Greek girl to find a husband.”

Keen to disembark the settle down express, I changed tactics. “Lucky I’m not Greek then. I was born here, remember, Mum? Just like you were.”

“Not Greek?” Mum squealed. “Not Greek? Have a look in the mirror and tell me you don’t see the ancient beauty of Aphrodite coursing through your veins.”

“Aphrodite? I always thought I was more of a Nyx girl.”

“Polly!” Deep disgust bolstered Mum’s gasp.

As kids, my sister, Holly I had been forced to attend Greek school, and the tales of Nyx had always been my favorite. I wasn’t sure of why at the time, but when I again studied Ancient Greek mythology in high school, I came to understand the attraction. The offspring of Chaos himself, Nyx, was everything I felt I was, wasn’t, and wanted to be. Considered by many, including Homer himself, as the most beautiful of all goddesses, she was the literal concept of night—a catalyst to our darkest desires, dreams, and dirty, sexy little secrets.

“You can hardly compare yourself to Nyx,” Mum continued, recovering quickly, “She was naturally slim, for one. Oh, and just like your old friend, Evie, Nyx was the mother to many children—something you will never be if you don’t listen to me and come home and marry that nice Greek boy.”

And I give up.

“Thank you for yet another reminder of my inferiority, but on that note, I will say goodnight.” Without disconnecting, I let the phone slip from my hand and drop against my bedspread. She continued blabbering, something about rendering my life to the hands of God. One day she would wear me down. Just like she did when I abandoned my dream to be a chef and stayed home to help at the pub. Or after the accident, when I yielded and allowed her to drag the local Orthodox priest to my hospital, then sat there in shame as he performed a bedside blessing/gentle exorcism. I could still smell the sage whenever I thought of it.

After a moment or so, she got the hint. Her muffled squawking ceased, but it was replaced with the harmonious bleep of text notifications seconds later. Don’t read it. It’s just going to be another photo of Evie’s perfect babies. Or her glowing uterus.

S norting at my gag, I padded to the kitchen and poured myself yet another wine. Next to the half-empty bottle sat my laptop.

Hmm.

Though I would never admit it to her face, Mum was right about one thing. I did need to leave Sydney. But what I wanted was to leave Australia. I desired space. Needed air. I took a sip then slid my finger over the trackpad, flicking between the three open screens. Deep in my heart, I knew expatriation was the only way I could escape the vice-like grip she held over my consciousness, and my flight research reflected my increasing desperation.

Sydney to NYC.

Sydney to Greenland.

Sydney to Santiago to Easter Island.

New York City was my perennial number one. A US work visa was ready and raring to go, but Evie lived there with her aunt, her brother and niece a few years ago. If I was to go there, I would again be accused of imitation and I had no intention of going down that path again. Greenland was another bust. Not only because it was mainly ice and not green, but because that little tidbit proved my high school geography teacher, Mr. Salmon, right. I should have been listening. His crap would one day have been useful.

Easter Island was most promising. As one of the most remote places on earth, it was sure to provide all the pure, guilt-free air I could sniff. Lots of exciting cuisine, too. Fights were expensive, though.

Yet another message halted my daydreams and cracked my last nerve. “Jesus Christ, woman. I don’t care about the Myers and their fucking kids. Get a fucking life.” Stomping to my room I opened my bedside table drawer, slipped my phone beneath my lacey knickers, and slammed it shut.

Okay, maybe I did care.

I’d held strong all night, but come morning, during prep time at the restaurant, I couldn’t resist. One look couldn’t hurt, right?

Shadows of Nate slightly darkened their complexions, but Evie’s twins were her mini-me’s. After counting every little finger and each little toe, I fled to the solemn sanctity of the cool room and let my useless tears run free.

I’d done everything in my power to keep their parents apart, to wrong their mother as she had me. Those gorgeous babes were the perfect proof of my failure and their perfect love. The kind I will never know.

