Page 28 of Tough Love

“Hurts you that she never mentioned him, huh?”

I nod. “Yeah. It does.”

Hurts even more that I seehimwhenever I look into Briar’s eyes, and yet I still feel the beginnings of what must be love for the little guy.

“What happened?” Jess whispers, hugging herself. “Why is it you two stopped talking?”

I lock gazes with her, wishing I could divulge my darkest secrets to my best and only close friend, but … my problems have always been just that, mine, and I don’t intend on changing it anytime soon.

“Not today, okay?” I ask softly. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, just not today.”

“Yeah, okay.” She reaches out, offering her hand.

I take it and let her pull me to my feet. She tugs me to her side and gives me a quick hug before releasing me and leading us through to the living area.

“Eat, drink, and then I’ll drop you back at your sister’s.”

“Thanks again, hon. Honestly.”

She offers me a knowing smile and gestures to the platter laid out on my coffee table. “Your favourite. I might not be able to do much else, but I can at least get to your heart through your stomach.” She grins, snagging a salami stick as she drops into an armchair.

We devour the platter while discussing a mixture of everyday subjects like the new shopping precinct under construction, as well as the hard facts—Kath. It’s the outlet I need, the exact kind of therapy required to tuck my emotions away for another day and be the strength everyone—mostly Briar—needs.

I don’t know what I’d do without a steadfast friend like her. More than likely, I’d simply drown in my solitude, too proud to ask for help.

Too proud to admit that I’m not as in control as I pretend to be.

NINE

Jess pulls away from the kerb, her taillights fading as I open the door to Kath’s townhouse, right into what appears to be one of the episodes Dad described. The sun has set, night creeping in fast. My guess is the lack of sleep is to blame for the current state of the household.

“Calm down, Trudy,” Dad pleads, hands raised to placate Mum as she cries in the hallway. “Give him space to work through it.”

“What’s going on?” I drop my bag beside the stairs and look up to where the agonised wails of Briar drift down.

“He refused to have a bath,” Mum explains, tears fresh on her cheeks.

“So?” What does it matter? One day isn’t going to be the end of him. “Is he ready for bed?”

“He keeps taking his pyjamas off,” Dad says. “I tried to help, but he just screamed at me.”

Shit.“Let me try.”

Mum protests as I start up the stairs, but one look at her explains why Briar is so worked up: he mirrors her behaviour. Kids are pretty simple when you break it down—the more you can stay calm, the more they will as well.

Easier said than done, most days, I get that. But isn’t this why we have family, friends, support? So when it gets too much you can tap out?

His cries stutter, his breaths coming short and hard in his distress. I step through Briar’s bedroom doorway, and kick my shoes off. He watches me, tears wet on his chest, his nose a bubbling mess of snot.

“Aunty Mimi?”

“Yeah, buddy?” I soothe, lowering myself to my knees.

“I don’t want to go to bed.”

I nod, making sure he understands thatIunderstand. “I know, but you’ll get tired if you stay up, right?”

He nods, sniffing although it does nothing to clear his nose. At least the tears have subsided.

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