The Boyfriend Sessions (3 page)

It was almost two weeks since I’d returned home and the truth was finally sinking in. I missed Ben.

The realization was something of a shock to me after the initial burst of excitement at being on home soil. The familiarity was immediately comforting but, somehow, with no job to get up to, my post-European holiday blues had descended into something more serious.

I slept until late, ate at ridiculous hours, and most days didn’t make the effort to go out. When Cate would arrive home around seven o’clock, she’d find a stranger inhabiting her flat. I let my curls grow greasy and lank—even they had lost their spring—and my wardrobe consisted entirely of items with elastic waistbands.

I was a sad sight and only vaguely aware of the fact. The empty feeling of missing Ben had at first been like a brutal punch to my stomach, the surprise of it leaving me winded and uncomprehending. How had a holiday romance come to mean so much? And why did I feel the absence of his company so acutely? Once I’d recovered from this painful realization a dull, constant ache remained while I waged a never-ending battle with myself internally. Should I contact him? My head told me not to. I’d left him—and the country—for a reason. I was completely against the concept of marrying the man. What good would contacting him do now? It would only serve to remind him of my rejection and me of my stupidity for getting so involved with someone with no thought to the consequences.

Yet my heart urged me to do something different. I agonised over picking up the phone, using Skype or sending an email, but every time I worked up the courage to go through with it, I’d choke at the last second. Apart from my cowardice, I reasoned there was another entirely plausible explanation for my hesitation. I hadn’t heard from Ben. At all. In fact it was like our relationship never existed, so deafening was his silence, and it hurt more than I cared to admit.

In response I spent most of my time sleeping, eating, and reading, like my life depended on it. The other hours I spent absently recreating sketches of the statues in Vigeland Park, as though this might make them more attainable despite the fact I was on the other side of the world.

I looked up from my sketch book as the front door slammed.

“Girls are coming over for take away,” Cate informed me, her voice brusque.

I studied her suspiciously. She hadn’t asked me if I had plans, but then looking down at my current outfit—a grey tracksuit and Ugg boots—it was pretty obvious I didn’t. Sheepishly, I stood and stretched stiffly, realizing I’d barely moved for at least three hours and my neck seemed to have locked into position.

Cate didn’t look at me as she headed into her bedroom to throw down her bag and jacket. “I’m used to it, but you might want to tidy up before they get here,” she suggested.

I shuffled to my room like a scolded child and searched for something more appropriate to wear. After scrounging around the floor for a minute I found a pair of jeans that appeared acceptable. With a pang, I looked at the pile of clothes at my feet and realized I still hadn’t washed the contents of my suitcase since arriving home.

Cate came to stand at the doorway to my room and her disapproval was palpable. My room was a mess. That was actually pretty standard, I wasn’t the neatest person and often tried to excuse it on the basis of my creativity, but not even that could explain my room’s current state of being.

Clothes were strewn everywhere and lay in piles on the floor, like small mountains waiting to be climbed. My suitcase still rested open on the far wall. The contents actually looked as though they were attempting to migrate to join the other piles. Added to that, I’d tossed numerous books on the floor so they appeared at first glance to be trying to conquer my attempts at a series of mini Everests. The result of my efforts was a sort of colorful patchwork broken up by tiny patches of cream carpet. I wondered if Scarlett would appreciate it as modern art.

“Good God. It’s a floor-robe.” After surveying the room Cate swept in, yanked open the curtains, and slid the windows open. The sound of world outside filled the room: a mixture of distant traffic noise, the steady rhythm of the trains on the bridge, and the occasional ferry horn.

When Cate and I agreed to share an apartment three years ago, we’d both been well and truly over the rental scene. Both of us had flatmate horror stories to make your toes curl and, in a fit of drunken stupor one night, we’d vowed to live the good life then and forever more.

The good life was expensive as it turned out. We’d quickly settled on a seventh floor, two bedroom, two bathroom apartment in the harbor-side suburb of Milsons Point overlooking Lavender Bay. Cate worked up the hill in North Sydney and, well on her way to partner in her mid-tier accounting firm, she was happy to pay sixty percent of the monthly rent given she had the bedroom with the balcony that overlooked the bay. That and I’d agreed she could share my car, which we kept in the single car space the rental agreement provided.

