When Clinton called an end to the session, there was a lightness shared amongst them all and Nif realised she’d come again. For the two hours they’d talked, not about shifting but about the things that were truly important to each of them, it felt as if they’d hit a reset button. All the anxiety and frustration and anger was swept aside.
They moved together as a group to the front of the hall, everyone carrying something from their evening snacks -- Nif had the esky -- and Clinton turned off the lights and made sure the doors were locked.
In the car park, they lingered. Philippa was laughing at a poorly executed joke Morris had said. Clinton, Josephine and Moira were sharing recipes for a pasta sauce. Oliver’s shoulder bumped up against Nif’s, his arms cradling a box full of mugs against his chest.
“Will you be back next week?” Oliver asked, as Moira hollered for Oliver to wait while she brought the car round. “We haven’t scared you off, I hope.”
“Yeah, you’ll see me again. I wasn’t too sure earlier and, in the end, it was more spur of the moment that I even came, but I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad you decided to come along. We don’t often have new members.”
They waved as Josephine and Philippa hurried off to catch their bus and Morris grumbled his own farewells and disappeared into the car park.
“I’m going to return the key to security,” Clinton said, dangling the keyring from his finger. “It was a pleasure having you, Jennifer. I hope to see you again next week.”
“Unless an unforeseen event strikes, I’ll definitely be here. I’ll bring muffins.”
“Wonderful. Here’s my number,” he said, handing her his card. “So let me know if you have any questions or think you can’t make it. Get home safely, you hear?”
“Thanks Clinton.”
The older man tossed them a cheery wave and headed off towards the school office, leaving Oliver and Nif together.
“He’s a good bloke, Clint,” Oliver said, smiling after the man. “Before Moira and I found his support group, Moira was really struggling. She was hitting wall after wall at the university, supervisors pulling out at the last minute and at one point she considered throwing in the towel entirely and going back home to work in her mum’s cafe. She would’ve hated it. But after meeting Clint and the others, her confidence soared. Her supervisors didn’t know what hit them.” Oliver laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes having someone who can really understand you is all you need to tackle the rest of the world.”
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
It was getting colder, the temperature dropping as the last of the day’s warmth leached from the asphalt. The sky was clear, the stars bright, like shards of ice, and Nif wondered if they were heading towards early snow.
“So are you like me? A non-shifter or like Moira or Morris?” Nif asked,
“Actually…” Oliver began, fingers drumming on the outside of the mug box.
“Oi, this carriage is leaving with or without you,” Moira bellowed from the window of a cute blue bubble of a car. A dozen different coloured tree fragrances hung from her mirror in a fat bushel.
“Go on. Maybe next time,” Nif said, handing over the esky. She told herself the only reason she didn’t ask for his number was because she didn’t want to ruin the chance of coming to this support group again. Philippa and Josephine were oddly intense in their own unique ways, and Morris was obviously eager for the company and genuine attention. Moira was so sweet and even now, as she half hung out the window to wave to Nif as they drove off, made Nif want to take her home to her parents. Oliver though...she smiled a secret smile. There was potential there. She’d admit that. There was something about him that made her chest glow with excitement and nervousness, the sweet combination of a new crush.
“Wait Moira, hold your horses,” Oliver’s voice drifted back across the car park. Moira had stopped at the car park entrance and Oliver had scrambled out of the passenger seat to jog back towards Nif. He was madly scribbling down something, which he thrust towards Nif when he was close enough.
“I forgot to give you this. My number. Just in case, you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Nif didn’t have time to say anything, skin hot, when Oliver spun on his heel and loped back towards the car. The numbers were scrawled across an old takeaway receipt, the sevens almost looking like ones, but Nif didn’t wait to type it into her phone, standing beneath the lone street lamp.
My friends call me Nif, she typed, hovering over the send button before taking the plunge, hitting send.
Almost immediately her phone buzzed from an incoming call, but it wasn’t Oliver.
“Sapha!” Nif answered, starting towards her bus stop and calculating how many changes she’d have to make at this time of night.
“Just checking if I need to release the hounds yet.”
“You’d use hounds?”
“They’re my minions as you should know. Everything went okay then? They weren’t a bunch of weirdos?”
“They were all lovely. Actually, I think I might have met someone,” Nif admitted and she skipped a few steps.
“Good for you, hon. Could you grab more chips? We’re out.”
“You’re the worst friend ever,” Nif grumbled.
“But the one you’d call to a knife fight. Text me when you get on a bus, okay?”
“Okay.” Nif hung up and received a message. A photo. Moira and Oliver at a red light, pulling faces. No matter what ended up happening, she’d made some new friends. She put her phone away, ignoring the buzz of more messages, and hurried to her stop, keeping an eye out for any creepers or bag snatchers. But Oliver’s smile chased away her lingering fears from earlier today, and nothing could burst her bubble.