A
Perfect Moment by Becca Lee Extract
Walking into
the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast next to a smiling Preston was simply
awkward. After the whole towel incident, I wanted to ram my fist in his groin.
The only problem with that was that it made me think of his groin, and then
specifically his penis, and then sex. I was totally screwed. I was a crazy
nervous wreck and was in desperate need of space and double choc chip cookie
ice cream, yet from the moment his arrogant arse walked into my room, he hadn’t
stopped grinning and sidling up to me at every opportunity. This included
touching and the random kiss on my head, my shoulder, my cheek. Hell, I half
expected him to throw himself on the floor so he could kiss his way up my calf.
My point was
that it was frustrating, and sweet, and a whole lot of confusing. Nothing could
or would ever happen between me and baby Preston. I’d deliberately started
calling him that after the towel debacle. I knew it pissed him the hell off.
Immature? Definitely. Satisfying? Absolutely.
I shuffled
into the restaurant in desperate need for a bacon sandwich that baby Preston had promised me. I felt
alcohol induced crappy and dehydrated. It took me awhile as I was wrapped up in
thoughts of penises and bacon—not together necessarily, though it may have
proved interesting—to realise that virtually the whole restaurant, filled up
with Jo and Jackson’s family and friends, which meant Preston’s family too, and
my parents, had all stopped their conversation and were openly gaping at us. It
took all of ten seconds for individuals to nudge one another and smile over at
us. We even got a couple of winks from Preston’s Uncle Bernie and one from his
elderly next-door neighbour Dot.
My prayers
weren’t answered. The ground didn’t open up and swallow me whole. I even
stamped my left foot to double check, which inevitably sent a wicked pain
through my head. To make the whole nightmare even more surreal and completely
screwed up, Preston clearly thought that it would be hilarious to take hold of
my hand and pull me toward the two empty chairs on our parents’ table. Of
course, they were sharing a table; that’s what close friends did.
Dumbfounded, I
mindlessly allowed him to pull me along. As we edged closer, I played out the
best scenario to get me out of what was likely to be an even more humiliating
meal shared with both sets of parents than the one Jo and I experienced when we
were ten years old. My mum and Kate, Jo and Preston’s mum, had decided that a
Sunday evening meal with both our families would be the opportune time to
discuss with us the facts about the menstrual cycle. My dad, who pulled out
some paper and colouring pencils, then backed this up and proceeded to draw a
detailed illustration. Jo and I had looked at one another in horror, clinging
to each other in our mutual humiliation. It was then that Collin, their dad,
had slapped down medium-rare steaks on our plates. The steaks had oozed with so
much blood that we screamed, gagged and ran away to our tree house in Jo’s
backyard.
Not to self: when you have children, no
bloody steak, illustrations or family discussions.
So, this meal
was going to be bad. The only play I could think of to avoid the two metres
until I got to the empty chair was to fain sickness, which actually wasn’t too
far from what I felt like. If I didn’t get bacon in my system soon, I would
throw up, and I’d make damned sure I did so in Preston’s lap. Begrudgingly, I
carried on along my path of humiliation and interrogation, Preston firmly
holding my hand the whole way.
*Unedited and
subject to change.
