The New Normal Read online

  “What was that about?” Terri asked when he joined her.

  “Nothing. The architect thought he knew me or something.”

  Terri’s right eyebrow arched impressively high. She looked between him, Ron, and the Tesla that was pulling out onto the road. “Right. I’d probably believe Ron asked your advice on something more than that bullshit.”

  Andrew snorted and climbed the scaffolding to the third and top floor, Terri just behind him. “Ron barely follows the plans, let alone asks advice from us.”

  “True, and I’d still believe that over this architect knowing you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Terri laughed as they stepped off the scaffolding and into the growing framework. “I’ve worked on Sheridan’s projects before. He’s definitely not a hands-on architect. Usually if he shows up at a site, it’s only because he’s got wind of something not being done right.”

  Which worked with what Andrew had witnessed between Ron and Sheridan.

  Thankfully, Terri dropped the subject as they got to work. Andrew didn’t mind heights and liked working the top of a build, but today he was extra grateful. Concentrating on his footing and balance helped keep his mind off the night before. Anger still simmered when he thought about Elle and James asking him to be the best man. Which it shouldn’t. He was happy Elle had found someone else after they broke up. He was happy that James was happy, too. It was just that some days, it was hard seeing them happy because of each other. Hard to see them happy when Andrew had been miserable for so long. Miserable and confused and scared.

  But he focused entirely on his work and refused to think of Brian. Refused to think about how he might have ruined the one good thing left in his life all because of Elle and James and their happiness. Refused to take a moment, as he did every day when he worked the top floor, to look between the tall buildings across the road and watch the narrow strip of ocean that was visible. The water was blue-green, the same as Brian’s eyes first thing in the morning, when he was still sleepy and blinking and stumbling around their small kitchen.

  Banishing that rogue thought, Andrew fixated on his hands and tools and just worked. They were assembling the front walls today, laying the planks out and securing them together before lifting the framework into place. This was what he’d liked about coming back to construction after his illness. There was no guessing, no questioning. Everything here had its set purpose and place. They worked from the plans with predetermined motions. There was no “waiting and seeing,” no “ninety percent success rate.” This was real and solid, something he could count on. It was work that let him forget, that numbed his emotions, and at the end of it was a beautiful home for a family. This he could do.

  By lunch he was sweaty and thirsty. Only October and already the middle of the day was getting up towards thirty on the thermometer. Andrew and Terri descended to the ground with the rest of the crew and they all settled into the shade beside the site office—a mobile shed parked on the front of the property. Andrew grabbed one of his Gatorades and drank it all in a couple of big gulps before pulling out his lunch. Beside him, Terri settled in with a container of pasta that even cold looked amazing. Better than Andrew’s chicken and salad on a wheat roll. He hadn’t gotten back into shape by indulging in creamy pastas, and even though he was now working full time at a very physical job he didn’t want to backslide so soon.

  On Andrew’s other side, Sam opened a container of big slices of what looked like a super supreme pizza. He took a massive bite of the cold wedge, chewed and spoke around the mouthful. “Saw you chatting with the boss and architect earlier. What was that all about?” His tone was just this side of sneering. Andrew had never met anyone with a bigger grudge against management and authority than Sam.

  The general level of lunchtime chatter amongst the crew dropped off and several sun-bronzed and sweaty faces turned to Andrew.

  Shrugging, Andrew took a bite of his roll, hoping any interest would get waylaid by something else by the time he’d finished chewing and swallowing. It worked partially and only Sam and Damo were still looking at him expectantly when his mouth was clear.

  “It wasn’t anything important.”

  “Yeah? It’s just that Ron’s been muttering about bloody architects all morning. I mean, more than usual. Thought maybe you were privy to something.”

  “Well, apparently Ron got the wrong type of ducts for the heat shifting system in, so that didn’t go down well.”

  Sam snorted. “Told him they were wrong when they showed up the other day. Did he listen to me?”

  “No,” Damo, Terri and Andrew chorused.

