Art Ache (21 page)

ME

I’m just saying/

PATRICK

/you’re reading too much into it and now it’s made you bloody paranoid.

ME

It makes me feel . . . yuk.

Stop right there, Persephone. Accept that his “more than ten but less than twenty” revelation is at odds with his “don’t do casual” remark and that it has upset you. Then let it go. But I can’t. I plough on, convincing myself I’m softening it all by smiling and using a light tone of voice. Deluded!

ME

It’s not impossible for you to say it in a nicer way, you know.

Or to know exactly how many people you’ve slept with.

PATRICK

I just want you to touch me there 'cause I like it. You like certain things.

ME

Yes.

PATRICK

Well, how do you know that’s how you like it? ‘Cause you’ve got a history.

ME

It’s the way you express it. You could be a little more discreet. A little more thoughtful with your language.

PATRICK

Why?

ME

It’s more respectful. It’s . . . nicer. It’s . . .

Are we having our first fight? I wouldn’t call it that. It’s our first . . . robust exchange of ideas.

ME

I know you’ve got a “history”, I mean wherever we go, you seem to have been there before, but/

PATRICK

/what?

ME

Everywhere we go together you have a “history” there. A story that you tell. Or you don’t say you’ve been there before, but you’re very familiar with the parking, or the menu or the people.

PATRICK

So?

ME

It feels impersonal. Generic.

PATRICK

Because I’ve been places before?

ME

And when we’re at your house, you push the end of the bed in after we make love.

PATRICK

(incredulously)

It comes away from the wall.

Settle down, little lady. This is beginning to sound like a fight.

But of course I don’t.

ME

You’ve got it very down pat. Have a shag, get up, push the bed in . . . it’s very automatic. Generic.

PATRICK

It annoys me when it comes away from the wall.

And then I up the ante even further.

ME

And your condom packet in the bathroom is half-empty!

He looks at me like I’m an alien visiting from another planet. Maybe I am.

PATRICK

So?

ME

So if you “don’t do casual” and you haven’t had a girlfriend since June last year, then why is your condom packet half-empty?

PATRICK

Are you a private bloody investigator or something? When’d you go through my bathroom cupboard?

He gets out of bed in a huge huff.

ME

You leave the cupboard door open. Anyone can see.

PATRICK

Only if you look in the box.

I try desperately to cling to a shred of dignity by making my private investigator work sound perfectly reasonable.

ME

I just curiously glanced inside.

PATRICK

And assumed the bloody worst!

And I’m off.

ME

I had reason to be suspicious. I met at least three women you’d slept with at that bloody awards thing.

PATRICK

Bullshit.

ME

They told me. Came up to me and volunteered it.

PATRICK

Who?

ME

As if I wanted to know their names. And Anna said there were more.

PATRICK

Anna?

ME

Have you slept with her too?

PATRICK

No!

ME

Really?

PATRICK

Only once.

We
are
having our first fight. Take a big, deep breath, Persephone. A big, big, deep breath! At least Anna’s decent.

ME

I’m not a prude, Patrick. I wasn’t always married, you know. I’ve got a “history” too but it’s just . . . I don’t want to feel like sex is as impersonal as brushing your teeth or scratching an itch or . . .

PATRICK

Of course it isn’t!

ME

I’m not a princess and I’m not being precious . . .

PATRICK

Could have fooled me.

ME

But I want to feel that sex and intimacy and our . . . connection has some sort of . . . meaning. That it’s special in some way.

I continue with my treatise on all things sexual. If he’s going to reject me at least let him reject me for who I am rather than who I’m trying to be. I’m a dag, I’m a bit old-fashioned, I’m borderline part-Amish and occasionally part-bogan, but I don’t want to be treated like a number and I don’t want to be patronised with half-truths and feel like I’m dating a guy with a very faulty moral compass who has pissed on every pole this side of the Black Stump!

ME

I have a child, Patrick. I’m not just some young thing sleeping around. I need to know that I’m safe.

Marjory would be so proud of me right now. It doesn’t matter that Patrick’s perplexed, it matters that I’m speaking my truth. That I’m honouring my “self”. Even if I sound like a doctor or a shrink or a . . . wanker.

