Page 6 of What Did I Miss?

What does one wear to a dinner with a man one’s danced under the doona with?

How would Makayla know? She’s never been in this situation, or even on a proper date, if that’s what this is.

The fizzing in her stomach tells her it might be.

And the longer she entertains the notion, the more her heart flutters.

Makayla grabs her keys while jiggling nerves away. Choosing her outfit will have to wait. There’s a more pressing matter to deal with: finding out what her aunt’s big news is and why Warren, of all people, was told first.

‘I’ll be back soon. Be good,’ Makayla tells her dog as she steps outside.

Piper smooshes her wrinkly face against the window in a wide-eyed plea. She’s clearly forgotten they went on an hour-long walk this morning.

The suburban street is dead quiet until Quinn turns into it.

You can’t miss her – she’s driving Gertie, her 1967 Ford Mustang GT Fastback, which originally belonged to Granny Frances.

With its slick black exterior and two white stripes down the centre, it’s a real showstopper.

Quinn called earlier and insisted they go on an afternoon drive. She must be ready to talk.

Makayla takes the utmost care as she lowers herself into the passenger seat that’s wrapped in the original leather. After fifty-plus years, the oak scent still lingers. They greet each other with a fist bump because Quinn is one of the few people who accepts that Makayla is not a hugger.

They drive through Goldbrooke, passing utes full of young women yahooing on their way to the pub. The Falcons must’ve won the footy. Locals line the footpath to wave at the athletes like they’re heroes in a parade.

The dinky suburb blurs in the side mirror as they turn onto a winding road that leads to the coast. Quinn has never invited Makayla on a drive before.

Usually it was Warren who rode shotgun when Quinn wanted company.

While she appreciated having the house to herself, Makayla didn’t enjoy being left out.

Quinn and Warren had their own secret club, and her lack of enthusiasm for cars, vintage or otherwise, meant she’d never be part of it.

Makayla opens the window and inhales the salty air. It hits her nostrils before the crowded shoreline comes into view. Black sand stretches on forever while rubbish floats in the murky waters. They ride in silence – that can’t be good. Whenever they hang out, Quinn tends to chew her ear off.

They get along well because Quinn was an ‘oopsie baby’, so they’re only ten years apart. With matching high cheekbones and heart-shaped lips, they could easily pass as sisters. And much like an older sibling, Quinn dishes out plenty of sage advice – whether Makayla wants to hear it or not.

‘Guess who I heard from this morning? Your dad,’ Quinn says.

‘How is Garry?’

‘He said he’s been trying to get a hold of you. Answer his bloody calls so he doesn’t harass me, would you?’

Makayla will do no such thing. Her father wants to gloat about her divorce. Probably has a special cask of wine saved for the occasion. Not a day goes by when Makayla doesn’t thank her lucky stars Garry moved away. He and his foul temper can fuck right off.

Quinn brings Gertie to a standstill in a secluded spot overlooking the crashing waves. The perfect location to offload a dead body.

‘Who’s the guy?’ Quinn asks, glancing sideways at her.

‘What guy?’ Makayla’s voice sounds higher than she’d like.

‘The one you’ve put that crap on for.’ She points out the pearly pink varnish covering Makayla’s brittle nails.

Makayla tucks her fingers under her jeans, cursing Cece, who came over earlier and insisted on painting them. Makayla hasn’t worn pink since she was five.

‘I’m just catching up with someone from work. It’s nothing,’ Makayla explains.

‘Don’t tell me you’re dating already. C’mon, MK. Now’s your chance to do all the things you’ve always wanted without some dead weight holding you back.’ Quinn launches into her Ms Independent spiel.

Those were the words that inspired the list Makayla wrote at the bar last weekend. But ever since Beau strolled into school, that scrunched-up napkin hasn’t left the bottom of her bag. She should retrieve it.

Makayla spent most of her twenties playing house, and working two jobs to save for one of their own.

She’d also made the mistake of marrying Warren, who is afraid of adventure and allergic to ambition.

He once turned down an opportunity to own Dicky’s Garage, a thriving local business, saying he preferred to clock off and not give work a second thought.

‘Those beers aren’t going to drink themselves. ’

‘It’s not a date,’ Makayla argues, ‘and even if it was – which it isn’t – Warren’s got a girlfriend already, and they’re living together.’

Quinn scoffs. ‘That’d be right. That’s the difference between us and them. We don’t need others to make our lives better.’

The us and them she’s referring to isn’t women and men, it’s the Andersons versus the world. Quinn is much like Gran – determined to do it all on her own.