As I looked around my room, a wave of guilt hit. I would turn into one of those horror flatmates if I let my sloth go on much longer. Casually, I reached behind me to close the door to my ensuite, which hadn’t been cleaned since I returned home and was in danger of assaulting Cate’s sense of neatness.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll sort this out tomorrow,” I promised quietly.

Cate nodded and stepped over a knee-high pile of clothes—dirty or clean, I wasn’t sure which—and headed back to her bedroom.

I located a bright yellow t-shirt with an abstract drawing of the Eiffel Tower on the front I’d bought on an earlier visit prior to Ben’s proposal. A wary sniff approximated it was suitably fresh, so I went back into the lounge room to tidy up some of the mess which had spread from my bedroom. Cate had opened the double doors that led onto the balcony area as a reminder of the world outside our apartment. I had to admit, it certainly looked tempting.

I walked outside and watched the boats bobbing gently in the harbor and inhaled the mild evening breeze, scented with spring. The smell of salt and jasmine wafted in and I was reminded why I had longed for home. Paris suddenly seemed a lifetime ago, a distant dream, and Sydney was taunting me with her breathtaking honesty.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood on the balcony, but when I turned at the sound of the front door opening I discovered Cate had soundlessly cleared the lounge room for me like a silent fairy godmother. Scarlett and Maddy came in together, still in their work clothes, kicking their heels off as they did so.

“Ladies.” Scarlett nodded in my direction and I noticed gratefully that Cate had closed my bedroom door.

“Wine o’clock, who wants some?” Maddy headed straight into the kitchen with a bottle of wine and selected four wine glasses without even waiting for a response.

It was such a beautiful night, we decided to settle outside and wait for our Thai food to arrive.

Maddy eyed Scarlett where she stood several feet away blissfully inhaling a cigarette. “When are you going to give up that disgusting habit?”

“Mmm.” Scarlett didn’t answer for a long moment, luxuriating in the nicotine and the view. “When I no longer have to deal with stupid people. So probably never.”

“That’s what’s wine is for,” Maddy persisted, her nose still screwed up as some of the smoke drifted in her direction.

“Pass me one,” I requested.

Scarlett raised a dark eyebrow and went to pull one out of her back pocket.

“No!” Maddy sent Scarlett a death stare and shoved a glass of wine back into my hand. “Drink instead. You will not take up that horrible vice again.”

I did as I was told, muttering into my wine. “Why does everyone want to mother me right now?”

Cate regarded me seriously. “Because it seems like you’re not doing a very good job of looking after yourself.”

“I told you I’d clean up—”

“I don’t give a shit about that!”

I sat a little straighter in my seat, startled by both her profanity and the intensity of her response. Cate was neat and organised to the point of uptight, with enviable manners, and it was very unlike her to swear.

Her expression softened a bit. “I’m worried about you.”

“We’re worried about you,” Maddy corrected.

As I surveyed my friends, all directing sympathetic looks in my direction, it suddenly dawned on me. That was why Cate hadn’t mentioned tonight to me. I stood abruptly, keen to escape their pitying expressions.

“Anyone want a top up?” I asked, heading quickly for the double doors.

Maddy reached over and closed the sliding door, barring my exit. “Afraid not, Bubbles.”

Oh God, I was right. It was an intervention. I closed my eyes and sat back down in my chair, defeated. Interventions were a rare occurrence in our little group. We usually lived and let live. The few occasions in the past that required interference from others had only occurred when we felt we could no longer stay silent. Like Maddy’s disastrous trail of jobs years earlier—as a result of our intervention, she eventually decided to open Grounded Marketing. Or Scarlett’s love triangle between the two managing partners at her previous job, doomed for disaster even if it did involve fantastic sex.

Clearly, my friends felt they could no longer stay silent about my situation.

“You can’t go on like this.” Maddy was obviously given the task of spokesperson for our little group. Everyone knew I’d listen to her.

“I know, I know,” I agreed with a sigh. “I’ll tidy up my act. Dress properly and stop forcing Cate to share my hovel.”

