Page 72

“I think you would secretly love it.” I blow Ben a kiss as we hop back into my car. I nervously tap my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. “I just can’t help feeling like she was…”

“Using you?”

“Yeah. Using me.” Turning the key in the ignition, the engine rumbles to life. “I’m just trying to figure out why.”

“Did she always pay for the sessions?” The tight look across my face is all the answer Ben needs. “Jesus, dude,” he sighs.

“It felt weird to charge her after everything, especially after I met her family. I didn’t want our relationship to become transactional.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

We fall silent for the rest of the drive, letting Ben’s comment sit in the space between us. I’m thankful Ben doesn’t push or pry. Boxing let me ignore my thoughts for a bit, but now they’re back full force. I flick the indicator on as I pull onto Ben’s street. “Why did we spend all that extra time together? Why did she invite me to her home? If she just wanted to not fail, why go to this length? Why not just pay me the forty bucks an hour and be done with it?”

Ben just shrugs as he grabs his bag. “You know Eden. She’s a thorough girl. Doesn’t do things by halves.” He jumps out of the car and shoots me a supportive smile. “Just give her time, okay? She’ll realise what she’s missing out on soon enough.”

As I watch Ben’s retreating form, I can’t help but wish I had his confidence.

* * *

Over the next day or so I try my best to force Eden out of my mind. She’s made her decision. If she was only using me to get a good mark, well, I hope she gets it. I just wish I hadn’t been the one to respond to her message.

What if it had been someone else? Would she have tried the same shit? To get them eating out of the palm of her hand, just to rip it away when it gets to the end of the semester? To pretend like there was nothing between them?

The tip of my pencil breaks again. It’s the fourth time this has happened since I started writing this practice essay. I swear under my breath as I get up to sharpen it yet again.

The doorbell rings, and I hear Jason open it and greet the postman. I think nothing of it, until I do. I remember the insignificant notification I got this morning.

Package out for delivery.

Panic seizes my body as I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. Jason and Dad are crowded around the bench, an empty postage parcel carelessly thrown onto the floor.

“Don’t you know it’s a federal crime to steal someone else’s mail? Well, only an actual crime if you open it. You can steal it all you want as long as you don’t read it.” I try to sound light-hearted but I can’t escape the fear threatening to choke me.

“Oliver. What is this?” Dad asks strangely. He sounds sad, hesitant.

“It’s just a draft of something I’m writing. And I’d appreciate it back because it’s not ready and I— “ The book is strewn open and Mum’s smile shines back up at me.

Dedicated to the mothers everywhere, who made the greatest sacrifice. They will never be forgotten.

I sigh. Better now than never, I guess. I’ve tried my hardest to not let them see this but now it’s out of my hands. “It’s Mum’s photos, and her journal entries. I tried to match them as best as I could but it…it got messy near the end.”

Dad’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “This is what you’ve been working on?” He asks quietly, absentmindedly flicking through the pages. I merely nod. There’s nothing else to say.

Mum’s words sing from the pages. It’s her. It’s her everywhere. The photos, the sketches. The letters she sent and received. The stories that seem to come alive from just her voice. I’ve learnt more about her from them than anyone could ever tell me, my father included. And that weighs on me, every day of my life.

“She would have loved it.” Jason clears his throat, then wipes a tear away. Dad hesitates on a page. And it’s the one I knew he would. The one I struggled the most to compile. Her final entry, her final photograph.

When all of this is done, I can’t wait to see my boys again.

Her last wish never came true. Two days after that was written she was dead. Killed in action reporting on the war. Her body was returned to us cold in a wooden box. A medal. A flag. All that was left of my mother. That, and this book.

“Where did you get all of this from?” Dad asks, and I can make out the tinge of awe in his voice. I try to empathise with him, I really do. Losing the love of your life. Single-handedly raising two boys. It wouldn’t have been easy. Eden flashes in my mind for a moment. What it would be like to lose her– five, ten, fifteen years down the road. If I ever get to have her again.

“Her journals that you have in your study. I may have snuck in while you guys were working. Archives, newspaper clippings. I spoke to some people she worked with too, and they sent me things. Her university tutors, past editors. I just— “ I rub my hand across my face. “I just didn’t want everything she did to be for nothing.”

“It was never for nothing,” Jason whispers, fingers trailing over the photograph on the final page.

The last time our family was together; the last time it was whole. They found it tucked into the jacket she was wearing when she was killed. Mum, Dad, Jason, me. All smiling outside international departures at the airport when Mum left on one of her earlier missions. We all look so young. There’s no worry lines etched in Dad’s face. Jason is missing that pained look behind his eyes I’ve grown so accustomed to. And I’m smiling the brightest I have in years. What I would give to feel like that again.