Everything Between Us Read online

  “Did someone come in and comfort you?”

  “Yes. Nurse Annie. She’s nice.”

  “Good. What are you doing today?”

  “It’s Friday so Mommy and Daddy are coming to visit.”

  “That’s great. Will you say hello to them from me?” I always ask; Bea always forgets.

  “Yes, and I will also tell them that you called and that you’re doing great.” She goes on in her high-pitched, care-free voice. “Have a nice day, Josephine,” my sister says earnestly just before she hangs up.

  I don’t get up immediately but search for the last picture of the two of us together, taken two Christmases ago at her boarding school. We’re both wearing Santa hats and pulling faces and she looks so happy and unperturbed. I smile because I can’t help myself. My younger sister has had that effect on me since the day she was born, even though it was clear that she was different. I sometimes wish I had her straightforward and uncomplicated outlook on life.

  The first thing I do after I get out of bed is put on my running gear. Fully dressed, I head into the kitchen and pour myself a large glass of water to wash down my morning supplements with. While I’m swallowing, I download the latest episode of the Mindful Eating podcast to my phone. Then I’m ready to go.

  Running makes me feel more free than anything else, which is why I do it every single day. I go out first thing to avoid the pitiful glances I can’t seem to get used to. Look at that big girl trying to run, they seem to say. Even though I’ve been running long enough to build up a respectable speed, I will never be the most light-footed of joggers. I often see runners who appear to be floating on thin air, their footfalls so light, they’re almost flying.

  Another side-effect of being too aware of people noticing me, is that I run too fast—even for my trained lungs. It happens without me noticing, until it’s too late, and I’m so out of breath—heart pounding, eyes watering—I barely make it home. Yet another reason to run before most of the city gets up. It helps that I live near the university and most students are late risers.

  I blast up the volume of the podcast and start with a light jog. I only discovered this podcast a few weeks ago and have been working my way through the backlist, as I’ve done with most subjects that are even remotely about food, eating habits and the futility of going on a diet.

  The presenter’s voice is so familiar to me by now, it’s comforting. Though, today, I find it hard to focus on what she has to say. She’s going on about Oprah and the amount of shares she bought in Weight Watchers and what could be the reasoning behind it. A topic that would normally interest me, but my mind keeps skittering away.

  Caitlin usually arrives at the Pink Bean around eleven and stays until lunch, drinking an astounding number of flat whites.

  “In Boston, they’ve never even heard of it. I tried to have them make it for me, but it’s just not the same as a good old Aussie one,” I heard her say to Kristin once.

  Up until yesterday, I’d barely had a conversation with her apart from exchanging the usual pleasantries that come with serving someone coffee. What could I possibly have to say to Caitlin James?

  I turn a corner and focus my attention back on the podcast. At first, I tried running without any entertainment in my ears, but the heavy sound of my feet on the sidewalk was too confronting. Then I tried listening to music, but I found myself singing along, quite loudly as it turned out, and decided I couldn’t deal with the strange looks I got from the people I ran past. Then I discovered podcasts and found out I could be learning and running at the same time. It’s been a match made in heaven ever since.

  The presenter appears very disappointed with Oprah for backing Weight Watchers, a company whose business model is based on people perpetually regaining weight, driving them back to the scales and the points system. How else can they make money? Like most big girls, I’ve done my time with Weight Watchers. I lost a few pounds, but nothing significant. Like most women, I’ve tried every diet under the sun. I’m an academic. I do research for a living. If all goes well, I’ll be able to put Doctor of Philosophy on my business card in a few years. I consider myself one of the smart ones, yet every diet I used to read about gave me enough hope to try it. None of them has ever worked for more than a few months.

