A Reason to Exist

Chapter 13

I missed having Tate at dad's place. I felt like an only lonely child. Dad cooked lamb kofta served with souvalaki bread, salad and tzatziki. I'd noticed that Sandra didn't cook much. Yet dad seemed to have really blossomed in the kitchen since the divorce.

We sat around their dining room table. Their rented apartment was small, with an open plan kitchen/dining area, two bedrooms and a study where Tate slept. The apartment was modern. Dad said he found it soulless, that the only good thing was he didn't have to mow a lawn.

I'd been watching Sandra carefully all night to see if there were signs of a baby in her stomach. So far I couldn't find any evidence. She'd been drinking red wine and her waistline appeared trim as ever. She was the kind of person who could eat anything and not put on weight. She says she has 'a fast metabolism'. But I know she exercises a lot and trains for marathons she never ends up running. Sandra is a patent attorney and works in an office in Collins Street. On weekdays she wears matching navy or black pencil skirt suits. Before leaving for work, she uses a roller brush to remove any cat hair from the fabric. She wears her hair in a bun, three gold bracelets on her wrist and tiny emerald earrings in her ears.

That night she was dressed casual, wearing Lululemon leggings and a grey singlet. If there was a baby in her belly it would've been obvious. The rational part of my brain said 'so what if there's a baby on board?' Yet a part of my heart felt sad and torn. What if dad had gone on to start another family? What if that child gets to grow up in a loving, caring home with two parents? It's not fair if that child gets to spend all their time with dad when I only get every second weekend. I'll be knocked out of the ballpark. Of course dad is going to love that child more than Tate and I if he gets to spend all his time with them. I felt annoyed at my mother for driving away this good man, sending him into the arms of another woman who he'd implanted with his seed.

I stabbed at a baby tomato with my fork and it rolled away. I cursed my life and my deranged heart and how love and security felt like mist, something I wanted but could never trust. Mum and dad failed me for not being adult enough to work things out. What was so bad that they'd inflict this life on Tate and I? They're such hypocrites, they always try and teach us to be kind to others, to tell the truth, to be considerate. Look at them. They're childish and self-interested and let us down in the biggest way possible.

'Are you pregnant?' I asked, feeling as though the suspense was about to kill me.

'What?' Sandra said. 'No. Goodness, no. What would make you think that?'

'Mum said you were probably pregnant.' I put my fork down.

'Why would she say that?' dad asked.

'You said you needed to talk to us about something this weekend. So she assumed you were going to tell us you're having a baby.'

'That's a massive assumption,' dad said. 'And unfair that she'd say that to both of you. Jesus.' Dad picked up the pepper shaker and screwed the silver bolt on the top.

'Do I look pregnant?' Sandra asked lightly with a smile, trying to diffuse the tension.

'No, you don't. Of course, you don't,' I said.

'Good,' she said. 'Because I don't want to look pregnant. I can't have children, Macy. I wish I could, but I can't. That's why it's a blessing having you and Tate in my life.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' I said. All of a sudden I was crying. I was surprised that Sandra said it's a blessing having Tate and I in her life. I hadn't ever expected that. I'd always felt like we were some add-on she tolerated. Dad's plus twos. I'd always treated her as an unwelcome intruder in my dad's life.

I realised now that dad was better off with her. She has a sweet nature and gives him the kindness he deserves. Confused emotions bled inside me. I'd only cried twice since my parent's divorce: once, the night they told me and the second time was when I stayed at dad's apartment for the first time. And then, the third time – crying because Sandra couldn't get pregnant. Life is absurd, no one ever auditions for the drama

'Come here,' dad said. And even though I was sixteen, I got up and sat on his lap. He put his arms around me and I cuddled into him like a pre-schooler. I buried my face into his shoulder, leaving wet patches on his t-shirt. He kissed the back of my head, slowly and softly, and this made me cry even more tears. Tenderness had been an absentee on my rollcall for years.

'I love you, dad,' I blurted out. I lifted my head and looked at Sandra sitting uneasily at the table. 'I'm sorry you can't have children. Thank you for having us in your life.' She let out a small sob and tears welled in her eyes, her mouth curling at the edges.

I got off my dad's lap and Sandra and dad cleared the table quietly. I watched them in this small apartment; Sandra stacking the dishwasher, dad wiping down the bench. They had their system of how things are done without needing to speak.

Dad carried over three bowls of salted caramel ice-cream and they sat down again.

'So the thing I wanted to tell you and Tate together was that Sandra and I put an offer on an apartment and it's been accepted.'

'Wow,' I said, 'That's great news.'

'It's just around the corner, so no further away from you guys. It's small still, but at least it has three proper sized bedrooms, one for you and Tate finally gets a proper room too. And I still won't have to mow a lawn.'

I knew this was a big deal for dad. He came out of the divorce way worse financially than mum, so to be able to own his own place again was really something.

'When do you move in?' I asked.

'In three months. The bank paperwork just came through, so the sale has gone unconditional.'

'I'm really pleased for both of you,' I said.

'And your dad's having another exhibition of Rex's work next month,' Sandra said. 'That always helps with cash flow.'

'Yeah, well,' dad shifted around on his seat. 'If he delivers any works. Which is always questionable until the very last minute.'

Later, I was reading a book in bed. Dad said 'Turn your light out in ten minutes.' It had been twenty minutes and I was still wide-awake. The walls were thin and I could hear dad and Sandra talking in their bedroom.

'Why would she have said I was pregnant to the kids?' Sandra asked.

'Because she's manipulative,' dad whispered, but not quietly enough. I could hear the strain in his voice. 'It's her way of turning them against me. That's why Tate's no longer coming over.'

'I really can't believe it,' Sandra said.

I wish I hadn't said anything, but how could I not, when I desperately needed to know? Knotted loyalties snagged, confusion twisted so tight my skin felt blue. I wished my divorced family could be like Tucker's; that my mum would get on with her life without having to practice archery at my father. Tate and I were the bows in her arrow, thrust without our will, heads pointed, gliding towards her target. But each bulls-eye she hit sends pain to the very core of us.