Ceebee knows that look. She’s seen it a thousand times. Every time Max’s name is mentioned.
‘So. What did he want?’ It’s the look her mother gives her when something is bothering her, but she doesn't want to discuss it. A furrowed brow, a tight-lipped smile and eye contact that never quite connects. She keeps busy stirring a pot, adjusting a dial on the stovetop, wiping a bench, and not saying anything.
‘He’s here on business.’
Cooking smells permeate the air. News in the background talks about political upheaval, the risk of a global pandemic, and how lucky we all were to avoid the global financial crisis that’s just rocked the world. A dog outside barks and Ceebee’s fifty-five-year-old mother puts a pot of tea on the table and a cup and saucer for herself and her only daughter.
‘Are you seeing him again?’ Ceebee’s mother manages to avoid direct eye contact as she scrutinises her daughter as only a mother can. She lifts the lid of the teapot and steam streams out. The smell reminds Ceebee of growing up in the suburbs and the carefree days of her childhood.
‘Yes,Ttonight.’
‘Oh. That’s nice.’ Ceebee senses the tension in her mother’s voice. It’s almost impossible to mention Max’s name without arguing. ‘Where’s he taking you?’
‘He’s not. I’m taking him.’
She pours tea into her cup and then into Ceebee’s. She’s careful to make sure they’re both filled to a precise level before adding milk to them. ‘Are you having sugar this week?’ Ceebee’s mum looks directly into her eyes.
‘Maybe a half.’
Ceebee’s mum grabs a light blue packet of cigarettes and offers one to Ceebee.
‘No, I’ve quit.’ Ceebee reaches into her handbag and pulls out her new phone.
‘What’s that?’ Ceebee’s mum takes a drag of her smoke and lets it sit on the corner of an ashtray the shape of a clamshell.
‘It’s an iPhone.’
‘What’s wrong with your old phone? And why do you need to carry a phone around with you anyway?’ She’s scratching for an argument now.
‘It’s for work, mum.’
‘What sort of work requires you to carry a phone around?’
The two women pause. Ceebee’s mum takes another drag from her smoke and puts it back in the ashtray. She takes another sip of her tea and places the cup on the table. Ceebee stares at the packet of blues, a logo prompting her to “Anyhow, have a cigarette”.
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She opens it, lights a smoke, takes a deep drag, and places it on the opposite side of the ashtray. ‘It’s for work mum. I don’t know. They just gave it to me.’
Ceebee’s mum looks suspiciously at the palm-sized device and then at her daughter.
‘It was either this or a Blackberry. Besides, Max always said to watch out for Apple’s big comeback.’
‘Isn’t that the company with the worthless stock he gave you when he called off the engagement and went to America with that hooker?’
Ceebee holds her breath for a moment. She doesn’t want to fight. ‘She wasn’t a hooker, mum.’ The women face off. ‘She was in promotions.’
‘Is that what he told you after he fucked you and left you for dust?’
Ceebee’s body tenses and her breath shortens. She hates fighting with her mum, but it’s like the fight has a mind of its own. ‘I don’t wanna do this mum. Can’t we just leave it?’
Ceebee’s shiny phone starts vibrating and playing a tune. Outside, a dog barks incessantly. She grabs the phone off the table in one hand and presses a small button, silencing the ringtone. ‘Give me a second,’ she says into the phone. ‘Give me a minute,’ Ceebee says to her mum, already standing.
‘Take as long as you like. You always do whatever you want anyway.’
Grabbing her cup and the still-burning cigarette, Ceebee pushes backwards through the flywire screen door and into the backyard of her childhood. A golden retriever jumps around excitedly. She places her cup on the edge of an outdoor table and sits on the tree stump that’s always been there. ‘Hi!’
‘Good morning!’ Max always sounds like he’s excited to speak to you. ‘What’re ya up to?’
‘Just visiting mum.’
‘Does she still hate me?’
‘She doesn’t hate you—she just doesn’t understand.’
‘Are we still on for tonight then?’
‘Yes! I’m taking you to an old favourite.’
‘Churlows?’
‘No. I haven’t been there since Seb left.’
‘Radii?’
‘Yes, Radii.’
‘Great! I’m looking forward to seeing you, Ceebs.’
‘Me too. Meet me there around seven.’
‘Will do.’
‘I’ve gotta go. Mum’ll be bursting a passive-aggressive vein if I don’t get back to her.’
‘Send her my love.’
‘Don’t be an arsehole, Max.’
‘Sorry!’
‘I’ll see you at seven.’
Ceebee’s mum backs through the fly screen door with an ashtray and smoke in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. She places the ashtray and the tea on the table and takes a drag of her smoke. ‘So you’re going?’
‘Yes. I’m going.’
‘You’re a big girl—you know what you're doing.’
‘Mum. I’m thirty-three. You had three kids by the time you were my age.’
‘And you’re still single and hanging around with those poofters.’
‘Jesus, mum! They’re entertainers.’
‘Entertainers!’ Ceebee winces. ‘They’re strippers Ceebee. They take their clothes off for money, and they fuck each other for fun.’
‘That’s it, I’m going.’ Ceebee stands and puts her phone in her back pocket. She butts out her cigarette, pats her dog, and opens the flyscreen door. She pauses and turns to face her mum.
‘I love you mum.’
The flyscreen door clangs shut, and Ceebee leaves the house she has known all her life.