Without a backwards glance, Groucho strolls out the studio door, leaving me staring at the empty frame and wondering what the hell just happened.
CHAPTER 1
Evie
A balding, middle-aged stranger sits hunched over my kitchen counter, my favourite mug held prisoner in his hands. His hairy fingers mask the words ‘STRAIGHT OUTTA BED’ printed in black on the white porcelain, but something about his knit cardigan and olive khakis makes me suspect he wouldn’t get the NWA album reference anyway.
‘Hellooo!’ he croons as I attempt to sneak into my own kitchen. ‘You must be Eva.’
‘Hellooo,’ I echo, like we’re on the set of a nineties game show. Not for the first time, I regret inviting my mother to move in with me.It’s way too early for this, Mum.‘And it’s Evie,’ I correct with slightly heated cheeks. ‘Nice to meet you …’
‘Jack,’ he supplies, smirking with one side of his mouth.
I tighten my fluffy bathrobe in front of the man I assume Mum went out to dinner with last night andhunt for a runner-up mug that’s big enough to hold my litre of coffee.
‘This isn’t yours, is it?’ Hairy Fingers lifts the steaming cup a little higher.
Everything in here is mine, actually.
‘It’s all good.’ I shoot him a smile because I honestly don’t want him to feel bad about the mug or helping himself to my coffee. Where in the infinite depths of the universe is my mother?
I fish a chipped mug from the dishwasher, wash it out, and begin brewing a cup of dark roast.
Hairy Fingers and I are making painfully clumsy small talk about which grocery stores have the best coffee deals when Mum strolls in, draped in a palm-print caftan that looks well out of her budget. It’s still early, yet she’s carefully applied her trademark fire-engine-red lipstick.
‘There she is—La Prima Donna,’ Hairy Fingers sings in a poor imitation of an Italian accent as Mum pads over to him and kisses his temple, leaving behind a crimson smudge. Anyone would believe she’s either in a relationship with this man or destined to be in one soon. Anyone who doesn’t know my mother.
‘Morning, Evie,’ she says over a yawn while brushing past me, drenching my nostrils in expensive perfume. ‘I see you’ve met Jack.’
‘I’m not surprised you have such a gorgeous daughter,’ he remarks, the compliment clearly meant for Mum rather than me. His eager eyes ogle her behindas she flings open the fridge and pulls out the organic pomegranate juice she bought yesterday.
‘How’s your head?’ she asks him while filling her glass with juice; presumably, they made the most of last night’s wine menu.
‘Depends on which head you mean,’ Hairy Fingers quips under his breath.
Mum bursts into girlish laughter as she tosses a tea towel at him. ‘Well, I’m sure there’s one that’s feeling quite content,’ she deadpans as he shakes off the tea towel like a wet dog drying itself.
I think I puke a little in my mouth.
A faint, tinny rendition of ‘Birds of a Feather’ by Billie Eilish tingles from my bedroom, and I mentally kiss the universe for saving me from this unfolding horror show.
I reach my phone just before it rings out.
‘You have no idea what you just saved me from,’ I say to my agent, setting my coffee on the bedside table.
Martina chuckles. ‘Oh no, what did I interrupt?’
I sit on my emerald-green bedspread and curl up a knee. ‘Mum brought a guy home last night, and they’re having flirty sex banter right in front of me. Ugh, I should’ve just stayed in bed.’
I swear, her grimace is audible. ‘Your mum’s still living with you?’
‘Yup. Mum and her revolving door of Tinder dates. You hardly ever call me this early, lovely,’ I observe and blow on my coffee. ‘Got something fun to tell me?’
‘Sure have. An email came through last night about an audition for this Friday.’
I sit up higher. ‘Please tell me they’re bringingHamiltonback to Australia. You know I would sacrifice a limb to be in that show. Well, maybe not a limb. They’d probably want me to have all my limbs.’
Dancing is all I’ve ever wanted to do, but renting in Sydney’s inner west isn’t cheap, and teaching hip-hop several times a week isn’t exactly covering my bills, especially now that Mum’s moved in. Her casual hospitality earnings don’t quite align with her impulsive spending habits, and she’s got more credit card debt than she can keep up with. None of this is news—I spent my childhood enjoying gourmet seafood platters and freshly baked desserts on Mum’s payday and then living off rice and tinned tuna for the rest of the month—but this past year has really tested her lack of budgeting skills, with her car breaking down and her hospitality staffing agency going under.
