Page 5 of Nothing Without You
For the first time, her father didn’t dismiss her concern. ‘Life changes, Evie. Look at you, growing up so fast,’ he said, his voice tinged with sadness. ‘I’m okay. Just focus on your schoolwork.’ His words hung in the air, and she could sense there was more he wanted to say. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly, ‘I don’t want you to be sad. Can I help? Are your vacuums not selling?’ she asked, her voice filled with a mix of worry and determination.
He held her face gently in his hands. ‘No, there is nothing you can do. Sometimes we are sad and sometimes we are happy. Owning a business can be hard at times, but vacuums are selling better than ever, so there’s no need for you to worry.’
Another not-so-good part of her life was the fact that her mother had taken a job at the high school—the same high school where Evie was about to plunge into the teenage years of her education. Only the Christmas holidays lay between her last weeks at primary school and what she had anticipated would be an exciting time of her life. Now, however, there was nothing to look forward to. How embarrassing—her mother—a cleaner—at her school.
‘Get over it,’ her mother told her. ‘We need the money and it’s time for me to get out of the house and do something other than housework.’
Her father winked at her, ‘Your mother will see everything you’re up to. She will know if you’re not doing your studies. The most important thing is for you to work hard and go to university. Your mother and I didn’t have that opportunity.’
‘What if I don’t want to do that?’ she questioned.
He rattled off something in Italian that she could not understand, and then in a calmer voice told her, ‘You must go to university. It is your destiny.’
Chapter Five
Before Evie knew it, the year had ended. Year Seven was over. The end-of-year dance, certificate night, and breakup day were done. On Saturday, she rose early and hung around, waiting for her mother to get out of bed. Today was the day she was allowed to shave her legs.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, side by side, her mother demonstrated how to use the metal razor blade. ‘Use the soap to lather your skin. Start down here, near your ankles.’ Her mother had beautiful legs, and Evie admired how only fair hairs poked through her skin, unlike Evie’s dark hair. She couldn’t wait to be rid of them.
Her mother continued. ‘Bring the blade upwards, but go slowly and be careful around your ankles and your knees. You’ll cut yourself a bit to start with, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll be right.’
Evie was cautious and did precisely as she was told. Only a small nick in her skin appeared when she went over the knobbly part of her knee. Mother dabbed a tissue on it, pushing Evie’s long hair back from her face. ‘You’re growing up, Evie. Don’t let it happen too fast. I like you just the way you are.’ She hugged Evie and they stared at each other. It wasn’t often Mother spoke to her like that, or spent this much time with her. Shaving legs was definitely an important rung in the ladder of adolescence, as well as their relationship.
‘Right, now for your eyebrows,’ her mother said. They swung their legs over the edge of the bath, taking up position in front of the bathroom mirror. The eyebrows took a bit longer than the legs, but before long, the thick brows she had loathed for years were gone. In their place were precisely curved, not too thick and not too thin, beautifully shaped brows. She ran her fingers over them, finding it hard to drag her eyes away from her image in the mirror.
From the look on Mother’s face, she too was surprised at the difference in Evie’s appearance. ‘I’m sorry, Evie, if I’m sometimes abrupt or too busy to talk. It’s just that I’m busy with the house and making sure everything is right, especially when your father’s away so much.’ Mother hugged her and held her at arm’s length. ‘Now you can do all that by yourself, and you’ll be just the same as all the other girls when you start high school next year.’
Mother picked up the tweezers and plucked a few stray hairs from her own eyebrows. Thick, blonde hair sat in a bob on her shoulders, the ends folding under in a perfect roll. Mascara made her eyelashes appear longer than they were, and a hint of blush and pale pink lipstick made her look like she should be on the front page of the Women’s Weekly.
She sighed and straightened her shirt, the low neckline showing off her breasts, the tight fabric accentuating a slim waist and curvy hips. ‘I still look young, you know. Just because I’m thirty-two doesn’t mean I’m old.’
‘I don’t think you’re old.’ Evie blurted out. ‘You’ll always be beautiful to me.’ She wanted to add those three little words she’d heard Layla tell her mother. But it felt awkward to say them first. Mother should say them. But she didn’t.
Sometimes, Father held her tight, and his dark eyes would look straight into hers. ‘Ti amo, my beautiful daughter. Evie practised ‘Ti amo’ so she could say it back to him. She wondered if he told Mother he loved her. Now, her mother stared at her. ‘Thank you, Evie. That means a lot to me.’ A look of sadness came into her mother’s eyes and Evie looked away. There were so many things she didn’t understand. Her parents didn’t fight a lot, or say terrible things about each other, but they also didn’t show affection towards each other. In the movies, the man usually kissed his wife hello and goodbye when he left for work; and in the romantic films, they put their arms around each other and said those three little words. Not in the Romano house, though.
She wanted to ask about those missing moments in their lives, but now her mother had realised she needed to get dinner started. The chooks needed feeding, the milk bottles had to be put out, and there was rubbish to go in the bin. The fun time of shaving, plucking and talking was over.
That night at dinner, her father commented on her eyebrows. ‘I liked them the way they were,’ he said, ‘but if that is what makes you happy, then I guess that is what young girls do.’ Her mother was quieter than usual and, halfway through the meal, asked Father to tell Evie his news.
When he cleared his throat, Evie waited for something exciting to come out of his mouth. He smoothed the ends of his moustache and looked up at her, then at Mother, before he started talking. ‘We are booked on the ferry to Stradbroke Island next week. But you and your mother will have to go without me. I have a very important conference to attend in Sydney. I might get to the island for the last couple of days, but I’m not sure. You’ll be okay, the two of you.’
‘Oh no,’ Evie said, dropping her fork on the table and screwing up her face. ‘You were going to take me fishing and hire canoes like we did last time.’
‘It can’t be helped,’ he said as he crossed his arms, looked at her mother, and then back to Evie. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it. My job pays the bills, and this is an important event. There will be other holidays together.’ With that, he got up from the table and, with a glass of wine in his hand, made his way out to the back veranda.
Mother sat still and stared into space. She moved a fork slowly across the rest of her dinner, pushing the veggies around the plate, not eating anything.
‘It’s not fair, Mother. Why does he have to go to the conference? That means it’ll just be you and me.’
Her mother bit her lip, and Evie thought there were tears in her eyes.
‘I mean, it will still be good with just us two, but we need Father there also.’
Her mother pushed her plate forward, dropped her knife and fork onto what was left of her food, then got up from the table and walked down the hallway to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her.
Evie sat idly, pushing her food around her plate. The appetite that once accompanied her meals seemed to have vanished entirely. Not only would Father be absent for the holidays, but tension hung thick in the air between him and Mother. The excitement of rituals like shaving her legs and grooming her eyebrows had dulled, overshadowed by the looming prospect of spending two weeks alone with her mother.
Guilt gnawed at her insides, though she attempted to soothe herself with the notion that her mother could be good company. She did enjoy walks and evenings spent watching television together. Yet, the realisation sank in that her mother's interests were very different from her own. She didn’t like going in the water, she didn’t play with the ball, and there was no way she would go fishing. The holidays Evie had envisioned as a time of joy and adventure now seemed bleak and uncertain.