“That’s a good start, but it goes deeper than that,” Maddy continued.

I eyed her warily and looked around at the others. Scarlett took in the view while Cate sat with her hands in her lap, studying them intently.

Maddy looked at me seriously. “We think it would be a good idea if you took a break for a little while.”

Now I was confused. A break? I’d just had a four month break.

“From men.”

I opened and closed my mouth. Well, I hadn’t expected
that
. “From men?” I repeated carefully.

“You’re addicted,” Cate blurted out, her light blue eyes rounded in worry.

“To men?” I laughed. Up until now, I hadn’t believed such an addiction was a problem—not that I had one. “Surely that’s the pot calling the kettle. No offence, Scarlett.”

Scarlett threw her cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony, making Maddy cringe. “None taken, and big difference. I like sex, but I’m not addicted to men.”

“We mean relationships,” Cate corrected.

“I’m addicted to relationships?” I was only vaguely aware I was being repetitious.

Maddy leaned in and looked at me, her dark brown eyes piercing. “Face it, Christa. You’re a relationship junkie.”

I stared at her, at a loss for words. Clearly, they were overreacting. They were so far from the mark it was awkward. Sure, I’d always had boyfriends on and off again, but how was that different to any other late-twenty-something?

“Matt and Nick,” Maddy began.

“Troy, then Hamish,” Scarlett added with a grin.

“Justin and Pete,” Cate continued, thinking hard.

“Hang on—”

“Oh, and don’t forget Grant Giggles,” cried Cate, far too excited for my liking.

“Ugh, who could forget Grant,” Scarlett said, rolling her eyes.

“Wait—”

“Lloyd,” Maddy interrupted me.

“And now Ben,” Cate said, like it was the final nail in my coffin.

Maddy looked at me. “It’s got to stop.”

Denial pulsed through me. “I’m twenty-seven years of age. There is nothing wrong with having a number of partners by this stage of my life.”

“We’re not debating that. What we’re trying to make you see is that you’ve never once been single, Christa,” Cate said quietly.

Well, that wasn’t true at all. Sure, I’d been involved with plenty of guys. First there was Matt, then Troy and—

I stopped myself, shocked. Oh God, they were right. How was it possible? “What are you proposing?” I finally asked weakly.

“Six months, no men, no relationships. Live the life of a single woman for a change,” Maddy informed me, business-like.

“And it’s time to get out of the apartment,” Cate continued, “do some exercise.”

Maddy nodded. “I’ve signed you up to boot camp training down by the harbor two mornings a week to get you started.”

“
Boot camp
?”

“Come on, Christa, you used to be Miss Fitness.” I was sure Scarlett was enjoying this. Bitch.

It was true. Before my trip I’d be at the gym several times a week. I liked hiking although, come to think of it, I was hard-pressed to recall the last time I went on a hike …

“And to make sure you don’t try and get out of it we’ve arranged for someone escort you there Tuesday and Thursday mornings,” Maddy told me. “Starts at 7:00, so you’ll need to be ready by 6:45.”

“
What?
” Early mornings. How could they? My gym sessions were always
after
work. “Who’s escorting me?”

“Remember my brother Max?”

“Living in the UK Max?” I hadn’t seen him for years.

“He’s moved back to Sydney and he highly recommends the class. I know I can trust him to get you there and not put up with any of your antics.”

My brain clouded from shock as I tried to recall the last time I saw Max. I realized it was about the first year of university. At that stage, Maddy’s older brother had been something of a computer geek. “Max?”

“Yes, Max,” Maddy replied, clearly exasperated.

“But, he’s into computers or science or something … ” My argument had sounded more compelling in my head.

“Last time I looked, he was in better shape than you,” Maddy told me mercilessly.

“Ouch.” Scarlett laughed at my expense.

I pointed a finger at Scarlett. “Stop enjoying this so much.” The shock wearing off, my denial was back in full force.

“Which brings me to Monday morning,” Maddy continued as if she were rattling off a Work In Progress report. “I need you at my office by eight am. We’ve got a big new client proposal starting next week and I want you working on it.”

“I don’t work for you!”