  “I don’t know why Green Life keeps contracting us for their builds,” Terri mused. “Ron’s not exactly on board with eco friendly. He only thought Sheridan’s car was cool until he found out it was electric.”

  “Bloody wanker in his electric car,” Sam muttered but was largely ignored as the talk turned to the usual disgruntlement with management and working conditions. Andrew stayed out of most of it. McGregor Construction wasn’t a bad mob to work for, as far as he could tell, but no workplace was ever perfect.

  During the afternoon, they got the final framework on the third floor finished, a day ahead of schedule thanks to a spell of fine weather.

  “Trusses tomorrow,” Terri said as she and Andrew packed up their gear.

  Being one of the few construction groups to do everything but site prep, electrical and plumbing was one of the reasons Andrew liked working with McGregor. It meant they were on the job for more than one step of the whole build. He got to see the houses grow from the foundation to a finished building, with subcontractors doing the wiring, plumbing and internal fittings.

  “This one is going to be over before we know it,” Andrew murmured, more to himself than Terri.

  She heard him though and stopped dusting off her thick work gloves. The expression she turned on him was shrewd. “Sheridan does know you, doesn’t he?”

  Stomach clenching, Andrew shook his head. “He doesn’t.” Not really. He knew a name on an application, that was all.

  Terri snorted. “Keep feeding me that shit and I’ll make you walk home. Come on. You’re not here just to earn some money like the rest of us. This is the third one we’ve worked on together and I’ve never seen anyone get so invested in the builds.” She paused and the silence was heavy with innuendo. “Except for the hands-on architects.”

  “I’m not an architect.” After three months of not even talking about it, he’d had to say it twice in one day. Maybe the third time was the charm and it would feel right then.

  “Did I say you were?” Terri tucked her gloves away, picked up her esky and sauntered off towards her car, leaving behind a definite air of I’m-on-to-you.

  Andrew’s stomach sank as he followed, convinced she was going to grill him on the ride home. But the closer they got to Labrador and the longer Terri didn’t push the matter, the worse Andrew felt. It wasn’t until they were bypassing some of the coastal traffic by taking Olsen Avenue and they drove by the hospital that Andrew understood the sickening sense of dread wasn’t about Terri prying.

  Brian’s shift were ten hours, which meant he would be home not long after Andrew got there, and that . . . that didn’t feel good. For the first time in years, Andrew didn’t want to see Brian. Didn’t want to hear about his day, didn’t want to share in his joy in doing what he loved. And he could only blame himself for that. He couldn’t even share it with Elle and James and their insistence he be the best man, because he’d known it was coming. They all had. They’d barely even needed to announce it, except that maybe Troy had really thought he would be asked. Andrew had still let it get to him though.

  “Drew! Million bucks for your thoughts.”

  Terri’s finger snap more than the words caught Andrew’s attention. He flashed her a guilty look, then studied his work boots.

  “You okay?” Terri asked seriously. “You’ve been kind of quiet today, and that’s sa
ying something.”

  “I’m fine. Just had a few drinks last night.” And told his best friend he loved him. Not even in a drunken “I love yous guys” way. A real hearts and rings kind of way. He’d be bloody lucky if Brian ever spoke to him again.

  Terri grunted and instead of continuing straight ahead to Labrador, turned up Napper Road.

  “Where are we going?” Andrew asked.

  “My place. You’re clearly in need of therapy.”

  “And I’ll get that at your place?”

  “No, but the demons possessing my spare bedrooms will convince you that you do.”

  Andrew laughed. “Does Mike know you call the kids that?”

  “He’s the one who nailed the crosses to their doors.”

  Terri’s partner, Mike, was an amazing chef and their kids, while energetic and loud, were good young people. Andrew liked spending time with them so agreeing was no hardship. Especially if it put off seeing Brian for a bit longer.

  “Fuck.” Brian pulled his car into the driveway and waved at Elle. She was sitting on the front step to his and Andrew’s townhouse. She stood and waved back, smiling though it looked strained.

