Page 14 of The Weight Of It All

Seven

My phone beeped, waking me up. I didn’t recall downloading an exploding jackhammer as my message sound, but it boomed in my head. I cracked one eye open and regretted it immediately. The blinding sunlight pierced my brain, spawning a thousand fire ants inside my skull.

Good. Fucking. Lord.

The thought of butterscotch schnapps made my stomach roll. And peach, and strawberry, and some glow in the dark glacier type of schnapps . Fucking hell.

I reached blindly for my phone hoping the message that woke me was from Anika and she was as sick as me, but when I could finally peel my eyelids open and focus on the screen, I saw it was Reed.

Did you survive?

My mouth felt like I’d licked the pavement the whole way home. Nausea bubbled in my stomach, and the fire ants were still partying in my head.

My replies were sent in separate, fragmented messages.

No.

Because schnapps.

Anika’s fault.

#PrayForHenry

His reply was immediate.

HAHAHA

Not funny. Dying.

Did you want to go shopping for new gym clothes?

Today?

Yes.

But I’m dying.

That bad, huh?

Spectacularly.

No worries.

Even hung-over I could tell he sounded disappointed.

Tomorrow? If I can manage being upright, I’ll make you a citrus tart tonight.

Deal. Will you be at your session with me in the morning?

Ugh, gym. How much would be a significant bribe to get me out of it?

Two citrus tarts.

I smiled, despite the pain in my head.

Did you know fire ants vomit lava?

Um, that’s random, but no I didn’t know that.

True. They’re inside my brain right now.

Vomiting lava?

Feels like it.

Oh, poor you.

I only have enough lemon butter for one citrus tart.

Then one will have to do.

I tried sitting up in bed and fell back with a groan.

Nope. Can’t even sit up. I think fire ants vomit lava and wield tiny swords.

LOL

Still not funny.

Go back to sleep Henry .

Thank you.

I rolled onto my side, threw my phone onto the bed beside me, and let the fire ants stab my brain.

I walked into the gym right on eight o’clock the next morning with my sunnies firmly in place. “Here he is,” Reed greeted me cheerfully. “I wondered whether you would show today.”

The lady at the counter with Reed, who I now knew to be Emily, smiled at me. “Reed told us about the hashtag Pray For Henry.”

I nodded. “Did anyone hold a candlelight vigil for my brain cells that died?”

Reed snorted. “Should we have?”

“Yes.”

“And what about the lava-vomiting, sword-wielding fire ants?” Reed asked.

“Evil little fuckers.”

Reed and Emily both cracked up laughing. Then Reed asked, “Gonna take those sunglasses off?”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Can I claim photosensitivity today?”

“Nope.” Reed reached over, and using both hands, he gently removed my sunnies. Both he and Emily recoiled. “Ew.”

“My eyeballs need cutting and bleeding.”

Reed nodded. “Kinda. How did Anika pull up?”

“She still can’t get out of bed.”

Reed chuckled. “Must’ve been a good night.”

“The last thing she remembers is me standing on a table and singing ‘Drink With Me’ from Les Mis .” Reed laughed, and I cleared my throat. “Though I’m sure she’s lying. ”

He was grinning now. “Mmhmm.”

“‘Can You Hear The People Sing’ is by far a better a song to sing while standing on a table. I’m pretty sure I’d have sung that. And it’s so obvious that ‘Empty Chairs’ is only a song you sing at closing time.”

Reed threw his head back and laughed. “So obvious.”

“See? Everyone knows that.”

“You have no recollection of singing?”

“None.”

“Oh dear.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Then I better take it easy on you today.”

“Yes, please.”

I spent the next hour zoned out in some other mental space. Going through the motions of the treadmill, then the elliptical. I used the weights and pulley machine, upping my lift weight to fifteen kilos.

Reed was duly impressed. “You should be hung-over more often.”

“I’m dying, just so you know.”

He just grinned. “We still going gym clothes shopping? I need to get a new pair of jeans, and because I have no clue and you do, I thought we could do that while we’re there too.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll go home first, though. I need to shower because I’m sweaty and gross.” I was pretty sure my sweat smelled of schnapps. “You’re done here in an hour?”

“Yep.”

“When did you want me to bring you the citrus tart?”

His eyes lit up. “You made me one?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, Henry. You are the best.”

“I finally dragged myself out of bed at about four o’clock yesterday. I spent two hours trying to be upright and not dying in the shower, then when I could stand without dry heaving, I ordered Chinese food and made someone his new-favourite lemon dessert.”

