Page 106 of We Used To Be Magic

A week ago, I wouldn’t have believed that. But today, I do. I decide to.

‘I’m getting there,’ I say, offering a smile. ‘So – how are you?’

‘Oh, fine. Busy. But – I might take some time off for Christmas this year.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes, well – it might be nice to do it properly, now we’re all together again.’

‘Ice skating and cookie decorating?’

‘If you want,’ he says seriously.

I laugh. ‘I mean – whatever, yeah. You don’t have to go out of your way, though.’

‘I’d like to,’ he replies. ‘I’d like to spend more time with you all.’

‘Well – me too,’ I say awkwardly. ‘Like – I’m aware that I could be doing better as a member of this family. And I’m going to work on that, so …’

‘No,’ Dad says, stopping in his tracks. ‘You being a part of this family isn’t conditional. I’m the only one that should be trying to do “better”. I’m your dad, I’m – that’s my job. It’s the only one that matters, and I didn’t – I know that I haven’t …’

He seems to falter, then, resting his hand on a low stone wall as if to steady himself. His wedding ring catches the light, glinting in the midday sun.

‘You did your best,’ I say. ‘I just haven’t felt like admitting that, before.’

My dad smiles at that. It’s a strange smile – lopsided, sad, but infinitely better than any of his forced grimaces. And while I’m looking –reallylooking at him, I realise that he’s getting older. There are lines around his mouth and a papery quality to his skin beneath his eyes. Even the grey coming in at his roots looks more substantial than it used to, and it occurs to me then that maybe he didn’t stop smoking and start jogging because of his own vanity. Maybe he’s just trying to stick around a little longer for his bratty, ungrateful kids who never tell him how much they love him.

I’m struck by a sudden (and deeply jarring) impulse to hug him, then. I mean – I can’t. I don’t even know how many years of therapy it would take for me to be able to express emotion in such a conventionally healthy way – therapy that I should look into, probably. But I manage to clap my hand on his shoulder instead, and it’s something.

If anyone can understand that, it’s him.

AUDREY

‘MONDAY?WHY SOSOON?’

‘It’s just the way things worked out. If it’s a problem, then I can get a train from the airport—’

‘No, no problem!’ Mum says quickly. ‘I couldn’t be happier that you’re coming home, Dree. Just – everything’s all right, isn’t it? Nothing’s happened?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I just – I figured it’s time.’

‘Are you – are you done with the modelling now? Or …’

‘No,’ I say flatly. ‘I am not done with the modelling.’

Marika glances up, then averts her gaze just as quickly. We’re sitting on a bench in Central Park, taking a break mid-jog – she’s made me promise that I won’t give it up and I’m slowly coming around to the idea. It clears my head, which is nice, and it doesn’t make me feel like puking any more – also nice. But a consequence of that aforementioned clarity was the realisation that I desperately owe my parents a life update.

‘I’m not trying to be critical,’ Mum says slowly. ‘I just – I wonder if you might have got swept up in theideaof being a model, and the reality—’

‘Mum, I really don’t want to have this conversation right now.’

‘You don’t want to have any conversation. This is the first time I’ve heard your voice in a week.’

‘I – it’s been hard.’

‘Hard? Hard how?’ she asks, sounding panicked.

‘Hard like – different,’ I amend. ‘But it would have been different if I’d gone to uni as well, so …’

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