Brea

The moment I step inside the hotel room, it's like everything evaporates from my body, as if I had been running on adrenaline for the last hour. I collapse onto the end of the bed, struggling to draw in a breath.

It's small and old, exactly like what—I realise I don't even know his name—said. But also like he said, it has everything I need. Tears burn my eyes and I let them fall down my cheeks, sagging into the hard, lumpy mattress.

Everything that has happened in the last few days has finally caught up with me. Eventually, I peel myself from the bed to shower. After a minute, the water runs cold, and I step out if the cubicle shivering. The cold tiles feel harsh on my bare feet as I hastily towel myself dry.

My apartment in the city may have been small but it was ultra-modern, nothing like this. Exhaling, I lean heavily onto the sink and stare at my reflection. The shower helped reduce my puffy eyes, but I still look exhausted.

I tap my screen and go into the last message my brother sent me, telling me to come by the house any time after four. I spend the next thirty minutes getting ready. I dress in skinny jeans, converse, and a sleeveless top. It still screams 'out of towner', but it's the most casual outfit I have packed.

I head out the door, desperate to escape the musky room. I've never been good at dealing with my feelings, so sitting inside the room alone felt like a weight crushing onto my chest. I need to get out and breathe fresh air, even if the air here is laced with dust.

One of the perks of visiting a small town, I'm able to walk most places. A few rust-spotted trucks cruise by me and heads swivel in my direction, probably wondering who I am.

I'm surprised that I remember most of the shops on the main street. They haven't changed all this time. It's so different here. Calm, quiet. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

My heart clenches inside my chest when I stop in front of a faded, pastel pink sign. I didn't mean to end up here but subconsciously I was drawn to it like a magnet.

JMNB Florist

Swallowing, I blink up at it, shocked that it's been a decade since my mother and I were here and our family's shop is still named this. I have no idea who would be running the show now.

Stepping inside, I peer around. A few things have changed with the layout, but it's mostly the same. I would spend days here, watching and helping my mother create stunning flower arrangements. It was always my dream to take over from her.

"Won't be a moment!" a voice calls from the back.

I run my hand over a lilac petal, loving the feel of the velvety texture under my fingertips. Snippets of memories flash through my mind of me running down the aisles, standing up on a stool so I could see over the counter, answering the phone and acting as though I was an adult.

There's a loud groan as the back door opens and a woman appears. She brushes her hair back from her face and gives me a warm smile. Then she stops, staring openly at me.

"Oh good Heavens," she whispers.

"Hi, Tris," I smile. Tris worked casually for my mum, so it makes sense she is the one running the place now. "You remember me?"

"You look so much like you mother," she smiles.

"How've you been?"

"Oh," she waves off my question. "Getting old sucks. How are you? You're back? And your mother?"

"Just temporarily," I reply. "Mum died a year ago."

Tris' hand flies to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh... I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

I swallow uneasily and glance around the room. "How's business?"

"Fine. Same old." She leans her hip onto the counter, looking weary. "How's your father? Haven't seen him around for a while."

I glance down at the time and realise I should be heading over to the house soon.

"I have to go, Tris, it was nice seeing you."

I rush out through the front door, eager to get away from her questions, when I run hard into something and go flying backwards, my handbag slipping from my shoulder. A strong hand firmly grips my arm, pulling me back upright.

"We have to stop meeting like this, Angel."

A shiver runs down my spine at the deep voice. I tilt my head back and stare up at him. The sunlight basks him in a golden glow, softening his features. I gaze up at him, a little dazed.

"You again."

Placing his carton of beer and 1kg bag of dog biscuits down, he lowers to the ground and collects the items that were strewn across the cement. He grabs my phone, lash brush, lipstick, and lastly—much to my mortification—a tampon.

Grinning, he hands the bag back to me before he tucks his own items back under his arms.

I clear my throat. "Thank you."

"You should probably use that," he gestures to the zipper. "Stops your things from falling out."

Rolling my eyes, I slide the strap of the bag back over my shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You free tonight?" The question is abrupt, causing me to smile. This guy seems very straightforward, which I like. Totally opposite to Mitch. Playing mind games with me was his favourite pastime.

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear as my cheeks flush. "Yes. Why's that?"