  A man I see every morning with his Labrador running on a leash beside him nods as he passes. I can’t help myself. Not even the endorphins my body is producing at this very moment can keep me from wondering what he must think of me. Which leads me back to wondering what Caitlin must think of me. She was very courteous—of course she was. Any other woman so surrounded by out lesbians and aware of Caitlin’s reputation would have attempted to flirt with her, but not me. Girls my size don’t flirt. We do the opposite. We hide ourselves away behind silence and awkwardness. Behind blistering low self-esteem because everywhere we look we see the message loud and clear: what is wrong with you for being this size?

  I run a little faster—try to outrun the thoughts in my mind. Sometimes it works, which is one of the greatest pleasures of running. It makes me forget who I am for half an hour a day. Maybe I should start listening to feminist podcasts again instead of all this mindful eating crap.

  When I’ve run my route and stand panting, hands on knees, in front of the door of our building, one of our neighbors comes out. He knows me so doesn’t need to give me a once-over, doesn’t need to do a double take at seeing the fat girl come home all sweaty after a run—at the incongruence of it all.

  “Good on ya,” he says, and walks away.

  Chapter Three

  “Wet cap, please,” Robin says, as she does every day. She’s on her way back from CrossFit and just stopping by to give Micky a quick kiss.

  “One latte coming right up,” I joke.

  Robin winks at me as we go through our daily ritual, then heads over to where Micky and Amber are sitting—next to Caitlin’s regular table, which is still empty.

  Amber gets up as she sees Robin approach and throws her arms wide. I see a lot of these women, catch quite a few bits and bobs of their drama, but I’m an outsider. The young one. Sheryl’s student. Kristin’s charity case. I don’t belong in their group, which is fine with me—I’m not looking to socialize with my bosses after hours. What my outsider status does, however, is give me a unique chance to observe them. Micky’s drama with Robin before they got together. How their relationship is quickly evolving now. Kristin and Sheryl’s ups and downs. That time they all returned from an open AA meeting in support of Sheryl—no one told me, but I’m not stupid—which was also the very first time I saw Caitlin in the Pink Bean.

  And today: the return of Amber. She’s been gone for a couple of months. Micky’s been beside herself with excitement for days.

  Amber talks and Robin listens. Micky looks around. She has probably heard Amber’s big Indian yoga retreat story already. Our gazes cross and she quirks up her eyebrows. My gut tells me Micky won’t be working at the Pink Bean for much longer. Of all the people Kristin has employed, I’ve been here the longest. Maybe because I need the money the most.

  “I gotta run,” Robin says. “We’ll catch up tonight.”

  Amber waves at me and points at her cup. I brew her another cup of tea and bring it over.

  “How are you doing, Josephine?” she asks. “I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”

  “You don’t say.” Micky taps her fingers against Amber’s hand. “We have so much to catch up on. It’s all well and good to go away for a while, but you can never again go to a place where they only allow you internet access once a week.”

  Amber rolls her eyes. “Always one to exaggerate, you.”

  I stand around, watching them. Ever since I started working here, which wasn’t very long after the Pink Bean opened, these two have been coming here.

  “Sit with us for a bit,” Micky says. “The boss is away and there’s no one here.”

  “If only Kr
istin knew.” I pull up a chair.

  “Today is special.” Micky beams. “Amber is back.”

  I nod.

  “We’ve been having many special days around here,” Micky continues. “Josephine met her idol Caitlin James yesterday.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, even though the memory of sitting at a table with Caitlin only twenty-four hours ago washes warmly through me.

  Amber almost chokes on her tea. “Caitlin James?”

  “Oh. That’s right. I had forgotten about that,” Micky says. She leans back with her eyes crinkled into a smile.

  “Forgotten about what?” I sit up a bit straighter.

  “Amber knows Caitlin very well.”

  My palms start sweating. I don’t know why.

  “That woman.” Amber shakes her head. “She’s a predator.”

  “She is?”

  “I had a one-night stand with her,” Amber says matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t mind her, Jo. Amber is still upset that Caitlin didn’t want to continue their short-lived affair.”