ME

I haven’t dated since I was twenty-two years old. It was an innocent time back then. People are different now.

PATRICK

We’re older.

ME

It’s more than that. There’s some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . societal difference or something. There’s a hardness, an impersonal thing that’s going on. I don’t know if it’s because of the Internet or social media or . . .

He scoffs at me.

ME

I’m serious. Or family breakdowns or whatever, but . . . it’s like someone told Gen X they could have it all and they’re pigging out at the smorgasbord. People talk about sex now like it’s a commodity or something. A means of exchange. Threesomes, hooking up on Tinder, boy on boy, girl on girl, girl on boy with girl, porn, cocaine this, and ecstasy that. They’re all mainstream, completely normalised. I’m not used to it.

PATRICK

Didn’t you have sex when you were married?

ME

Not much. Not at all since Jack was born, actually.

I’ve clearly taken some kind of truth serum tonight.

PATRICK

Shit. Maybe your ex is gay.

ME

I don’t think so.

PATRICK

Look, I’ll sleep at my place. See you at the weekend.

ME

Maybe.

PATRICK

What’s that supposed to mean?

ME

Patrick, whatever
this
is between us, I need honesty.

He leaves the house and as I hear his car back out over the gravel I roll over, snuggle into my feather-soft doona and realise that if this is the end of this thing with Patrick, I’m actually okay with that. My life with Jack is way more important than exposing myself to things I can’t handle with some guy I hardly know. In a roundabout kind of way, I ended up getting what I wanted tonight—a chance to snuggle up with myself.

Chapter 24

The following Monday. The theatre. Tech Week.

“Do not plan for ventures before finishing what’s at hand.” Euripides.

I’m sitting in the darkened theatre during Tech Week. The play has been bumped into the theatre from the rehearsal room in preparation for opening night and the start of the play’s season. The lights have been rigged, focused and plotted, the full costumes and make-up are about to be added, and the band is in the room. All the elements are coming together. Tech Week can be a tedious time but this one is running pretty smoothly thanks to Ramona, the grumpy stage manager, and that very tight ship she likes to run.

I’ve crept out from the dressing room to sit in the auditorium and look at the set while the crew take a moment to deal with a lighting issue. Then we’ll do a cue-to-cue rehearsal of the show so they can iron out any last minute technical issues. The set looks great. The crew continue to struggle with the light. I hug my knees to my chest, snuggle into myself, and contemplate Patrick.

I’m “in love” with him, but do I “love” him? He said it last night. He called in with a bunch of flowers. He was sorry he’d been so defensive about the twenty questions thing and I was sorry I’d seemingly overreacted. I can live with “more than ten but definitely less than twenty.” Jack was asleep in his room and Patrick and I were having a cup of tea on the couch. Patrick was nervous and fidgety and then he said it.

PATRICK

I love you.

Awkward pause.

ME

Thank you.

A very perplexed look appeared on his face.

PATRICK

Thank you? I expected a bit more than that.

ME

Sorry, but I do mean it.

PATRICK

Thank you?

ME

Yes, I’m glad you feel that way.

PATRICK

Do you?

ME

I don’t know.

PATRICK

(Deflated)

Great.

ME

Patrick, I don’t want to say it just for the sake of it.

PATRICK

Neither do I.

ME

I’m not saying you are.

PATRICK

I love you. I really do.

ME

Thank you.

PATRICK

Will you stop saying that?

ME

I’m sorry. I know I like you. I know I’m definitely “in love” with you, but I just don’t know if I can say “I love you” right now.

PATRICK

Well, let me know when you can.

ME

I will.

We sit in awkward silence for a moment. A moment that feels much longer than a moment.

PATRICK

We’re building something here, aren’t we? You’ve pulled back a bit but I don’t want to. I get along great with Jack. He’s a fantastic kid. And I love you. I can be a bit thick sometimes about women and emotions and all that, but . . . look, you might need to give me a shove in the right direction occasionally, but I’m into it.

