Page 51 of Unworthy
“Yes, Yaz.” My head snapped around at the sound of Heath’s deep voice from the door of the shed. “When was that?” Dee and I straightened from our crouched positions over the sail and my hands went to my hips.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Heath said with a shrug, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “Can’t friends drop by to bring other friends lunch?”
Dee was looking at Heath with her head tilted to the side, her gaze assessing. I’d explained everything that happened with the funeral and some of the background about Heath and Verity’s family. She’d commented that it explained a lot, but still didn’t excuse his repeated shitty behaviour.
He pulled two bags from behind his back and gave us one each. “Don’t worry, not an animal product in sight.”
I hesitated but Dee shot forward to snatch one of bags out of his hand. “Thanks, big guy,” she said, beaming at him, the traitor. Dee had skipped lunch to help me out, and the woman could work up a savage hanger. It seemed that she was prepared to forgive shitty behaviour if food was involved.
I gave Heath a small smile. “Thanks,” I said as I took the other bag from his outstretched hand. He returned my smile before shoving both his hands into his pockets and taking a step back, as if holding himself back from touching me. My chest felt tight. I wished things were different – that Heath hadn’t let me down too many times for me to trust him, that I didn’t feel like I had so much to prove to him and my family, that I didn’t feel I had to do all this on my own. But I was still smarting from Heath’s rejection and my family’s constant belittling. I couldn’t move past it. Not yet.
“You didn’t answer Dee’s question,” Heath went on. “Whenwasthe last time you did something for yourself?”
My smile dropped as I paused to scowl at Dee before putting my sandwich bag up on one of the shelves and squatting back down to continue rolling up the sail.
“You work too hard, you know,” Heath said.
“He’s right,” Dee put in around a mouth full of sandwich. “I’ve been saying the same for weeks.”
“Heath, you can hardly talk,” I snapped, my movements becoming jerky as I packed down the next sail. “You’re an emergency department doctor. You work crazy hours.”
“I have days off, Yaz,” Heath said softly. “I can still make time to see the people I care about, to have some fun.”
“Who says I don’t have fun?”
Heath squatted down in front of me so that I would be forced to look at him. “Your mum got a lot of things wrong that day at Max’s, but she was right about one thing. You have lost weight. And you look tired, love. You’re not the usual Yaz.”
“What? Flaky, crazy, and idiotic Yaz, you mean?” I said, scowling at Heath now.
“How about chill, funny, quick to laugh, had-time-to-go-to-the-pub, Yaz? How about the Yaz who wasn’t underweight and didn’t have shadows under her eyes?”
Heath started folding up one of the other sails and I snatched it out of his hands and threw it to the side. Dee paused in her sandwich eating, her eyes going wide. Heath kept eye contact with me but straightened up from the ground with his hands held up, palm facing forward, as if to surrender.
“I’m fine,” I spat out. “I don’t need you interfering.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t askmypermission when you interfered in my life last week.”
I broke eye contact to look to the side. He had a point, but I wasn’t willing to concede anything. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.
“Things will improve. I’m building up the business.”
“Could you let us help?” he asked. “Max and V already run a business. And I know…” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice a little. “I know numbers were always a bit… er… tricky for you. We could–”
“No,” I snapped, my face now feeling too hot. Familiar shame washed over me. Incapable, ridiculous Yaz. They all still think I’m a joke.
Heath held up his hands again as I forced myself to swallow past the lump that had formed in my throat. “Everything is under control,” I said in a tight voice that didn’t sound like my own.
This wasn’t the first offer of help I’d had over the last month. Max and my parents had gone from writing me off as the black sheep of the family to being right up in my grill. Now Mum and Dad visited the surf school, came down to the yoga studio, watched me windsurfing for a promotional video. They’d even approached me numerous times with financial offers, all of which I’d declined. Last week they’d tentatively asked if I needed help with balancing the books. They tried to be subtle about it, but I could tell they were worried.
Maybe I should have accepted my family’s help, given that my trust in Bodhi was waning, but a fierce independent streak was now hard-wired into my psyche, and I couldn’t come back from that. Accepting their money or help would be a sign of defeat, of weakness. I had come this far without their help or encouragement (active discouragement would actually be more accurate) and I wasn’t going to go back now.
“Yaz,” Dee said tentatively, her sandwich now forgotten. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to–”
“I said no!” I slashed my hand through the air and accidentally knocked a mast over, which clattered onto the concrete.
“Right, okay,” Dee said. “Chill your beans. No need to take it out on the rigging.”