  “That’s absolutely not true. In hindsight, I’m glad nothing came of it.”

  “What happened?” I wouldn’t normally be so forward, but I’m dying to find out.

  “I’m not one to sleep with another woman just like that. But Caitlin came after me hard that night and I was in bed with her before I knew what her deal was. No monogamy, blah, blah, blah. Going back to the States in a few days, blah, blah, blah. She was only back in Sydney for the opening of the Pink Bean. She wasn’t upfront about her intentions and I don’t like that at all.”

  “Sounds to me you’re more upset about you not sticking to your principles for once—and getting laid in a spectacular fashion, because of it, by the way—than about Caitlin leading you on a bit,” Micky says.

  My pulse has picked up speed. So much inside information on Caitlin just falling into my lap. Although a pang of jealousy makes its way through my mind. Amber slept with Caitlin. And told Micky it was spectacular. It figures that Caitlin would go for the gorgeous likes of Amber. The thought of them together sends a shiver up my spine.

  “No, Micky. You know what I value most in any relationship, no matter how brief or fleeting, is honesty and being genuine. What Caitlin did was lure me into bed under false pretenses.”

  “It’s so good to have you back, Amber.” Micky shakes her head, a big smile on her face.

  The door opens. We all look up.

  It’s Caitlin.

  She looks around until her gaze rests on our table. She narrows her eyes. “Amber? Is that you?”

  “Here we go for the charade,” Amber mutters under her breath.

  I don’t know where to look or what to do first. Caitlin is walking toward us, and I want to see her greet Amber after what I’ve just heard, but I also want to be ready behind the counter when she orders her drink.

  “I heard you were on some Hindu retreat?” Caitlin says as she reaches us. She puts her hands on the sides of Amber’s arms and kisses her on each cheek, as if they’re old friends. I guess they are in a way. The two of them together. I can’t chase the image from my mind. They would make a stunning couple.

  “Yoga,” Amber says dryly.

  “That’s right. How could I forget?” Caitlin takes a step back. “How have you been? Can I join you?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, just pulls up a chair and sits down.

  Only then does Caitlin spot me. She just says, “A flat white, please.” That’s it. I’ve rarely felt less significant. As usual, nobody notices. I’m the invisible one with the huge body—a contradiction if there ever was one. I try to look at Micky but she’s too enthralled by what’s happening in front of her.

  I slink off and prepare Caitlin’s coffee.

  After Amber has left, Caitlin walks over to the counter. She patiently waits in the line that has formed, doesn’t order anything, but says, “Do you have time for a chat later? I’ve been thinking about your thesis.”

  “Er, yes, of course. My shift finishes at noon.”

  “I’ll be patiently waiting over there.” She grabs a bottle of free tap water and heads back to the table she was sitting at with Amber earlier.

  “What’s your thesis about again?” Micky, who has overheard the conversation, asks.

  “Body positivity,” I reply. No matter how passionate I am about the subject, I can’t get excited about discussing it with Caitlin. Maybe I do have a crush on her.

  “You should talk to Amber. I’m sure she has a thing or two to say on the subject.”

  “Amber?” I hand the next customer his Americano. He taps his Visa card against the PayWave machine and turns around, leaving Micky and me alone. “Have you had a good look at Amber?”

  “We’re basically sisters, so yes, I have.” Micky brings her hands to her sides.

  “I’m sure Amber has her heart in the right place, but I don’t expect her to understand my plight.”

  “What is your plight, if I may ask?”

  “Not my plight as such,” I back-pedal with a sigh. “Put me next to Amber and ask yourself which one of us has it the hardest.”

  “So your thesis is about you?”

  “No, it’s not. It’s about how women like me are made to feel by the likes of Amber.” Everything is coming out all wrong again. The way I’m defending my work to Micky of all people, you would never guess I’ve had almost ten years of university education. I can’t help myself. When people like Micky—gorgeous and happy, no matter how late she came out of the closet—talk to me about body positivity, it hits a nerve. Every time. Because, looking how she does, how can she possibly ever understand what it’s like?