A dull thud and a sliding door squealing in its tracks told me I was no longer alone. After drying my cheeks with the back of my hands, I rolled to my side, making room for Luna to drop to her knees beside me. “Polly. You’re crying while lying on the ground. Are you okay?”

“Yes, Luna. With you here, how could I not be?”

Seeing the phone in my hand, Luns sighed and set about carefully removing the tear-streaked strands of hair from my face. “It’s your mum, isn’t it? Is she still harassing you? Why can’t she just drop it?”

“Because she is old school, and it is a very old school mother’s job to demoralize the children they didn’t devour at birth under the guise of encouragement. She thinks telling me about Evie’s brood will shock or shame me into settling down and popping out my own. Unnecessary repetition of facts adds to the intensity.”

“Wow. That’s brutal. Especially since…” Luna’s eyes flicked to my stomach. I closed my eyes, desperate to avoid the pitying glance she always gave me whenever the subject of kids came up. Blinking them open after counting to ten. “Let’s just say I’m glad we have no culture in my family. I don’t even know where Mum and Dad are from.”

I pulled my lips between my teeth to hide my smile. “They’re from Watsons Bay, Luna. The suburb they own half of, including the restaurant that we’re standing in. Their parents were from here, too, and so were theirs, and theirs because your last name is Watson, and the bay was named after your land-stealing relatives.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” she giggled and moved on quickly. “Why doesn’t she give your sister the same heat? She enjoys a party as much as you do.”

“Yes, but Holly’s married to Reece and has Piper now. Even if she does cut loose now and then, she’s still given Mum a grandbaby to smother.” Wincing in sympathy, Luna offered me her hand and helped me rise to my feet.

“Fuck, Poll. She’s really gotten to you this time. I can’t see bugger-all in here, but I can see you’re all pale and clammy looking. Why don’t you go home?” With a gentle smile, she led out of the cool room into the warmth of the kitchen and grabbed one of the stools positioned on either side of the sinks. She even dusted off the breadcrumbs and flour before forcing me to sit.

“I do feel like shit, and as tempting as it sounds, I have no time to mope at home. I have three more kilos of spuds to peel, and then I have to start on the eggplant.” I sighed, “But never fear Loons. This too shall pass.”

“Ooh,” her mouth formed a perfect O as her eyes widened. “I love shells. We should go to the beach later and collect some. Although you’re not supposed to, now. Do you know my friend Lola? The one with the orange hair? She got fined for collecting some up at Byron. That’s where you’re from, isn’t it? I bet your little Piper loves them, too. Let me get you some paracetamol and a cuppa. That’ll fix ya right up, then you can deal with your mum.” With that string of random gibberish, she tottered off into her father’s office, home of neither painkillers nor a kettle.

Odd as Luna was, she was also right. I did need to deal with Mum. Resigned to my fate, I pulled out my phone and took a deep.

Holy shit, it wasn’t just mum!

Cowboy: Guess who’s coming back to Sydney?

Cowboy: Actually, you don’t need to guess. It’s me and I want to, no, need to see you again. We have unfinished business.

Cowboy: Jas. Answer me.

Cowboy: Not giving up till you say yes.

Cowboy: I can go all night.

Cowboy: In relation to sending messages. But with sex too. Wink emoji.

Cowboy: Jas?

Cowboy: Okay, maybe I am giving up. But only for now because I don’t wanna be a crazy stalker type. I will try again tomorrow.

Cowboy: But also still here if you change your mind.

Cowboy: Which is absolutely your right. Big advocate for full consent and women’s rights and equal pay and all that.

Cowboy: Princess Jasmine. Sorry for messaging so many times last night. And for this one, but I was out for a run and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“Shit!”

I’d sulked like a moldy old potato. Wept on cold concrete that smelled like broccoli, and all that time I could have been enjoying consequence-free sexting. What a fucking idiot. I read them again and again, each text broken down, analyzed, and cross-referenced, my desire increasing with the pounding of my heart.

This guy is dangerous, horny, hot, and sweet.

Maybe too sweet.

I shouldn’t see him again.

That’s why I absolutely will.