Page 50 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

‘Why now?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Why this anniversary? We’ve never done this before.’

Mum looks away, not meeting my eye. She goes to speak. Tries to work up the courage to talk about it—

Her cuckoo clock, hanging on the wall above us and somehow still operational, erupts. ‘Oh my lord ,’ she cries, hands to her cheeks. ‘I need to start on dinner.’

All talk of the anniversary forgotten, Mum swivels on a heel and charges towards the kitchen.

Later that day, five minutes past four, we’re making predictions on how late Naya and the family will arrive. I suggest twenty minutes, believing the twins will make a fuss upon departure and it’ll take extra time loading everyone into their people mover.

‘Controversial,’ Mum says, tapping her chin, ‘but I’m going to say forty minutes.’

‘ Forty ?’ I reply, aghast.

‘Raphael insists on dressing himself at the moment and it’s always something wildly impractical.

Leonard tries to reason with him, but of course that never works, and so Naya tells him that he can’t wear only one shoe outside the house, and he needs to wear a shirt. That’s when the shrieking starts.’

Again, I’m reminded of how little I know about my own nieces and nephews. My chest feels like it’s caving in.

And, of course, Mum is right, as it turns out.

Naya’s silver people mover is kerbside at exactly four-forty, Mum hurriedly slipping out the front door.

I was planning to wait a moment and let the family exit in their own time – if my memory is correct, it’s always a ten-minute disembark as they unbuckle children, pull out toys and bags, the electronics – but evidently, Mum doesn’t hold that same reservation.

She is full steam ahead to the car, barefoot and all.

‘Right,’ I whisper, following.

Mum goes straight for the children in the back seat, sliding open the kerbside door and popping her head into the car.

‘Look who’s here ,’ she cries. ‘At grandma’s hous— Oh, they’re all asleep.

’ She covers her mouth with her left hand, lowering her voice to a whisper.

‘Would you look at that. Charlie, they’re asleep.

Completely out of it. How funny. Come see!

’ She peers into the backseat again. ‘Although, I only count three children in here.’

Raphael, the four-year-old, sits in the far seat with his legs and arms splayed out wide, his mouth open to a cavernous size.

Drool bubbles at the corner of his mouth.

He’s still got that spiky black hair that I remember, and he’s wearing an outfit that does indeed suggest he dressed himself that day – black swimmers pulled up over his pants.

And then there are the twins, Juliette and Camille, almost two years old and dressed in matching outfits – yellow and white frilled dresses and velcro white shoes.

Ankle-high socks. They’re triple the size since I last saw them.

They look somewhat angelic, fastened in child seats, chins resting on their chests, Camille’s head tipped to the left.

Searching again, my brow furrows. Mum and I catch eyes. ‘No Darla?’

Leonard is stretching on the other side of the vehicle. He bends down to lengthen out his back. Then he sinks into his right hip and extends his left arm to the sky – after a moment, he repeats.

It appears that Leonard has finally accepted his fate and has shaved his head. Before, with his shoulder-length, shaggy grey hair, there was a bald patch forming on the crown of his head and Naya spent a solid amount of time biting her tongue about it.

Finally, my sister steps out from the passenger side. She’s got Dad’s long legs, wearing black leggings and an oversized, white buttoned-up shirt paired with ballet flats, her hair pulled back into a high bun. Her fringe seems frazzled, unsure of where it should sit.

She hesitates, then pulls me in for a tight hug. Awkwardness aside. ‘I was convinced you wouldn’t come.’ Releasing the hug, she continues, ‘Sorry we’re late, Leonard forgot his phone and we had to turn back. And Raphi insisted on swimmers over pants, so we were late to begin with.’

Mum and I share a look, and then she points to the back seat of the car. ‘Any chance you forgot a child, too?’

Naya smiles. ‘Ah, sorry, forgot to mention. Darla has a sleepover tonight. And no offence, Charlie, but a dinner with you wasn’t enough to lure her.’

‘None taken.’

Leonard has stopped stretching now, making his way around the bonnet of the car. ‘Charlie, you made it. Welcome back, great to see you.’

We hug, and then I point to his head. ‘Love the new style.’

He runs a hand over it. ‘Yeah, still getting used to it. A bit chillier now, with the mane gone.’

‘Still got the beard though.’

Naya smirks. ‘Couldn’t get rid of that even if I paid him,’ she says, winking at Leonard.

The conversation stills and Mum places a hand on Leonard’s forearm. ‘How are you? How’s the hand? And the back?’

Leonard attempts to reply but Naya cuts him off. ‘He carried a case of beer from the car to the fridge – he’s fine.’

