Sydney's Song (19 page)

So far I had never pestered Pete about his home because I had visited the US for Dad's conference. I had seen a bit of it. Besides, we were so alike in our views that I “forgot” to think of Pete as a foreigner.

He was now in the middle of applying for a job as a musician here because of me. Because he loved me. He wanted to be near me as I studied and became a mature adult. He dreamed of us sharing life: the ups and downs, laughter and tears.

We had grown very close. Dependent on each other. Emotionally, we were never stingy. We never counted what we gave. Never calculated before we gave. Emotionally, we honestly gave each other our all, holding back nothing.

And I knew he loved me passionately. He could turn me to jelly by just a single look.

I had to admit I loved Pete.

He did not have the slightest bit of rudeness or deceit in him. He did not have a single mean bone.

Nobody—nobody!—could ever be more wonderful than Pete.

Slowly I became aware that my rage was diminishing the further we walked. We trudged up a steep incline, savouring the sound of shuffled leaves under our feet in the quiet, tranquil forest.

Yes. I still wanted to wear his ring someday. I was pretty certain that when I grew older, I would still love him. Someday we would be together night and day. I would be his, and he would be mine. For always.

I stopped at the top and turned to face him. Pete had picked up a perfect laughing Banksia man from the forest floor and lifted an enquiring brow.

“This is a cone of Old Man Banksia,” I explained. “It's the only bottlebrush that flowers in summer. This particular one has been burnt and the seed released, forming these gaping mouths. Many Aussies are wary of this cone, imagining it as the scary, bad Banksia Man from May Gibb's stories. But positive thinking Aussies call it the Laughing Banksia Man because the mouths can look like they're laughing.”

“I like that better. Kind of the optimistic way of looking at it.” And he quietly presented it to me as the memento of this “outing”. See?My love
knew
how to turn the blues around.

“What exactly were you doing here in Sydney, Pete?” I dropped it inside my bag without removing my eyes from his.

“I was just drifting by,” he replied. “But one morning, I found you.I was sitting next to you. You were talking with one caller about every bus in Frenchs Forest for over one hour. I had over twenty callers while you were talking to this person. You had this most lovely voice. You had this big, wonderful heart. I'd never known anyone more patient. Your inner beauty so touched my soul. I couldn't help myself. There was no way I could've stopped it from happening. You were you. Just—you. I was knocked out. Everybody knew you weren't a girl to trifle with. Everything about you shouted it. I knew there and then I'd go through fire and water to get to you and be with you.”

He looked into my eyes with burning intensity, “I would never give you up for any reason.”

My jaw had dropped to the ground.

“Mrs Fu…” I whispered.

“Pardon?”

I laughed out loud, tears running down my cheeks. “This is rich…”

I laughed and I cried—I couldn't decide which.

“Sydney?” he was befuddled.

“You've just said the most hilarious thing! And most touching.Wait until I've told Ettoré—you fell in love with me because of Mrs Fu!” I doubled over with laughter, holding my sides. I never did get around to asking him why he had fallen in love with me. “Who'd have guessed?” I pulled out some tissues from my small backpack and cleaned my nose. “She wasn't my jinx! That woman was a heroine. She saved me my Quality bonus. And she gave me—you.”

Somehow I was grinning into his gorgeous green eyes and had forgotten all about being angry or any lingering doubts. And when Pete opened his arms I just walked in without a protest.

“One-three-hundred—five-hundred,” I smiled, my nose nuzzling his neck.

His chuckle rumbled on his chest,

“One-three-hundred—five-hundred,” he agreed.

It was Australia Day. Sinead and Jack had a major disagreement.

“That's the most offensive T-shirt ever!” Jack hissed under his breath. I threw Pete a look, eyes sharing smiles, faces straight, while eavesdropping on trouble brewing in paradise.

I had walked to their pod from Your Say, waiting for Pete to finish his call before going to the office barbecue. Today everybody was wearing Australian green-and-gold, except Sinead. She had a white T-shirt on, with “I SURVIVED 1300500” emblazoned in happy colours.

“Our last day!” she taunted, grinning broadly. “Freedom! Hooray!”

“Cut that out!” Jack seethed, gripping his pen.

“Jack can have the yucky callers all for himself!” Sinead's eyes glinted mischievously. “Yeay! Celebrate…”

Jack's firm jaw was set in obvious disgust. He abruptly logged off and cleared his desk.

“Wait!” Sinead ceased gloating. “Where are you going?”

“E-time!” he snapped. The centre was over-staffed and not keen on paying agents the higher public holiday rate. “I'm going to get roaring drunk!”

“Don't go!” Sinead begged, panicking. “Wait till I finish my shift!”

“You can enjoy all the yucky callers for your last day!” Jack spat contemptuously as he stomped away.

Sinead's blue eyes followed him, worried and bewildered.

“
Men
and their mood swings,” she muttered.

“Don't be evil,” I chided. “Men have feelings too.”

She looked up at me. Her eyes troubled.

“I don't think she really survived 1300500,” Pete commented as we walked out of Sinead's earshot. We reached for each other's hand, feeling fortunate for understanding what we had. There was so much peace swimming in his eyes, and I hoped I had helped putting some of it there.

We arrived at the Australia Day barbeque for lunch and our American boss smirked when she noticed the handholding. She told us to have our pictures taken with the Olympics' torch, which today had been brought in by some visiting Olympic officials.

It was a very fine afternoon and we walked in my favourite secret garden after work.

Pete wanted to be with me for our birthdays and our first Valentine's Day before returning to the US. I myself had taken leave for the next few weeks before switching to be a weekend part-timer.Although I had a digital-animation-for-fun workshop before my formal lectures start at the end of February, for now we had several days of holiday together.

