Part One
Shelby
Chapter One
Melbourne, Australia
The sharp snap of Mum’s diary closing transitioned into the pilot announcing we’d safely arrived in Melbourne. Nearly two decades after I last departed, I was returning to the first home I’d ever known. Much older, slightly more emotionally regulated and with fewer suitcases.
It was 8:00 am local time making it 4:00 pm yesterday back in Canada. The flight was long, and I was exhausted. Sixteen hours with minimal sleep, thanks to the poor woman next to me attempting to wrangle a baby and a toddler, made a pretty cranky Shelby – but how could I be mad? She was doing her best and it wasn’t as thoughshevomited all over me. Nope. That was her terrifying toddler. The vomiting assassin who not only sprayed my shoes with regurgitated cheese and crackers but then snuggled into me in his sleep and used my jacket as both a dribble collector and comforter.
I was a mess. A disgusting, fatigued mess. Although the experience had cemented my decision that children were not on the table for me. I never felt maternal and despite my sympathy and awe at those who did there were no lost feelings because all I wanted to do right nowwas bathe in an antibacterial bath followed by a moisturising routine of antiseptic wipes.
Thank God Corbin was picking me up and I could hopefully head directly to his apartment, shower and sleep.
Corbin Chambers.
The keeper of secrets, shared lover of a Crayola crayon and friend from another life.
Aunty Ashleigh had sent me a recent photo of her son, one which he undoubtedly wouldn’t appreciate given it was a work mugshot she’d screen grabbed, based on my reverse image search on Google. But it meant I should recognise him immediately as since Mum was diagnosed, our video calls were non-existent. And the only other option was requesting a selfie, which I knew he would refuse. He hated photos and more than that, would never choose to take one of himself.
But any heartwarming reunion I’d envisioned was soiled now – literally. Should I grab a taxi instead? How could I go anywhere near him smelling like a mug of sick?
Although this was Corbin. If anyone wouldn’t mind my odorous arrival it was him.
Corbin and his patience. Corbin and his intelligence. Corbin and his reliability.
From the other side of the world, he was still more dependable than most people in my life only he craved systems and order. Which was far from my current state.
Admittedly, I’d lost touch with most of my friends in the previous two years. Mum had taken so much of my time in the last months of her life and then after…after I barely had the energy to survive let alone maintain superficial friendships and return empty messages from acquaintances. Other than my younger brother Blake, and Corbin, there weren’t many constants in my life.
And my Aussie buddy barely counted.
We weren’t hosting too many deep conversations these days. The last decade was more about random questions, shared anecdotes and colour association. Also known as listing whichever crayon best surmised our emotional status. An entirely healthy and mature way to manage co-regulation with a friend if you ask me.
But, he was consistent. And in those months where mayhem was my life-partner, I was yearning for the routine and stability he offered. While we weren’t calling to help each other choose outfits or share our daily comings and goings, he was always there. Those three dots never far after I’d sent a message, regardless of the time difference, incompatible schedules or the never-ending board meetings he was often mentioning. In many ways, despite being almost 9000 miles away, it still felt like he was right next door and seeing him again was beyond exciting.
Australia was a juxtaposition of comfort and the unfamiliar. The familiar drawl of the ochre accent was soothing, an auditory reminder of Mum wrapping around me, and I grinned as I listened in on those awaiting their luggage. Powering up my phone, the lack of service indicated I was going to need to sort a temporary SIM and WIFI while I was here, if only to ensure Blake could contact me. I think he was happier than I was for me to depart. It was no secret that after Mum passed, I’d been more than a little protective. He described it as stifling and over-protective, but I preferred the terms caring and thoughtful, of course. He was probably closer to the truth though I could never do anything to stop the worry that something was going to happen to him, and I would have no one. We’d headed to Canadaas a family of four and only two of us remained, as if I wasn’t going to be a little over the top.
The next couple of months, if I lasted that long without jumping on an impromptu flight, were about getting away and doing something for myself though. If I kept reminding myself Blake was working anyway so I wouldn’t be seeing him often, I would be okay.
I’d made the decision quickly and packed light. All I really needed was the suitcase I’d brought and my two most important documents - my passport and Mum’s diary. A pale blue notebook of scrawled memories, polaroid images of landscapes and the occasional photo of a much younger her and Aunt Ashleigh in various locations of this beautiful country, including the day her and my father first met. Forever memorialised through her own words and held in my hands after discovering it tucked away among the rest of her belongings as I finally packed up and sold her house.
When Blake shared his plans to head out to Aurora Ridge for the winter to work the snow fields, I’d decided I couldn’t remain in The Valley only to sit through a cold listless few months alone. And I definitely couldn’t tag along just to make sure he was okay. That was likely going to end in fratricide and then even in the afterlife I’d likely still be worrying Blake was now on his own with no one to make sure he’d done his taxes and paid his bills.
Fatefully, in the process of finally packing Mum’s possessions, I’d discovered the tattered time machine and my decision was finalised within the hour. I’d spoken with Aunty Ash and booked a one-way ticket to Melbourne.
Spontaneity often drove my decisions so no one was surprised when I whacked a ‘Closed for the Foreseeable Future’ banner across my candle website and decided there was no better way to spend my 30th birthday than retracing the steps of my own mother all those years ago. If for no other reason than perhaps it would grant me some closure. I was desperate for an adventure and Mum really did make some of these places sound breathtaking – especially those hotsprings where she first met Dad. And, as strange as it was, I had never been able to decide where to scatter her and Dad’s ashes and when Blake said he trusted me with the decision, the little blue map of memories provided the perfect idea. I would bring Mum home and, as in life, wherever one of them went, the other followed.
To me, there was nowhere more perfect for them to remain than the place their love story first began.
With my brand-new beige suitcase in tow, I excitedly set off for the arrivals gate to locate my Australian friend.
The foreign summer warmth was stifling despite the air-conditioning doing its very best. I was anticipating heat, but my linen pants and light jacket were still too much and with my top rolled into my bag courtesy of toddler-barf I was perspiring more than anyone should be in an air-conditioned airport.
Releasing a puff of air from my mouth to detach my sweaty fringe from my forehead, I looked around for any sign of Corbs, switching between scanning faces and the photo Aunty Ash had sent. It was blurry but I was pretty certain he had short brown hair, and those deep green eyes were still the same. I wasn’t sure if he would be wearing a suit like he was in the photo but surely he wouldn’t be too difficult to spot.
Despite my fatigue riddled brain, I was really looking forward to both seeing him and spending the indefinite future in the place I once called home.
