Myths And Facts About Boys That Every Girl Should Know [#1o]

Myth Number Ten: All Boys Are Rubbish Cooks

Fact: Except, of course, the ones you want to hate.

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I arrived home that afternoon to a note.

Ather, it read, we just left for the Southern Cross Basketball tournament the boys are involved in. There’s money on the bench for food and petrol, and a list of things that might be helpful for you to do.

I snorted. ‘Might be helpful’ as in ‘do it or else.’

I’ve told the Harlows that you’ll be here, so don’t worry – no, of course not. I won’t worry that my most hated nemesis knows I’m here, totally alone – and we’ll see you on Wednesday. Love mum xoxoxo.

I dumped my bag near the kitchen bench and hauled myself up onto a stool. The list and money were sitting there next to the original note.

1. Take clothes off line

2. Feed Stu

3. Pack dishwasher

4. Unpack dishwasher

5. Return last night’s movies

6. Make it rain

7. Trim hedges

8. Win the lottery

9. Or marry a billionaire, doesn’t matter

10. Renovate laundry

11. Be nice to Isaac

I snorted again. Clearly dad, not mum, had written the list. He has a stupid sense of humour like that. Be nice to Isaac. Please.

I read over the list again briefly and then grabbed an apple. There wasn’t really anything on there that couldn’t at least wait half an hour or so. Or longer, depending.

The house was strangely and uncomfortably quiet with my family gone. I decided I didn’t like it, so went and got my iPod and an AUX cable to run it through the main stereo in the living room. I could play my music as loud as I wanted and there was no one to stick their head through a door and say “Ather! Turn that crap off!”

Oh, the freedom.

Once it was all connected I hit my Happy playlist and the laid-back notes of Jason Mraz’s ‘I’m Yours’ filtered through the speakers and into the still-sunny room.

“Well you done done me and you can bet I felt it

I tried to be chill but you’re so hot that I melted

I fell right through the cracks…”

It had been playing almost non-stop on the radio but I loved it anyway. It was just so laid back and surfie, the perfect mellow love song.

I started singing and humming along as I flopped on the couch with a book and started reading. Homework could wait.

“…I reckon it’s my turn to win some or learn some

But I won’t hesitate no more, I’m yours…”

The two movies we had rented the day before were sitting on the coffee table in front of me, staring at me accusingly. Our family has sort of a problem with movie rentals and returning them – so much so I’m sort of surprised we haven’t been banned altogether. Or just given up under the crushing late fees.

I tried to ignore them, but I knew with absolute certainty that if I forgot about them now, I would forget about them for the next twenty four hours at least.

With a loud sigh (for absolutely no ones benefit but my own) I got up, grabbed the videos and went to put a pair of jeans on, still humming contentedly to the music. On a whim, I looked outside into the still-unusually-sunny day and decided that instead of driving, I’d actually spend time outside for once and walk them back. It wasn’t actually that far to go.

“It can-not wait, I’m yoo-uuurs…” I sang along, probably badly, as the song finished as I walk out the door. The song reminded me of Heath, and so therefore made me instantly happy every time I heard or sang it.

Movies in hand, I slid my sunglasses on and started the long – well, sort of – trek up the street to the video rental place, trying to figure out why people still called it Video Rental if all it actually rented was DVDs. As I paused slightly up the path to check the mail, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Ooh, message. It was probably Heath, seeing as he’s pretty much the only one sending me messages lately.

As I hit View, though, my smile faded and I could have sworn my heart actually slowed, if not stopped.

Ath... Listen, I’ve been doing some thinking and ive decided that this isn’t working 4 me. I cant be with u, not just now but not at all. Im so sorry, i swear u didnt do nething wrong, its just me. I like u, i just cant be with u. Plz dont hate me.

I read through the message twice, rubbed my eyes, re-entered the message and read it again. No. No, this can’t happen, I decided. I’ll put my phone back in my pocket, return the two movies and when I look again back here, it’ll be gone.

Yeah. Good plan.

I started to walk, quickly settling into a casual rhythm, trying to ignore the odd feeling in my chest, like only my right lung was working. My heart still hadn’t quite resumed beating yet. I tried to shake off the feeling with every step, until I found myself mentally reciting a sort of mantra while I walked.

That did not just happen.

That did not just happen.

That did not just happen.

And then:

He is not worth crying over.

He is not worth crying over.

Much as I tried to block it out, though, more odd thoughts kept springing to mind. I was sorely tempted to go and find him, wherever he was, and pretend nothing had happened. Wait a minute or so and then pretend to only just get the message. Watch the look on his face. Make him as uncomfortable as possible.

But no, that wasn’t nice. It was probably hard enough for him to send anyway. I crossed the main road, scaring myself slightly with how strong the compulsion to jump in front of a car just to make Heath regret it was. This wasn’t good – revenge fantasies aren’t going to make anything easier.

Besides, I still wasn’t sure it was real.

I got to the video store a bit faster than expected, no doubt due to watching the footpath and my feet rather than the passing scenery. There was no one else in there, so with a quick ‘thanks’ from the store attendant I just dropped the movies off and left.

Then resumed my tramp home, each step deliberately calm.

That did not just happen.

He is not worth crying over.

About halfway back I sort of realised the two were sort of contradictory. I mean, what was there to cry about if it didn’t happen?

Still musing this, I turned into our front yard only to find Isaac on our porch.