  Tired and strung out from his first shift in accident and emergency, Brian really didn’t want to have to deal with anyone tonight. Especially not Elle. Hadn’t she done enough already?

  He clicked the automatic garage door control and eased the Jag in once it was open. Elle trailed along after, tapping at her phone screen.

  “How was your first day?” She put the phone away when he got out of the car.

  Exciting. Disappointing. Fulfilling. Draining. “Good. Long, though. I’m not up for much tonight.” He leaned against the car and longed for the couch, a cold drink and a moment to process everything he’d seen, heard and shoved his hand into today.

  She gave him an understanding smile. “I bet. This won’t take long. I meant to ask last night and it kind of got lost in everything else, but you know I would love to have the Jag as my wedding car, so . . . yes? No? Maybe?”

  Relieved that was all she wanted, Brian nodded. “Sure. Of course. Might be a bit of a job getting a puffball dress into it but we’ll manage. I’ll be your driver, even.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Elle threw her arms around him in a brief but tight hug. “You’re the coolest Jag owner there ever was. We’ll pay for any cleaning or detailing you want, of course. Before and after. And I’m planning sleek and sexy, not puffball.” She ran a hand down her curves and Brian agreed sleek would be perfect, and the white would be amazing with her Aboriginal heritage. “But James needs you as a groomsman so I was thinking my cousin Tyson could drive it?” She batted hopeful lashes at him.

  It wasn’t like Brian was anal about who drove his car, but he sort of was. “We’ll see?”

  “He offered to do test drives for you if you want.”

  Not wanting this to drag out any longer than absolutely necessary, Brian said, “Fine.”

  “Great. I’ll message him.” Out came the phone and tap tap went her thumbs. “I’ve been trying to reach Andrew all day and he hasn’t answered. I was worried about him last night. He hasn’t drunk that much in ages.”

  “He hasn’t drunk anything at all since being diagnosed. And they’re not allowed to have their phones on them on the site.”

  “I know, but usually he messages me during his lunch break or when they’re finished for the day.” Elle waved at the entrance to the house from the garage. “And he’s not home yet. Have you heard anything?”

  Andrew should have been home an hour or so ago. Brian pulled his phone out of his satchel and turned it on. First day jitters—and post-last-night-freak-out—had made it easy for him to ignore his phone all day. He hadn’t wanted to piss off the doctors he was working with, and certainly hadn’t wanted to hear from Andrew. Not until he was ready to face him. Which he wasn’t sure about even now. It was almost a relief to realise Andrew wasn’t home.

  There were no messages from Andrew. No missed calls. No forwarded memes. Nothing. It wasn’t like they always messaged throughout the day. A lot of the time they didn’t. But today’s silence felt weird, like there was this potential going ignored, or it was a building tension before a storm.

  “Anything?” Elle asked hesitantly.

  Brian shook his head. “Maybe they went out for drinks or something.”

  “Surely he’d let you know.”

  Normally, yeah. Now? After last night? Who knew? “He’s big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself.” Brian unlocked the internal door and walked into the kitchen.

  “You aren’t worried at all?” Elle followed.

  His couch was right there. A couple of meters that way and he could fall face first on the too-soft cushions and pilled grey fabric. Man, he was wrung out. After one day. This rotation was going to be brutal. Or maybe he just needed to get some sleep. Not stay up most of the night wondering what the hell his best friend meant when he said “I’m in love with you.” Maybe then he wouldn’t spend the day alternating between being petrified of each case that walked, hobbled or was wheeled into the A&E and being worried about what Andrew’s drunken confession actually meant.

  “Brian!”

  He snapped around at Elle’s sharp tone. “Sorry. I spaced out. It’s been a long day. I just want to get horizontal.”

  “But what about Andrew?”

  “Oh my fucking God, Elle, give it a rest. I’m tired and stressed and my hand was inside a person today and I don’t really want to deal with anyone right now, least of all Andrew. And if you’re really this worried about him going silent for a day, why the hell did you ever break up with him in the first place?”

