Page 81

“No,” said Cal, picking up another box. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You eat out of vending machines.”

Cal paused, tried to make sense of this and couldn’t. “What?”

“You eat out of vending machines,” Syd said again.

“Since I don’t actually eat out of vending machines, I assume that you’re trying to make a point here?”

Syd put down the box she was carrying and sat on it. “See, you’re standing at the vending machine snacking when there’s a restaurant just down the street with great food. But you,you don’t think you deserve the restaurant. You don’t think you’ve got the right clothes, or the right manners, or whatever else. So instead of eating nutritious, well-cooked food, you’re just popping coins into that vending machine and leaving unsatisfied.”

“That… that is a stretch,” Cal said. “I mean, look at me, do I look like I belong in a fancy restaurant?”

“The restaurant doesn’t have a dress code though, Cal. You just assume it does. You just assume that it’s too good for you. And you don’t see that you’re doing yourself a disservice, that you’re undervaluing yourself by acting this way. You deserve to be in that restaurant just as much as anyone else does.”

“Right up until I spill my water everywhere or eat with my mouth open,” Cal said.

Syd shook her head. “Where does this come from, Cal? Why do you not think of yourself as a deserving person? I don’t get it. You’re attractive, you’re considerate, you’re fun to be around and smart too. Yet you don’t see any of that.”

Cal looked up at the empty house, studied it brick by brick. “Maybe because I’m not worth it,” she said quietly. “Maybe because when I needed it most, the person I trusted the most refused to stand up for me. Maybe because I learned that I’m not worth protecting, not worth fighting for.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Cal turned to her. “You’re like the worst therapist I’ve ever seen.”

“Just as well I’m a bartender then, isn’t it?” Syd said.

“I’d rather you were mixing me a drink than trying to get to the bottom of my problems,” said Cal, nudging Syd off the box and picking it up.

“I’m just trying to help,” Syd said. “You’ve got this crazy idea that women are like camp grounds and that you’re supposed to leave them better than you found them.”

“That’s not crazy, it’s polite,” said Cal, heaving the box into the back of the truck.

“Yeah, except you’re never the camp ground, are you, Cal?”

Cal rubbed her face with her hands. “All these metaphors are doing my head in.”

“Why aren’t you ever the one that is left better?” Syd asked.

Cal had no answer for that.

“Alright, try this then. Lucy obviously meant a lot to you, and you’ve given me all this bullshit about why you’re not good enough for her and blah, blah, blah, but my question is: why is she good enough for you then?”

“Because… because she made me feel good,” Cal said weakly.

“Try harder.”

“She made me feel… comfortable. Protected maybe. She didn’t, it’s weird, but she didn’t look at my butchness as… as masculinity maybe. She didn’t expect me to lead, didn’t expect me to do everything. She looked after me. Took control sometimes. Like she didn’t have this preconception of what I was supposed to be. It was nice.”

“Nice to be looked after.”

“Yeah.”

Syd sighed. “I’m not sure what more you can ask for from someone. And yet you seem to want more than that.”

“Am I being greedy now, is that the problem?”

Syd shook her head. “No, Cal. Not greedy. Maybe just… blind. It seems like this woman really liked you, really saw you, but you don’t seem to understand that.”