Oblivion

Chapter 6

With a groan of frustration, I close the fridge; there’s only one beer left. That wouldn’t even be enough to get me through a regular night. 

The click-clack of heels against hardwood heralds my mother’s approach. 

“Okay, I think I’m leaving now,” she declares shuffling into the kitchen, partially to inform me, and partially to affirm it for herself. She pauses, and with a snap of her fingers, mutters, “Purse.” She exhales a curse word, and goes back the way she came, leaving audible footprints behind.

Mum’s going to some social event for work; apparently her co-workers bullied her into attending. She used to love these things, mainly because dad would escort her, but even after he stopped going, she had loved the excuse to dress up. Tonight, however, if it were up to her, she’d stay home.

Her shoes alert me to her return.

“These bloody pumps!” Using the counter for support, she removes one of her heels and inspects it closely. “Feels like they’ve shrunk a size. I don’t know how I’ll last the night.” She glances at me. “You and Gabby will be fine on your own, right?” 

“Yeah.” The lie has a bitter taste. I look down at the newly opened package of ramen. Fine.

She replaces her shoe, and hobbles to the entryway mirror, checking her lipstick. Satisfied with the magenta glaze, she turns to me. “I won’t be back until late. Edgar is hell-bent on getting smashed, and as usual, I have to make sure he gets home safely.”

Mum is a barrister at an important London firm, though Edgar Pryce, her boss, treats her more like a personal assistant than a coworker.

“Okay. Bye mum.” 

“Bye Grace,” she murmurs, and then shouts, “Bye Gabby!”

Hearing her name, my little sister dashes into the kitchen carrying five or six Barbie dolls, their golden locks swish wildly with her movement.

“Bye mum! Love you!” she shouts, midrun. 

The door slams.

Gabby stands still for a moment, waiting.  Her shoulders droop; she’s realized she isn’t going to get a reply. Eyes aimed at the ground, she sulks over to a stool and pulls herself up, spreading her dolls across the counter in front of her. 

“What are we having for supper?” 

The ramen package crinkles when I hold it up. She wrinkles her nose.

“Can we have something else?” 

“Like what?” 

She thinks while I drop the nest of crispy noodles into the pot of boiling water. 

“Pizza. Or cake.”

A short giggle passes my lips before I can stop it. “We’re not ordering pizza.” Displaying a missing tooth, Gabby starts to grin. “Or having cake.” Her face falls. 

“Oh, poo,” she pouts. It’s a fake frown though, because a pleased smile is tugging her cheeks upward; she made me laugh.

A buzzing from my pocket interrupts our exchange. 

Come round? ;) –H 

“Grace? After supper, will you play Barbies with me?” Gabby asks, pushing one of the dolls toward me. 

Can’t tonight. -G 

“No Gabby, I, uh, have schoolwork. Play on your own,” I mumble, concentrating on hitting the right keys. 

Why not? -H

“You always have schoolwork,” she mutters, scooping the dolls into her arms and hopping off the chair. Even though dinner is nearly ready, I let her go back to her game. 

I just can’t. -G

“I know,” I confess quietly, stirring the pot of noodles.

With one last wistful glance at my mobile, I open the fridge and grab the lone beer bottle. Sighing, I pop the cap, and lift the cool, amber rim to my lips.

 It’s going to be a long night.

--- 

I lie on the bed, waiting for Harry to finish his shower. As I stretch out, yawning, I feel something silky brush my foot. Curious, I sit up and reach under the covers, to pull it out. It’s a red thong. I recoil and toss it to the floor; it isn’t mine. 

The bathroom door opens, and Harry steps out, a towel loosely draped around his hips. He runs his fingers through his hair, shaking out droplets of water.

“The shower’s all yours, Gra-“ He stops short, noticing the red silk. Glancing at me, he grins sheepishly. “I can explain,” he says, bending to pick up the panties. I slip off the bed, and breeze past him.

“No need.”

“Grace,” he says, catching my hand, and spinning me to face him.  Guilt shows plainly in his eyes, as he searches mine. I shrug out of his hold.

“I’m not bothered by it, Harry. I’m assuming she came over the other night?” 

“Well, yeah,” he admits, rubbing his neck.

“It’s fine, I don’t really care,” I call brusquely, shutting the bathroom door behind me, swiftly locking it. Leaning against the frame, I sigh. 

At least, I shouldn’t care. 

I catch my reflection in the fog-stained mirror. My brown hair is beginning to kink and curl with the leftover humidity. I comb my fingers through it, attempting to quell the frizz. 

It’s silly. I’m being such a silly girl about this. 

Harry doesn’t owe me any loyalty. We aren’t exclusive, or even in a relationship. There is no reason that he shouldn’t be able to take another girl to bed. None. Besides, how could I expect to hold him –a world-renowned pop star and incorrigible flirt– back?

My image in the mirror agrees. It would take someone much prettier than me. Or at least, someone less dysfunctional. 

I shake my head, dismissing my thoughts. 

This the way I want it: no strings, no feelings, and no loss. 

But if that’s true, what is this queasy feeling in my stomach? 

A knock on the door makes me jump.

“Grace?” Harry asks. “I don’t hear the shower running; is everything okay?” 

“Shi-yeah! Everything’s fine!” 

“If you’re sure,” he hedges. I hear his footfalls retreating. 

I’m sure. 

It shouldn’t matter.

 It doesn’t matter.