Naya turns to me. ‘I birth four kids and it’s only ever Leonard she asks about.’ There’s something stilted about how she is around me, and I wonder if she’s replaying our last conversation in her mind. You’re impossible. Your life is so easy and you have no idea .

Raphael is awake, now. Eyes open, wiggling in his car seat.

Naya points at me. ‘Raphi, you remember Aunty Charlie?’

He does a double-take but says nothing. Head tilting, confused. Then, frustrated, he continues to wriggle, and Mum dives in to release him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Naya says, sympathetic.

Once inside, it’s like three tornadoes in the middle of suburbia. Children running through the house, out the back, around the yard, into the bedrooms. They must touch everything, question everything.

In the kitchen, Naya starts preparing meals for the twins. ‘They won’t eat Mum’s cooking, unfortunately.’

‘Because they’re fussy?’

‘No,’ Naya responds. ‘Because they’re two.’ She chops up an assortment of fruit. ‘If it looks strange, they won’t eat it. If it smells strange, they won’t eat it.’ She points to the slow cooker. ‘If it comes out of some oversized machinery like that, they definitely won’t eat it.’

‘Tricking them doesn’t work?’

Naya is amused. ‘Want me to try and convince them Mum’s chicken confit is actually chocolate? Tricking them can work, but it has to be realistic.’

‘At least sixty per cent of toddler management is marketing,’ I recite.

She points at me. ‘Exactly.’ Then she smiles.

I reach across and grab her hand. ‘It is really good to see you.’

Her facade falters for a moment, and I worry that she’s so overwhelmed, she might just crumble before me.

‘I’m worried about you,’ I say. ‘I’ve been ringing.’

She looks away. ‘Let’s forget about it.’

‘You asked me if I’m ever calm. You were trying not to cry.’

She gestures around her. ‘I’m always trying not to cry.’ She’s pressing ahead with her task, but I know her well enough to sense it’s a distraction. If she can focus on something else, she’ll stop herself from getting upset.

‘Are you okay?’

Raphael runs inside, asking how long until the food is ready. Naya tells him he needs to wait. To go back outside and play.

And then the kitchen is quiet again.

Still, she chooses not to answer my question, which I feel hanging over us in silence.

‘They’ve got so big,’ I say instead.

‘Destructive, too.’ Naya plates up their food and covers it in cling-wrap before putting it in the fridge.

‘I’m sure you get that all the time. Shows how long it’s been since I’ve seen them. Too long.’

Naya nods. ‘I’m sorry Raphi didn’t recognise you.’

‘Can I help with anything? Give me a task.’

Naya frowns, clicking her tongue a couple of times while she thinks.

‘Mum has a couple of highchairs. The girls are a bit old for them now, but it helps keep them still a bit longer. They’re in the hallway, in that tall cupboard where she keeps the ironing board.

And now that I think about it, I don’t think Leonard got out all of the toys we brought.

There’s an iPad, too, in one of the bags.

That’ll help keep Raphi occupied during dinner—’

‘Maybe I’ll grab Leonard too? To help?’

Naya is quick to dismiss that – desperate, arms outstretched. ‘No, please don’t.’ She peeks out the kitchen window at Leonard and Mum, deep in discussion in the backyard. ‘They keep each other occupied.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I love Mum. And of course I love Leonard. But Mum is a lot. And Leonard just loves talking. Mostly about himself. And she feels sorry for him and putting them together seems to just work, so I let them be.’

In this moment, I see how exhausted she is. Four kids and all. The tired way she holds her body, her hair thrown back into a bun, unbrushed. The darkness under her eyes.

‘He knows that’s his job,’ Naya says. ‘Keeping Mum busy.’

I didn’t think that was a task she’d need. Looking out the window, I see Leonard is watching the children, but he’s also pointing to something on his calf.

‘What do you think they’re discussing?’

Naya takes a generous sip of her wine. ‘Whatever it is, I’m just glad we don’t have to listen to it.’

Later that evening, Leonard settles the twins in their highchairs first, slipping their wiggly bodies down beside Mum’s mahogany dining table.

The twins barely fit, and they look somewhat ridiculous sitting in those highchairs, their bodies grown quite tall.

‘Next time you’re here, Charlie, the girls won’t need these anymore,’ Mum says from the kitchen. She’s slicing up some chicken into smaller, bite-sized pieces for Raphael. ‘They might be sitting at the table here with the rest of us.’

Leonard chuckles. ‘Or they might be off to uni.’

Naya’s lips twitch as she suppresses a smile. I guess I deserve that.