Page 57 of Just Say (Hell) No
“You can get time off from the restaurant, surely,” her mum said. “It’s not like they don’t have heaps of servers.”
A rumble in the background, and Nyree’s mum said, her voice muffled, “Ofcourseit’s not a real job. I can hardly say that to her, though, can I?” Another pause. “I know, darling. But I want her to have something nice, and that way Kiri will want to come, too. Surely one holiday a year isn’t enabling.”
Nyree said, “Mum.Mum.”Loudly.
“Yes, love,” her mother said. “I’m here.”
“You need to mute,” Nyree said. “When you’re talking about somebody.”
“I did,” her mother said.
“Holding the phone against your chest is not muting. I can still hear you. You need to push the button. Have Kiri show you.”
“Oh,” her mother said. “Anyway. Can you come? We wanted family time.”
“I really can’t afford the time off, but thanks. You won’t have the whole family anyway. Kane and Lukas won’t be there.”Because they’re adults with jobs and their own lives,she didn’t say.Just like me.
“Don’t be silly,” her mother said. “They’re on contract, and they can’t. You know that. Oh, and I texted you a couple job postings. Did you get them? The ad agency one sounded perfect. That’s creative, and it pays well, too. Everything you need.”
Nyree pressed her fingertips hard into her forehead, since putting her palms on her cheeks and screaming wasn’t an option. “I don’t want to work for an ad agency, Mum. You don’t need to bother to check the postings. And before you ask me whether my car’s still working—yes. It is. I’ve even got a second job added on to the restaurant, so I’m all good. It’s a sort of companion post. A caretaker, you could say.” She considered mentioning the Pookie portrait, but she didn’t think her mum would be impressed, and she knew Grant wouldn’t be.
Her mum said, “A carer? I won’t say anything, but seriously, Nyree, think about the future. You have a good degree. Some of the work you did at the firm was really lovely. Why not do that again and have the money to take care of yourself properly? Painting is never going to be a job, love.”
“Mum. You just did say something.”
“Is there somebody new on the horizon? Is that why you don’t want to go to Fiji? You could bring him, too. That would be perfect. We’d leave you two alone, I promise.” Another rumble from the background. “I didn’tsaywe’d pay his fare.” Muffled again, because the phone was clearly pressed against her mum’s chest again. “You don’t know that he won’t be able to. Maybe this one’s in funds.” A pause. “Well, maybe she’s changed. She knows she’s not getting any younger, and she’s looking so much prettier. You said so yourself, other than the clothes. I’m sure she can do better now.”
Finally, Nyree got her attention and was able to say, “I need to go, Mum. My break’s over.”
“Oh. Right. Well, think about Fiji. You can bunk in with Kiri if you don’t bring anybody, so all it’ll be is the tickets, so no worries about not being independent. Oh—and I’m coming up for the match at the end of May. We can go shopping.” More rumbling in the background, then, “Grant sends his love.”
I’ll bet.More like,Grant just set a budget.She didn’t want to go shopping anyway.She liked her clothes. She rang off, looked at Pookie, growled out loud, and said, “I love my mum. I do. Except when she makes me want to stab my eyeballs out. Families. Gah.” Then she changed the music to pop, turned it up loud, did ten minutes of bad dancing and mediocre singing, worked herself back to something like a more sweaty normal, splashed water on her face, and picked up her sketchpad again.
“One day off,” she told Pookie, changing her music back. “And I’m spending it in my happy place, damn it.”
She drove back to Marko’s at six-thirty with her sketchpad on the seat and her head full of plans. She’d have skipped dinner, except that she needed to equip herself with new canvas and paints before she moved ahead with her project, and, she needed to see how Ella was doing now that the shock had worn off and her mum and aunt had left. She also needed to be casual with Marko again beforeheleft, or they were never going to make it until September.
I don’t walk on a red light.That was good, then. That was perfect. Ground rules. No more hot kisses in the dark. No more big, strong arms wrapped around her. No more being hauled against all that hard chest. No more muscular thighs…
Whoops. No.
She walked in the front door, her stomach growled, and she realized she’d forgotten about lunch. The house smelled like a Maori wet dream, if girls had those. When she reached the kitchen, Ella was sitting, Cat in her lap, crunching carrots dipped in hummus, Marko was shaking a glass jar of liquid, and the smell was so delicious, Nyree could almost bite it. He was barefoot, in faded jeans and a gray Adidas T-shirt, both of which outlined every bulge of muscle and every… et cetera a woman could long to see, and he may have been biteworthy himself. If she hadn’t sworn off that. Which she had.
Except… thosearms.
“Hey,” Ella said, not looking stricken by grief or tangled in troubles. “What did you paint?”
“Can’t tell you yet,” Nyree said. “It’s still percolating. More to the point—what smells so good?”
“Lamb.” Ella sighed. “With potatoes and carrots. And salad. Still ten minutes to go, though.” She laid her forehead on the marble and wailed,“Forever.”
“But who’s counting,” Marko said. He set down his jar, looked Nyree over, smiled, and said, “Productive day, eh.”
“Oh.” Her hand flew to her face. “What?”
“Charcoal, I reckon. And some additional decoration as well. You have ten minutes, like the pregnant lady said. You could stay like that, but I can’t promise not to laugh.”
Shedidhave charcoal on her, she found when she reached the yellow-toweled bathroom. On her arms, and on her face. And oil pastel as well. Red, yellow,andblue, which had somehow ended up on the side of her neck. How had she donethat?She took a quick but scrub-intensive shower, put on a velvet shirt over her gray jeans, and came downstairs again just as Marko was slicing two racks of lamb into chops, crusty outside and succulent pink inside, then laying them on a platter around an enormous pile of tiny potatoes and new carrots. Besidethatwas a butter lettuce salad in a white bowl with the contents of the jar on it. “Olive oil and pear balsamic,” Marko said when she asked. “Salt and pepper. Easy. The secret’s getting the good stuff.”