As we walked through the tranquil, soothing glade Pete told me he had submitted his divorce papers. His lawyer advised him to be there when they would fight for his New York condo.

“It's mine,” he reasoned. “I've been playing music for as long as I could remember. When I was a minor, my parents invested all my earnings for me. After I graduated at 17, I used it for the deposit to buy this cool apartment.”

“Umm… aren't New York apartments very expensive?”

“Yes. It isn't big, but very expensive because of the location and—well, it's kinda posh. During the first three years of working fulltime, I lived frugally and paid it off. Then I asked my ex to marry me. She's been living there and my lawyer has the impression she wants to keep it. Well, she can't. It's my lifetime's hard work.Earned it solely on my own. I'll be very cranky if an undeserving woman wants to hog it. Besides, it's my only asset. I have no money anywhere else. I need to sell it to start over here.”

“Why didn't you do it before? Like, before you left the US?”

“Couldn't be bothered. Reckoned I could make my own way during my travels. Kinda too lazy to care, I guess.”

“Should've could've didn't?”

“I know I know …” He squeezed my fingers, “How I hate having to go back for this now.”

“Pete? Why didn't you join the Boston Symphony? Why New York?”

“A mistake,” he sighed. “At 17 I thought I was very grown up and should move away from my parents. Stupid move.”

I stopped and faced him, “Dad says we're allowed mistakes as long as we learn.”

His hand came up to touch my face.
I love you. I am so happy you
are in my life.
We stood in the quiet lower garden, our eyes communicating a million things. Then we embraced one another as we savoured the closeness.

At a loud squeak of a bird from the tall trees I looked up and saw an eagle perched on a branch high above.

“Hey Pete, if you were king of the world, and you could do anything you want, what would you like to turn yourself into?”

“A bird,” he promptly replied. “So I can have a bird's-eye view.See things better. Easier to comprehend them. And you?”

“An eagle! Not just any bird, but the most majestic of them all.”

And we laughed together.

“I like that.” He followed my eyes to the bird. “You—strong and wise.”

Mum phoned that evening as Pete and I were cooking dinner.

“Ettoré and I are back in Sydney,” she announced. “We're on our way to visit you. We'll be there in five.”

“In five? Why don't you just turn up?” I asked, puzzled.

“Kate said you have a boyfriend now. I want you to be presentable by the time we arrive.” And she switched off.

I turned to Pete, still confused, repeating what she said. And he laughed.

“She thinks we have a more physical relationship,” he explained.“She doesn't want you embarrassed if they show up without warning.

Just in case you're en deshabille.” He mussed up my hair and pinned me to the fridge. “Let's not disappoint her, shall we?”

We were still kissing when Ettoré's car pulled into the driveway. I was still dazzled by the kiss when we greeted them.

“Hi honey,” Mum gushed, embracing me. “So good to see you again. Oh what smells so yummy?”

“My friend is cooking. Mum, this is Pete.” I made the introduction.“He's—a violinist.”

“A violinist?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Kate said—never mind. Tell us all about it, Pete. And a violinist who cooks? Fabulous.”

“We're about to eat,” Pete smoothly took charge. “Please join us.”

“Are you sure? Is there enough?” Mum asked.

“Just enough for four,” Pete took out the food from the oven. “It's moussaka and Greek salad tonight.”

“Yum. But Sydney didn't ever eat aubergine.” She followed Pete to the table. “We were actually thinking to take you to eat out.”

“We can still take them out next time,” Ettoré joined in. “This sure smells great.”

“It tastes great too.” I sliced warm bread as they took their seats. I chose the outer crust for myself.

“Hey, the crust is mine,” Pete protested. He was serving everyone the moussaka.

“But Pete, the crust is the yummiest part.”

“I know. That's why I like it. Hey, if you weren't so skinny I wouldn't share.”

Then I realised Mum and Ettoré were observing our squabbling.

“But you didn't ever eat your bread crust, darling,” Mum questioned, sounding puzzled.

“Pete bakes so well. The aroma… The taste… And the crust is the yummiest. Here, have some. He usually throws a handful of any fresh herbs into the dough.”

“Any herbs?” Ettoré asked.

“Italian. Asian…” I explained. “As long as it's fresh.”

“You know how to cook now?” Mum asked, more puzzled.

“Starting. Pete's teaching me.”

“My my… Pete this. Pete that. You're a very good influence, Pete,”Mum turned to him. “Where did you come from?”

With considerable social finesse, Pete handled her subtle interrogation. Dinner went down well with cordial getting-acquainted conversation. I looked at Pete with pride. He knew how I had withdrawn from my parents. But I began to discover that one of Pete's greatest assets was his ability to see both sides of an issue and to diplomatically negotiate a compromise. He was objective, unbiased, fair, and always tried to bring about a peaceful coexistence among the people around him. Including me and Mum, apparently.With his warm personality and his warm tone of speaking he made people feel comfortable.

“I'm sorry you lost Dimity,” Mum said when I introduced them to Bronson in the backyard. Pete insisted on stacking the dishwasher.

“When we saw Pete at Darling Harbour,” Ettoré smirked at me teasingly, “I knew there was something in the air.”

“That seems so long ago now. How life has changed.”

“For the better, I gather.”

“Do you always wear jeans when you are with him?” Mum interjected. “I bought you lots of stuff in Paris and Milano.”

Ettoré went to his car and brought in Mum's presents as we all moved to the living room.

“So many bags of them?” I shook my head.

“Sydney,” Pete chastised, “Say thank you.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks then,” I offered, without delving into the bags.