“Um, hey… looking for someone?” I asked him, removing my sunglasses.

“Oh,” he replied somewhat sheepishly, “Yeah. Sorry. I saw your car… thought you might have been home…”

“I went for a walk.”

“Oh… right. Uh, well, Mum heard you were going to be by yourself tonight, so she ordered me to bring you over some food.”

I eyed the container in his hand. “You brought me food? It’s not poisoned, or anything, is it?”

Isaac looked very much like he was resisting an urge to roll his eyes. “No, Ather, the food is not poisoned. I should know, not only because I made it but because I ate some before it got put in a container.”

“Well, in that case…” I motioned for the container and Isaac handed it over. “Thanks.”

He just nodded, not moving.

I waited. “Is… is that it?” The feeling in my chest wasn’t going away and I needed to look again to make sure the message was gone.

Isaac nodded again. “Yeah, sorry. See you.”

Puzzled, I just gave a little wave and went to unlock the door. As soon as I was inside, I put the container down on the bench and opened it. Any food from the Harlows is usually great – Isaac’s mum even seems to have bred her cooking skills into him, which is just annoying because it sucks that he’s good at anything – so it was worth taking just a quick look. It was a still-warm potato salad (a hot-but-cold-but-hot potato salad, the triplets call it, probably because its meant to be eaten cold but tastes better hot) which made my mouth water with the smell.

I grabbed a fork and shoved a whole mouthful down my throat. Oh, the potatoey and mayonnaise-y goodness. Curse Isaac and his amazing cooking. Then I remembered the message again.

With an inexplicable surge of hope, I pulled my phone out hurriedly and got into my inbox.

Maybe…

Maybe…

Or maybe not. Shit. It was still there. It had really happened.

Not that it mattered too much… I still wasn’t ready to deal with what this might mean, or anything. I needed something else to keep me busy, keep my mind off it. Anything. I turned to the list left by Mum.

Perfect. I grabbed a basket and went outside, unpegging the clothes with the same purposeful composure I had walked with before. I was hanging onto it as though it was the lynchpin brick holding a dam together.

Unfortunately, though, the same purpose which kept me calm also meant that jobs like the clothes took me shorter than expected. Soon all the clothes were down and I needed something else to do, so I checked the list again.

Got it. Stu was our rabbit – geddit, rabbit Stu? – who was the size of a fully-grown rabbit when he was 5 months old. Soon he’s going to be approximately the size of a small dog, in which case I can’t wait to get a collar and take him for walks. Stu is relatively low-maintenance, as feeding him only really involves breaking a couple of carrots and sitting them on top of a grain mix. Oh, and making sure he has water.

I tried sitting next to his cage for a little while to distract myself, but there isn’t much that’s very distracting about watching a rabbit nibble at a carrot. I considered bringing him inside for a run around – if we let him out outside we’d never see him again – but figured that sort of defeated the purpose of feeding him in the first place.

Ok, next: 3. Pack dishwasher

Another disappointingly simple task. There was only really breakfast bowls to put away and a bench to wipe, seeing how no one had done it earlier in the morning. Still, I started to stack them, trying to hold the dam back.

There was still music playing, and suddenly Paramore’s ‘When It Rains’ found a whole new relevance.

“… And when it rains

On this side of town it touches

Everything

Just say it again and mean it

We don’t miss a thing…”

There were a few glasses sitting on the sink, too, so I put those in too. The last one I picked up was upside down from the way it needed to go in, so I spun it round in my hand, totally unprepared for whatever it had on it or in it which made it slippery. It slipped out of my hand, hitting my foot on the way down to crack and break on the floor.

“And convinced yourself

It’s not the reason you don’t see the sun anymore…”

Dimly, I was aware of the centre stone of the wall giving way.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, bending down to rub my foot. Far from going away, the pain worsened with every second. Then I looked at all the shards of glass all over the floor. “Oh, shit.”

I bent down and tried to pick some of the bigger ones up, the pain now bringing tears to my eyes. “Ow, shit… shit, shit…” I could feel the dam going brick by brick, and so desperately gasped in deep breaths in an effort to calm myself down, but they only caught in my throat. “Ow, ow, oww…”

I think it was about then that the dam broke, and I just sort of …fell apart.

By then, I was sobbing, pain in my foot only secondary to the shattering anguish the now-broken wall had previously held back. “Ow, my God, oh my God, oh, no…”

“…And oh, oh… how could you do it?

Oh, ohh, I never saw it coming…”

I stumbled into a part of the kitchen which didn’t have shards of broken glass all over it, and almost collapsed onto the floor. I had to literally hold on to the bench to support myself; my sobs wracked my entire body. I remember vaguely thanking God none of my family was home, as they would have been seriously scared. Normally when I cry, it’s silently, not wanting to alert anyone else to my ‘suffering’. I now understand the phrase ‘howled with pain’.

Eventually, though, hysterical sobbing gets sort of exhausting. I pulled myself up from where I was on the floor, grabbed a box of tissues and collapsed again on the couch.

Then, ignoring the glass, the dishwasher, Isaac’s food and more or less everything else, I curled up and cried. It felt like I was under a tonne of water, totally empty and yet unable to float.

“… And oh, how could you do it?

I, I never saw it coming

Oh, oh, I need an ending

So why can’t you stay

Just long enough to explain?”

Plz dont hate me.

I wish I could.