  “Amber may surprise you. She teaches quite a few larger women in her classes.”

  “How very nice of her.” Thank goodness a customer walks in. I take the woman’s order and Micky silently prepares it.

  “I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” Micky says when it’s just us behind the counter again.

  “Bad day,” I say, because it’s so much easier to shrug it off than to try to explain—really explain. Especially crammed behind the counter of a coffee shop.

  “Jo, I mean it. I’m sorry.” She puts a hand on my back. “I’ve been wanting to ask. I’m having a dinner party tomorrow evening to welcome Amber back. Do you want to come? I might invite Caitlin as well.”

  This throws me more than any comment she’s made before. Micky and I might be colleagues, but I’m not part of the group of friends she forms with Amber, Kristin, Sheryl and Martha. And now Caitlin. How can I possibly refuse this offer if she’s going to be there?

  “That sounds great.” If she hadn’t mentioned Caitlin, I probably would have said no.

  “Wonderful. I’ll go invite Caitlin right now.”

  “You’ve really been thinking about my thesis?” I ask, my voice already wavering. I’m getting tired of my schoolgirl crush on Caitlin. I could be getting valuable information from her. This conversation could really move things forward for me, even though my thesis is a long way from finished. But how I feel when I sit across from her is holding me back.

  “I’m not one to let an interesting topic slide. You haven’t made it easy for yourself by going down that route.” She gives me a smile. “Besides, I have a little time on my hands these days.” She pushes her chair back and makes to get up. “You want to come back to my place? I live just down the road.”

  My eyes go wide. I quickly push myself up, but not without shoving the side of my ass clumsily against the table, and making the cups and saucers on it tremble with a loud clang. “Sure.” My voice sounds as uptight as I feel. But hell yes, I want to see where Caitlin lives. Never mind that I have survey questions to prepare this afternoon. This is much more important.

  Chapter Four

  “I didn’t know feminism was so lucrative.” I let my gaze wander around Caitlin’s penthouse apartment again. My eyes can’t seem to get enough of it.

  “Feminism isn’t, but t
elevision is,” she says casually.

  I’m drawn to the wall-length bookshelves opposite me. I also like the space of Caitlin’s apartment. A place where I can move uninhibitedly.

  “I have something for you.” Caitlin catches up with me and peruses one of the shelves. “She was a brilliant student of mine and seeing as you like autographed books so much.” Caitlin hands me Your Body is Not Your Being by Ursula Attwell, the poster child of the fat acceptance movement in North America.

  “For me?” I take the book from her and automatically flip back the cover to reveal the inscription on the title page.

  To Professor James, to whom I owe everything, it says.

  “It’s dedicated to you. I can’t accept that.”

  “You really don’t want it? Or are you just being polite?”

  I chuckle. Strangely, I can deal with this kind of forwardness better than with any banter. “Okay then. I’ll gladly accept.” Eva will go mental over this.

  “Good.” Her voice sounds as if she wouldn’t have taken no for an answer either way. “Micky said you’re going to that dinner at hers tomorrow as well.”

  “Yes.” This is turning out to be the strangest of days. First, Micky’s invitation. Now, standing here with Caitlin in her apartment talking about it. Whatever will I do with myself tomorrow? I might have to run a marathon before I can ring Micky’s bell.

  “Do you know if Amber is seeing someone? I take it she isn’t, what with her being away for so long.” As she talks, Caitlin leads me to the couch facing her library. Her apartment is certainly grand, but she has managed to make it look warm rather than showy.

  We sit, and I say, “No, she’s single, though I know Professor Waltz is very interested in her.”

  “Professor Waltz as in Martha, Sheryl’s friend?” Caitlin sucks the air out of her cheeks. “Really.” She keeps her gaze pinned on me. “You must know a lot about them as a group.”