Page 23 of Meant to Be

JOSIE

Adroplet of condensation slides down the side of my glass, moistening the tablecloth underneath. Sam obnoxiously scrapes his fork over his plate as he eats, the sound of his chewing floating down the table.

“You got a job? And a place?” my mother echoes, her hand frozen in mid-air as she blinks at me.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” my father interrupts. No congratulations. Nothing. “What’s the point? You won’t stick around here for longer than five minutes.”

We all ignore him. I don’t let his words hurt me. He’s always been a tough-love kind of guy, and I’m used to it now. I’m not weak anymore.

“That’s fantastic news, Josie,” Mum says. “I did say you didn’t need to get your own place, though.”

“I’m twenty-one. I think Ineedmy own place,” I reply. Dad makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t comment.

“Where is it?” Sam asks before shovelling a large mouthful of mashed potato into his mouth. Some of it spills down the front of his shirt. I bite the inside of my cheek. His eating habits haven’t changed much in four years.

“It’s Cheryl’s old place. Near town.”

“Oh, yeah. I know the one. Small.”

“It’s fine for me,” I say.

“So, when I go to the dentist now, you’ll be the one doing all that shit to my teeth?” Sam asks, always having a way with words, as he makes a barbaric gesture towards his mouth.

“Sort of, yeah.”

“That’ll go down well in town.”

Mum’s fork hits the table with a loud clang. She fumbles to pick it up, and I glower at Sam.

“Gee, thanks.”

Dad has gone an unhealthy red, and he suddenly pushes from the table and stomps out of the room. The screen door bangs open. He’s probably gone out to smoke. He has pretended our entire lives that he doesn’t smoke, even though we all know he does.

Mum sighs, and Sam shakes his head in an innocent, ‘what did I do?’ way.

“They’ll have to deal with it,” I say eventually.

Sam shrugs, spooning a pile of steamed vegetables into his mouth, yet again spilling some, although onto the tablecloth this time. “It’ll be entertaining, that’s for sure.”

Everyone finishes eating in silence, and by the end, I’ve lost my appetite.

As much as I’ve tried to outrun the past, it’ll always catch up to me.

* * *

Tuesday, my application was approved, and Wednesday, I was unpacking.

Music is blaring from my speakers, most of my boxes now empty, and the place is starting to feel homey. With some inspiration from Pinterest, I feel like I’ve transformed the space around me. It still needs a few final touches, but overall, I’m quite satisfied with how it has turned out.

I flop onto my bed. I was lucky enough that Mum had a spare she gave me. I didn’t bring anything with me, but all that I needed, I managed to grab at the local store or order online.

This is the first time a place ismine. I grew up in a small, overcrowded house with parents and a brother who didn’t understand personal space. When I moved to Brisbane, I rushed straight into a tiny two-bedroom apartment with a girl named Frankie, who had a scarily large spike running through her earlobe and a spider tattoo painted across her neck. We didn’t speak much.

Then, I met Elliot. And everything happened quickly after that. Although the apartment we shared was amazing, I still never had my own space. With cleaners, gardeners, and cooks coming and going, not to mention Elliot hovering over my shoulder, I didn’t have many moments of peace.

I was out with a friend when I first met Elliot. The bar had been loud and bright. I was five drinks in, one leg folded over the other, leaning in close to the man who had bought my last one. Feeling eyes on me, I let my own drift over to a guy leaning on the bar, a glass of something dark coloured in his palm. He was dressed in a polished suit. Clean, neat, professional. He smiled and beckoned me over.