ME

Thank you.

PATRICK

I’m here when you’re ready to say it.

And now here I am, sitting in the auditorium watching the crew struggling with a light and feeling out of sorts. Not just about the “I love you” thing. I’m tired, I’m not sleeping, I’m off my food and I’ve had two bouts of diarrhoea. Could just be nerves, but I also have sore boobs. The symptoms are very familiar. I think I might be pregnant.

I stopped in at the chemist on the way to rehearsal this morning and bought a test, but I can’t bring myself to do it. My life is complicated enough without an unexpected pregnancy.

RAMONA

Okay. Take ten minutes while we re-focus this light. Don’t wander off! When I say ten minutes, I mean ten minutes.

ME

Yes, sir!

I click my heels together and salute. She doesn’t find it funny. Gird your loins, Persephone. Ten minutes is more than enough time to do the test. This break is a sign.

I race to the toilet, taking my handbag with me. I whip the stick out of the packaging and hold it between my legs as I sit on the toilet. I pee on my hand as I try to get a mid-stream sample. Then I pull up my undies, flush the toilet, sit on the closed toilet lid—and wait.

I close my eyes and wait. I tell myself that if I watch the stick the answer will definitely be positive but if I look away, it will definitely be negative. But this is just confusing because I’m not sure which one I want. I opt for closing my eyes. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids and would love to have more than just Jack. And I think I might even want to have children with Patrick, one day, but it’s all happening too quickly.

ME

I’m pregnant!

I say it out loud. Then I poke my head under the cubicle door to check if anyone is in the ladies’ room. Can’t see anyone.

Shit. I’m a crazy mix of elated and terrified. This was not part of the plan. Who are you kidding, Persephone? There never was a plan. You’re winging it, sweetheart.

I check the stick again. Two pink lines. Oh. My. God. I might not be a hundred percent sure how I feel about Patrick, yet these two pink lines are telling me I’ve made a human being with him! My doubts are overridden by my excitement about the pregnancy. Regardless of how our relationship pans out, I’m having a baby!

The main door to the ladies’ room barges open. Ramona barks.

RAMONA

Are you in here, Persephone? I said ten minutes and I meant ten minutes.

I stammer.

ME

Ah, yes. Sorry. Not feeling very well. I’ll be out in a minute.

RAMONA

That’s sixty seconds. Not a second more.

I breathe out as she leaves and retrieve my mobile from my handbag. I call Patrick. From the toilet cubicle. How romantic.

PATRICK

G’day.

ME

I’m pregnant.

PATRICK

Wow!

ME

I just did a test.

PATRICK

That’s great. Unexpected, but great!

ME

It is, isn’t it?

PATRICK

Hell, yes! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

ME

You’re not shocked?

PATRICK

Surprised, yeah. But not shocked. This is bloody fantastic!

He starts to cry on the other end of the phone.

PATRICK

I love you, Pers. I’m over the moon.

ME

Really?

PATRICK

Absolutely.

Maybe I do love this guy. He’s like no man I’ve ever met. He’s the opposite of the type of man I thought I’d end up with. Patrick’s an out-of-the-box choice for me. But as a person he’s, he’s . . . uncomplicated. I’m so bloody multi-layered I’m like an overly rich cheesecake that you can’t quite keep down. He tells me all the time I’m like dating a walking dictionary, except I’m hot. Dictionaries aren’t hot apparently. He’s very impressed that I can do the crossword in the newspaper. I tell him it’s not that hard, but he doesn’t believe me. He thinks it’s weird how I talk about emotions and feelings all the time, but he freely admits he’s starting to learn things about himself. And he’s currently crying on the other end of the phone because I’ve just told him I’m pregnant. I was with Tom for a decade and I never saw him cry. He was one of those clay pans you read about. The thick crust that develops on paddocks when there hasn’t been enough rain. Patrick is the opposite. The loose, fertile, volcanic soil that nurtures and sustains life. Oh my God, I think pregnancy brain is already kicking in.

PATRICK

This is so brilliant. I’m gonna be a father. We’re gonna have a family, Pers. God, I love you.