  Elle was supremely non-confrontational and Brian’s sharp tone didn’t seem to dint her calm. Instead she titled her head and asked gently, “Why least of all Andrew? Did you guys fight?”

  Trust Elle to pick up on that little slip. His irritation fizzled under the soothing cadence of her concern. “No,” he muttered, a bit miffed that the argument he’d been trying for wasn’t going to happen. Not with Elle, at least. Maybe if Andrew were here, he’d get to yell a bit, but probably not. Andrew was almost as hard to provoke into a fight as Elle. There was a reason their breakup had been so undramatic.

  Before Elle could pry the whole story out of Brian, Schrodinger sauntered imperiously down the stairs and slammed eight kilos of Russian Blue into Brian’s shins. The cat’s purr drowned out the humming of the fridge as he wove in and out of Brian’s legs. Only once the bottom of Brian’s pants were completely covered in grey fur did he move on to Elle.

  She crouched down to cuddle him. “Hello, Tolstoy. How’s my baby boy?”

  Brian and Andrew had never been able to decide on a name for the cat—Andrew insisted he was Archimedes—so their friends had thrown their own option into the mix. The only good thing about it was that both of them agreed the cat wasn’t a Tolstoy.

  Schrody rammed his face into her cheek, leaving a trail of cat slobber in his wake. Elle laughed and stood up, the giant floof cradled in her arms. “He’s so big now.”

  “Yeah, who would have thought that tiny kitten Andrew had to teach to lap milk would grow into Gigantor.”

  Andrew had found the miniscule ball of fur hiding in the bushes in their backyard just over a year before. The treatments and depression had been very hard on him at that point and Brian had left him in a chair on the back patio to soak up the sunshine while he went to work. When he came home at lunchtime to check on Andrew, he’d found him sitting in the middle of the yard, the tiny cat curled up inside his shirt. The kitten had been as weak as Andrew and scared of anything other than being tucked into a warm hidey-hole. They’d taken turns sitting up with him those first couple of nights, making sure he was warm and safe, but the kitten hadn’t drunk the milk they gave him, so off to the vets they’d gone. The verdict? He was too young to eat on his own, so it was bottle-feeding until he could. To look at him now, no one would ever know how close he’
d come to not making it.

  Sort of like Andrew, really.

  Mellowed by that thought, Brian accepted Schrody from Elle, who made a show of picking two or three hairs out of the mass now clinging to her silk top and flicking them aside. Schrody’s purr ramped up and he shoved his face inside the collar of Brian’s button-down. Of course he still wanted to be carried around as he had been that first day with Andrew, even though he was big enough now to wear his own shirt.

  “I should go.” Elle gave Schrody a final pat. “I said I’d pick James up from work and I’m already late.”

  Brian grabbed the keys he’d put on the kitchen counter and opened the front door for her. Naturally, Schrody popped his head out of Brian’s shirt and struggled to get down.

  “Not today, you big lug.” Brian wrestled the cat into a more secure hold. “Tell Aunty Elle what you did the last time you got out. You beat up all the dogs on the street, didn’t you, even Roger the German Shepherd.”

  Elle laughed. “A German Shepherd? Good for you, Tolly.” She stepped out, stopped, then turned around. “When you say inside a person . . .?”

  One of the things Brian liked about Elle—when she wasn’t driving him insane—was that of all his friends, she was the one who happily listened to his stories from the blood and guts side of his work. She worked as a receptionist for a cardiac surgeon and had not only an interest, but an understanding of what Brian was talking about. At least more so than the others.

  “Surfing accident. Fin on his board cut into the guy’s side. I had to sort of hold his guts in.”

  Elle pulled a grossed-out expression. “Ugh. Cool but ugh.”

  “Yeah.” He was still thankful to whatever power had arranged it so the fin hadn’t actually damaged the intestines. Better for the patient, as well as the intern already struggling with the situation while the surfer asked him if the board was okay. “So remember, kids, a rashie isn’t just for sun protection.”

  “You’re going to be a great doctor.”