Unzipped by Nicki Reed Read Free Book Online

decide.
    ‘Hey, you remembered that wine. Not bad,’ his hands out.
    ‘It was easy,’ I say, stepping back. I leave the bottle on the kitchen bench.
    What if I smell like BJ? Sex and sweat, the sea.
    ‘God, I need a shower. I’m covered in thirteen years of dust, schools of silverfish.’
    I fake a sneeze on the way to the bathroom. ‘Achoo!’

10.
    Mark’s barbeque is stainless steel, two metres long and he has the tools to accompany it. They’re housed in a brushed aluminium attaché. He polishes the tongs, the spatula, the trident-style fork, before he lines them up in their felt beds.
    The last thing I want to do is host a dinner. I want to be left alone to persuade myself it was someone else’s bad good wife.
    Taylor, her husband, David, and their kids, Sam, Gus and Miranda, are first to arrive. Mark and David head straight out to the deck with the two boys. Miranda, Taylor and I stay in the kitchen. Miranda is only four but she knows her place.
    ‘Hey, I got a job,’ Taylor says.
    ‘I thought you weren’t going to work until Miranda’s in school.’
    ‘We need the money. David says not to worry but Iam. Anyway, it’s hardly working. It’s sitting there looking pretty. I was approached a few weeks ago at Chadstone by a woman who runs a modelling agency looking for real women. There’s nobody more real than me—I’m wrecked, I’m stained and I haven’t slept since 1960.’
    Taylor is plus size. Size ten plus a little more. She says it’s industrial strength baby-weight and she has until Miranda is five to lose it.
    ‘So, you’re doing it? Good on you.’
    ‘Going to tell me what’s going on?’
    ‘What?’ I haul the roast vegetables out of the oven, straighten my face.
    ‘You keep smiling like you’re remembering something really good.’
    ‘The Bombers won last night.’
    ‘Really? Since when do you care about the football?’
    True. The injuries, the deep media coverage, every channel, every day, discouraged me seasons ago. But the footy is easy small talk in this town.
    ‘Hope Ruby’s not late.’
    Taylor scoops the roast vegetables into a serving dish. ‘Of course Ruby will be late. She’ll have to get back home from wherever she landed last night, pick her car up from the station, get some more sleep and she’ll be here in time to sit down and eat.’
    At the sink, beer bottles are lined up. A pair plus one of empty Heineken soldiers. BJ was drinking Heineken before the champagne at her house.
    ‘You did it again. You smiled.’
    ‘Look, Taylor, forget it. I’ve got to get the clothes off the line. Can you keep an eye out for Alex and Rob? Oh yeah, Ravi Junior and his parents can’t make it. They’restaying in, trying to get him on track. They say getting him to sleep is the hardest thing.’
    ‘Been there. Probably won’t see them again until he’s in school.’

    If Taylor has been with me for less than five minutes and noticed something is different, how long will it take for Mark to notice? Or Ruby, who may often be late but is always observant.
    Maybe they’ll get drunk enough to forget about me. I can facilitate that. I open a bottle of wine, a gift re-gifted, pour one for everyone except me. Mark and David are on their way. Stories of bunkers, lost balls, chip shots, nine irons.

    Taylor, Ruby, Alex and I sit at the opposite end of the table from the men. Miranda is on Alex’s lap. Alex sweeps a curl from Miranda’s face. ‘You’re getting big.’
    Six months into her pregnancy, so is Alex.
    At least she and Rob have stopped wearing matching clothes. Maternity wear can be difficult for a man. They met at the fireworks on the Yarra, saying good morning to 1999, wearing matching Pearl Jam Tour T-shirts. Then kept looking like their best idea of each other. Yuck.
    ‘She’s going to be four next month, aren’t you, Mirrie?’
    Miranda looks like her mum. It’s as if her mother has been photocopied at a seventy-five per cent reduction. She has the same hair,