otherâs thigh was gross. Highly repugnant.
I wouldnât bother if they were strangers. But Mum? Call me narrow-minded or childishâstill I loathed seeing my mother acting in love.
In short, I would never wish this revolting experience on you.
But there was nothing a child could do, was there? So I dumbly endured. Feeling sickened. Missing my dog. And it all brought back the unfortunate events of my day.
We dropped Mum at their McMahons Point penthouse. She was to dine at her best friendâs. Kate and Mum had been thick since high school. Through many phases of life, the ups-and-downs of changing jobs and partners, they had remained close.
Afterwards Ettoré took me in a water taxi to Darling Harbour.
We had a stilted conversation. Ettoré, who seemed to sense my discomfort, was trying his best to be, what, a good stepfather? Come on, although I considered him ancient, some 18-year olds had boyfriends his age. I did not like feeling unsure about what category our acquaintance fell under. I wasnât sure how to take him. He was not my father. He was not my friend.
Well, he was Mumâs boyfriend. I took a mental note to label him my stepfather. There. A ridiculously young stepfather, with his Latin good looks too. He oozed success, as well as⦠unexpected kindness. And his speech! So impeccably cultured. Awesome.
At a few inches taller than me, Ettoré was not tall like Dad. His eyes were chocolate, whereas Dadâs were gleaming silver. His hair was brown, unlike the gold-blond of Dadâs. His facial bones were delicate, instead of decisive-bold like Dadâs. His frame was wiry-slim, while Dadâs hulking-robust. He wore his clothes with the ease of a male model.
It was still daylight in this early summer. The soft-pink colour of the sky was reflected in the buildings and water.
Darling Harbour was rife with activity. There seemed to be a free concert by the waterâs edge. People of all ages milled about. Young people in great numbers.
The water taxi did not take long to reach our pier. Mr Handsome of the immaculate manners courteously helped me out. I nearly tripped when I looked up to see Sinead, Pete, Kevin, Jackâwith several other co-workersâwatching me getting out of the water taxi with interested eyes. They were sitting at the platform by the free concert, eating fries and Maccas take-away.
I felt very embarrassed being seen with Ettoré. He still looked overdressed even in casual attire. His stylish clothing shouted designer labels while my backpacker buddies woreâwell, backpackersâ you-know-whats.
It looked like they only scrubbed up when adhering to our strict office dress code, and could not wait to shed all formalities immediately after. I guessed that was the fun and freedom of being backpackers. Quietly I envied them their happy carefree ways and confidence. Sinead was wearing patchy merry jeans with a barely-there top. Jane, a lovely English girl from Sheffield with whom I often lunched sported a belly-button ring and cut-off jeans. Severely cut off. And Pete. Man⦠didnât he look good in a tank top⦠all beautiful firm muscles and glorious tan.
I wore bone linen pants with a very pretty but simple white linen shirt. It was a very hot dayâI had chosen this ensemble because of the fabric. It had not even occurred to me how I would look. Since Mum had not protested, I guessed I passed. Mum had a knack for fashion, I would give her that. She had fine aesthetic sensitivities. Except in shoes. Not that her taste in shoes sucked, but she could never get it right for my age group.
My friends were some distance away from us, and as Ettoré was guiding my elbow in the opposite direction, I turned to them and waved because I didnât want to be considered a snob. Kevin wore his ear-to-ear grin, Sinead her dimpled one. The others also smiled. But Pete just looked back with direct, unreadable eyes.
I fervently hoped they
I wouldnât bother if they were strangers. But Mum? Call me narrow-minded or childishâstill I loathed seeing my mother acting in love.
In short, I would never wish this revolting experience on you.
But there was nothing a child could do, was there? So I dumbly endured. Feeling sickened. Missing my dog. And it all brought back the unfortunate events of my day.
We dropped Mum at their McMahons Point penthouse. She was to dine at her best friendâs. Kate and Mum had been thick since high school. Through many phases of life, the ups-and-downs of changing jobs and partners, they had remained close.
Afterwards Ettoré took me in a water taxi to Darling Harbour.
We had a stilted conversation. Ettoré, who seemed to sense my discomfort, was trying his best to be, what, a good stepfather? Come on, although I considered him ancient, some 18-year olds had boyfriends his age. I did not like feeling unsure about what category our acquaintance fell under. I wasnât sure how to take him. He was not my father. He was not my friend.
Well, he was Mumâs boyfriend. I took a mental note to label him my stepfather. There. A ridiculously young stepfather, with his Latin good looks too. He oozed success, as well as⦠unexpected kindness. And his speech! So impeccably cultured. Awesome.
At a few inches taller than me, Ettoré was not tall like Dad. His eyes were chocolate, whereas Dadâs were gleaming silver. His hair was brown, unlike the gold-blond of Dadâs. His facial bones were delicate, instead of decisive-bold like Dadâs. His frame was wiry-slim, while Dadâs hulking-robust. He wore his clothes with the ease of a male model.
It was still daylight in this early summer. The soft-pink colour of the sky was reflected in the buildings and water.
Darling Harbour was rife with activity. There seemed to be a free concert by the waterâs edge. People of all ages milled about. Young people in great numbers.
The water taxi did not take long to reach our pier. Mr Handsome of the immaculate manners courteously helped me out. I nearly tripped when I looked up to see Sinead, Pete, Kevin, Jackâwith several other co-workersâwatching me getting out of the water taxi with interested eyes. They were sitting at the platform by the free concert, eating fries and Maccas take-away.
I felt very embarrassed being seen with Ettoré. He still looked overdressed even in casual attire. His stylish clothing shouted designer labels while my backpacker buddies woreâwell, backpackersâ you-know-whats.
It looked like they only scrubbed up when adhering to our strict office dress code, and could not wait to shed all formalities immediately after. I guessed that was the fun and freedom of being backpackers. Quietly I envied them their happy carefree ways and confidence. Sinead was wearing patchy merry jeans with a barely-there top. Jane, a lovely English girl from Sheffield with whom I often lunched sported a belly-button ring and cut-off jeans. Severely cut off. And Pete. Man⦠didnât he look good in a tank top⦠all beautiful firm muscles and glorious tan.
I wore bone linen pants with a very pretty but simple white linen shirt. It was a very hot dayâI had chosen this ensemble because of the fabric. It had not even occurred to me how I would look. Since Mum had not protested, I guessed I passed. Mum had a knack for fashion, I would give her that. She had fine aesthetic sensitivities. Except in shoes. Not that her taste in shoes sucked, but she could never get it right for my age group.
My friends were some distance away from us, and as Ettoré was guiding my elbow in the opposite direction, I turned to them and waved because I didnât want to be considered a snob. Kevin wore his ear-to-ear grin, Sinead her dimpled one. The others also smiled. But Pete just looked back with direct, unreadable eyes.
I fervently hoped they
Similar Books