"Meet me for a drink."

"Sure."

"Seven? At the pub?"

"Okay."

He nods, casting a shadow over his dark eyes. "See you there."

The dishevelled, handsome farmer occupies my mind as I walk the familiar route to the house I grew up in. The air is humid and thick. I glance down at my white-turned-brown sneakers. This place will cling to me long after I've gone. It has before.

The house comes into view and everything inside me stills. My eyes track along the peeling paint, the rusted gated that is hanging on hinges, and the overgrown, dead gardens that my mother once spent hours on. She spent more time inside the garden than in the house.

A whole decade later. I was thirteen when I was last here and I feel like nothing about the house has changed except for the condition of it.

I wait for it to hit me. The warm sense of 'I'm home', but it doesn't come. This hasn't been my home for a long time, and neither is the family that has been inside it.

There is long, jaggard cracks in the pavements with weeds sprouting hazardly through them. Parts of the driveway have crumbled away, and the letter box sits knocked over and badly damaged from a storm, I imagine. Or maybe just general wear-and-tear.

An old truck that looks like it wouldn't pass its next registration inspection sits centre in the driveway, on such an angle that leaves no room for any other cars.

A rustling and clang sound in the garage alerts me of my brother's presence. I follow the sound, rounding the corner at the same time he does, and we almost collide. I step back. I need to stop walking so damn fast. I'm used to always being in a rush, like everyone else who lives and works in the city. But everything is different here. Slower, calmer. It's kind of nice.

"Shit," he stumbles back, blinking at me, looking like he doesn't even realise it's me. Which he probably doesn't. He stiffens for a moment as eyes which are so like my own sweep over me. "Oh... hey."

His hair is way too long, falling across his eyes, hiding them from me for a moment before he flicks it back. He has a beard now. It suits him, although in general he looks unkept, like he hasn't showered or brushed his hair for a few days. My father always looked like though even though he was home every night. Farm work is hard, dirty work, he used to tell me when I would squeal and complain about the smell of him.

Dirt and soil blanketed his clothes and skin, making him look a lot darker than me, even with my fake tan. He had always been darker, like our dad, while I was fairer. As kids we looked a lot alike, sometimes people even wondered if we were twins, but I feel like no one would say that now.

His hair is darker, mine is lighter, and that's just the beginning of the differences between us from when we were kids.

"Hey," I say.

"You're here." He puts down the bucket that is clutched in his palm and leans against the metal shed, even though the tin must be scorching hot.

This awkward, cold greeting would usually seem unusual amongst siblings, but I wouldn't even consider us that now. Strangers, we have become.

"You asked me to come, so I did."

"It's not the first time I've asked."

An uncomfortable sensation whirrs in my stomach and I shift the weight from my right foot to my left, eyes drifting over Nathan's shoulder and out across the paddocks.

"Things are different now," I say.

"Because Janelle died."

I flinch at the casual mention of our mother's passing and the use of her first name on his lips. But to be fair, I haven't uttered the word dad out loud for the better part of a decade.

The air feels so thick that it's difficult to breathe. Exhaling hard out my nose, I fold my arms across my chest and stare down at my feet, unsure what to do or say next.

"Where is he?" I eventually ask, when it appears Nathan isn't going to say anything.

"Hospital."

"Is he okay?"

"No," Nathan replies, his eyes searing into mine as he mirrors my stance. "Not really."

"Why did you ask me here?" I whisper, finally meeting his gaze.

His thick eyebrows raise as shock passes over his face before its replaced with anger.

"Because he is your fucking father," he spits at me. "You may have abandoned him, but he never abandoned you."

"Rich coming from you," I snarl, fingers tightening around my arms to the point I'm probably giving myself a bruise. "Mum died and you didn't even come to her funeral."

His lips part and he genuinely looks surprised for a moment before the hard mask is back on and he scowls, glaring down at his boots. I narrow my eyes at his odd behaviour and wait for him to say something, but he doesn't.

"Well?" I say. "What now?"

His lips curl downward even further, deep lines striking across his face. With a huff, he barges around me, leaving a dirty smudge on my skin.

"We're going to go see dad."

-----------

What is something good that has happened to you lately? :)