‘What’s new with you?’ Makayla steers the conversation in another direction. Besides, she’s genuinely curious. Their weekly catch-ups stopped abruptly a month ago.

Gripping the wood-rim steering wheel, Quinn opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. On the fourth attempt, she finally gets the words out.

‘I put in my notice at work.’

Makayla drops her shoulders. ‘Did you get another job?’

‘Not exactly. I’m heading overseas in a few months.’

‘For how long?’

‘If everything pans out, indefinitely. I’ll be a citizen of the world.’ She waves her hands with a dramatic flair. ‘Don’t give me that look. I always say I’m going to, and why not? I’ll be forty soon. Greg wouldn’t step foot outside of Australia, so I never got the chance to travel.’

Quinn says her ex’s name the way people say ‘bomb’ at an airport – in a hushed tone, with intense eye contact. Ever since he gambled away their house deposit, there’s been an unspoken rule not to mention him.

‘I’m happy for you.’ An annoying lump appears in Makayla’s throat. Quinn’s the only real family she has left. ‘What will you do with all your stuff? Storage will cost a mint. You can stash some boxes at my place if you like.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks. To do this properly, I need to go all in. Anything that doesn’t fit in my suitcase, I will sell, donate or gift. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

Quinn rubs the dashboard like she’s soothing a child about to be orphaned. Makayla suppresses a grin; she knows where this is going.

‘Don’t get mad. I’m thinking of asking Warren if he’d like my Mustang.’

Makayla sits bolt upright. ‘Why?’

‘For starters, he’s a mechanic, and you know he’s always loved this old gal.

’ She taps the driver’s side door fondly.

‘Plus, you treat your Jeep like crap – you still haven’t repaired that dint at the back.

It’s been there for months. Mum would roll over in her grave if you neglected Gertie.

At least Waz will take good care of her. ’

The betrayal stings like a hundred rubber bands flicking her at once. Warren doesn’t deserve to drive off into the sunset with Gertie and whatever-her-name-is. Not after what he did.

‘Let me buy it from you. I’ll pay double if I have to.’ It’s a long shot. She knows Warren made a similar offer in the past.

‘Pffft.’ Quinn swats the air. ‘I don’t want or need your money.’

It’s true. Greg carked it last Christmas and even though they split up three years ago, Quinn’s the beneficiary of his superannuation and life insurance. No wonder she’s retiring early.

‘I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you’re interested,’ Quinn adds.

‘It’s been in our family for two generations. You know how sentimental I am.’ Makayla keeps a straight face. ‘And whaddayaknow, I’m turning the Big Three-O in a few months. This could be my gift. Please . I’ll do anything.’

‘Anything?’ Quinn quirks a pierced eyebrow. ‘Hmmm.’ She sinks into her seat, gazing ahead at the low-hung clouds for the longest minute ever. ‘Okay. I have a few conditions.’

Makayla gulps. How far is she willing to go to beat Warren?

‘Number one: Join the Mustang Owners Club of New South Wales and attend their car shows. There’s one coming up before I leave.

I’ll introduce you to the crew and show you how to display Gertie.

She draws a crowd, and gets a ton of compliments.

’ Quinn lifts her chin with stage-mum pride.

Being the daughter of the club’s founding member has clearly gone to her head.

Makayla nods reluctantly. Even when Gran was alive, she couldn’t muster the energy to attend car shows. They’re full of rev heads trying to compensate for their shortcomings.

‘Anything else?’

Quinn twists her lips into a wicked grin, and Makayla regrets asking.

‘Listen up, this one’s important. I want you to stay single until you turn thirty.’

‘Huh?’ A nervous laugh spills out. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘You’ve been married your entire adult life. I don’t want to see you make the same mistake I did, jumping from one person to the next. Take the time to digest what happened and figure out what you want or you’ll just end up with another man who’ll suck you into his orbit and make you miserable.’

Makayla knows exactly which mistake Quinn is referring to. They also don’t talk about Steve – the knob Quinn went out with after Greg.

‘Relationships hold us back. Trust me, I know.’ She releases a heavy sigh. ‘I’m doing you a favour. You’ll see. If you can manage all that by your birthday, the car is yours. What do you say?’

A couple in matching striped tops waltz across the sand hand-in-hand, their gazes locked on each other.

Will Makayla ever have that again? Minus the touching, of course, because PDAs make her gag.

It’s hard to remember if Warren ever looked at her like that.

Maybe in the beginning. After a while, he stopped noticing her entirely. Stopped caring.