Pause.

PATRICK

But there’s only one problem.

ME

What’s that?

PATRICK

You’re having a baby with a guy you don’t love.

ME

Ha ha.

He’s teasing me, but there’s an element of truth and he knows it. We both do.

I could say it, I really could.
I love you too.
That’s all it would take. But I don’t want to say it just because I’m caught up in a romantic moment. Or because I feel I should. I want to say it because I one hundred percent mean it. I think I’m currently at about eighty-five percent and maybe twenty percent of that is due to the current excitement associated with finding out I’m having a baby.

PATRICK

You’ll say it one day.

ME

Sorry, I’ve gotta go. I’m sure I’ve used up my sixty seconds.

PATRICK

What?

ME

Oh . . .

PATRICK

I’m definitely seeing you tonight. Love you, Pers. Bye, sweetheart.

I hang up. And just before Ramona barges into the ladies’ room again, I drop the positive test in the bin, grab my bag, wash my hands and think to myself, maybe it’s all going to be okay after all. As long as the morning sickness stays away until the show has opened, I’ll be fine.

That night we discuss who to tell, when to tell them and how to tell them. We decide Jack needs to be the first to know, of course. We figure he already suspects that something’s up because Patrick has called by with a bunch of flowers.

He takes it all in his stride.

ME

Sweetheart. Patrick and I have something to tell you. It’s pretty big.

JACK

Are we going to Disneyland?!

PATRICK

Not yet, mate. Maybe one day.

ME

No. It’s about something more . . . personal. You know how I’ve been feeling a bit sick and tired lately?

JACK

Are you going to die?!

ME

Of course not! No! Jacky, no! I’m going to have a baby.

JACK

Cool!

ME

Really?

JACK

Yeah! I can play with him.

We go through all the basics, covering how long it will take for the baby to grow, we remind him that mummy will feel sick and we need to take things slowly, and we generally prepare him for his role as older brother. But Jack’s most pressing question is how it’s going to come out.

ME

Well, it’s growing in my tummy, sweetheart and it’s going to come out . . . down below.

He thinks for a moment.

JACK

Through your pee-pee?

ME

Correct.

JACK

Ow!

He moves on from this issue very quickly. It seems he’d rather talk about the gender of the baby. Jack’s adamant it’s going to be a boy. It seems he and Patrick are in cahoots.

JACK

Let’s call him Mr. Poo Poo Head.

PATRICK

How about Christopher?

JACK

How about Captain Hook?

ME

You don’t like Christopher?

JACK

I like Captain Hook from Peter Pan.

ME

What if it’s a girl?

PATRICK

It’s a boy.

JACK

Yes, it’s a boy. Are you going to get married?

Awkward pause.

I have to get divorced first.

ME

You don’t have to be married to have a baby.

JACK

But are you?

PATRICK

I’d like to, mate.

JACK

Mummy?

ME

Right now, I’m excited about having a baby.

Another awkward pause.

JACK

Will you like the baby more than me?

Deep breath.

ME

That’s not possible. I’ll love you both the same. Heaps and heaps and heaps.

It’s just been Jack and me for so long. Yes, Tom was there, but he was always busy, always working. Jack and I have been a tight unit and now that has changed very quickly for him. He’s had so much to cope with already, and now a baby. I’d braced myself for him to fall apart about it all, but he seems genuinely thrilled.

JACK

Will Patrick be the baby’s daddy?

PATRICK

Yes, mate.

JACK

Will you be my daddy too, or do I just keep my old daddy?

ME

Daddy will always be your dad, darling. Patrick will be the baby’s dad.

JACK

Cool. And Patrick can be my friend.

PATRICK

Perfect.

A light bulb flicks on over his head.

JACK

I’m going to make him a card!

Jack races off to his craft table and we ring my parents. They are over the moon. No dramas about whether or not we know each other well enough, or how we’re going to manage it all. They’re just genuinely thrilled that another life is coming into the world. They are the sort of people who just love babies. They don’t question if it’s right or wrong to have them, they just accept that they’re meant to be here and recognise that they need lots of love.