He was grinning, then he tilted his head. “Chinese food for a hangover?”

“Wonton soup. The right mix of salty and sweet, liquid and food, all in the one dish.”

“I’m more of a burger and Coke kind of guy.”

“You? A burger and Coke? Does that not breach every dietary rule you have?”

“Only for hangovers. And let’s face it, the alcohol the night before has pretty much killed the diet. Saturated fat and sodium and a tonne of sugar are the only things that will fix me. Not that I drink that often. And when I do drink, I don’t inhale schnapps.”

“Ugh. Don’t even say that word.”

“My grandmother is German,” Reed said wistfully. “She has the real schnapps if you want me to hook you up?”

I squinted at him. “I think that citrus tart just became mine.”

He laughed. “I’ll see you out the front in about an hour.”

I pulled up at the gym and had to wait a few minutes.

I was contemplating sending him a quick text when he came through the front doors, laughing at something or with someone inside.

When he got into the car, his reason for being a little late was obvious.

He smelled of soap and deodorant, and his hair was damp and neatly brushed.

I wasn’t sure which I preferred: fresh and clean or hot and sweaty. I shook that thought from my head. “You showered?”

He stuffed his gym bag by his feet. “Yep. I didn’t want to be trying on clothes straight after work.

I’m sure there are health regulations against being sweaty and gross and putting on clothes someone else might buy.

” He clicked his seatbelt on, settled in comfortably with a grin, while impossibly filling one half of my car with his huge frame. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, not at all. I was busy selling your citrus tart on eBay to the highest bidder.”

Reed looked at me like I’d just flicked a little puppy on the head. I may have laughed.

“Oh, I see how it is.” He shook his head and chuckled at me. “So, where are we going to?”

“I was thinking Birkenhead. Is that okay with you? Or would you prefer the city?” Birkenhead Point was a huge factory outlet shopping centre with everything imaginable, from a dollar shop to Ralph Lauren.

But it was kind of close, and I knew he rode his bike there often, and given he didn’t have a car and I was driving, he might prefer a trip to the city.

“I have a parking spot in the city. Let’s go there. ”

Reed shrugged, like he really didn’t care either way. “Okay.”

The beauty of living in Balmain was that it was literally a ten-minute drive into the city.

I pulled into my work car park, which took us about four storeys below Pitt Street.

When we’d finally circled down and I drove into a reserved spot with my number plate painted on the wall, Reed seemed surprised. “You do this every day?”

“Yep. Though sometimes if I know I’ll be finishing early, I’ll leave the car at home and jump on a bus.” I pointed over to the elevator, and we walked toward it. “Traffic today was great. Weekdays aren’t always so good.”

“I’ll never complain about my short stroll to work again.”

We stepped into the elevator, and I pressed the button to the street level. “Yeah, you’ve got it pretty easy.”

“Except when it rains.”

“What do you do when it rains? ”

“Get wet.”

I snorted. “Nice.”

“Well, see, they have these new inventions nowadays called umbrellas.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah okay. Hey, would you look at that?” I said, pulling out my phone. “The highest bidder of the lemon tart just won.”

Reed laughed as we stepped out of the elevator and into Martin Place and into the warm Sydney sun. The sky was blue, people walking past were smiling, and I had to wonder when the last time I stopped to consider if it was a nice day or not.

“So you work along here?” Reed asked.

“Yep. Just down there,” I said, pointing to the huge sandstone heritage building. “But it’s not that exciting.”

“Well, not for you,” he countered. “But it’s a pretty special place to work, no?”

I smiled up at him. “I guess.”

“Though I don’t envy you the corporate uniform.”

“I actually don’t mind wearing a suit every day. It eliminates the dilemma of what to wear.”

Reed scoffed. “Yeah, no thanks. Give me my gym shorts and T-shirt any day. Though I’ve seen you in your suit. Very suave.”

I remembered when I’d delivered the slice of lemon tart to the gym on my way to work the other day. He’d waved, so that’s when he must have seen me. “Do you think flattery will get you your citrus tart back? Because the guy on eBay put in a pretty good offer.”

He chuckled warmly. “The flattery is real, but I’ll shout you a coffee as bribery for the tart.”

“Mmm, flattery and coffee. Two of my favourite things.”

Reed gave me his award-winning smile, and as we walked down George Street toward the Strand, I learned he grew up in Leichhardt, has one brother and two sisters, his parents are still happily married, he has a huge extended family of nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles, and if I could possibly imagine an Australian-German comedy and food festival, that about summed up his family. Or so he said.