Fleeting moments, p.1
Fleeting Moments, page 1
FLEETING MOMENTS
RANIA BATTANY
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
First published in 2019
Copyright © 2019 Rania Battany
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication mat be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. The author asserts her moral rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Rania Battany
Web: raniabattany.com
Email: rb@raniabattany.com
Print ISBN-978-0-6484311-2-1
Cover Design by Lana Pecherczyk
For my dad.
For demonstrating the importance of knowledge.
For teaching me perspective.
For the three kisses on my forehead.
1
‘MAYA.’
The sound of her name lingers in the distance and penetrates her sleep. Her semi-conscious mind continues to dream, ignoring the familiar voice trying to rouse her.
‘Maya. I’m home.’
The voice is more determined, and she stirs. Peeling her eyes open, she peers at the blurry image of a man’s face. Blinking several times, her eyes adjust from sleep to the mid-morning light, and she smiles when his face slips into focus.
‘Michael.’
His smile widens and, taking no time, he strips naked. He slips under the covers, shoving his tongue into her dry mouth. He pushes his bulge against her stomach and she knows he’s set to go. Pulling his mouth away from hers, he stares into her still sleepy eyes and a devilish grin sweeps across his face. He pulls off her pyjamas and thrusts himself between her open legs. Her head smacks against the bed frame to the rhythm of his deep, hard thrusts, creating a soundtrack to his pounding.
The past few weeks of high temperature has left the air heavy in their home, and Maya is suffocating under the heat of his body. His rapid breathing, like fire in the crease of her neck, causes pools of sweat to form at the base of her collarbone. But she puts up with it. He’ll be done in a few minutes.
Michael’s moans intensify. Maya tries to slide further down the bed to relieve the discomfort of her head smacking against the headboard until finally, he releases one last horse-like groan. His sweat-drenched body falls limp onto hers, crushing her with his full, unsupported weight. His chest swells with every breath, squashing her further.
Staring up at the ceiling, she waits. In a few moments, he’ll roll off her. Although he’s taking longer than usual, and she can feel his mess dripping down her thighs.
She taps his back. ‘You’re slipping out.’
Michael reaches for the tissue box resting on the side table and flicks it to her. He rolls off, letting out a satisfied sigh.
‘Welcome home,’ she says, kissing his cheeks, nose and lips.
Michael lies in a semi-paralysed post-bliss state, his long, pale legs sprawling the length of the bed. Sweat drips off his body like condensation dripping down a foggy window, causing his curly chest hairs to clump together.
‘How was Brisbane?’ she asks.
‘Crazy. I might need to go back next weekend.’ His voice drifts as his eyes close.
‘Again? Why are they sending you so frequently?’ Her tone rises to match her annoyance, and Michael lets out an impatient grunt.
‘I told you, we’re setting up a whole new warehouse,’ he snaps, keeping his eyes closed.
‘My birthday is next weekend. You know how I feel about my birthday this year. Make sure they don’t send you then or I’ll be spending it alone.’
He jerks up onto his elbows. ‘I don’t control when they send me. You know how it is. Don’t give me crap over something I can’t control.’
She slumps onto the pillow, annoyed that he’s right. But that doesn’t curb the anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. She huffs out a frustrated breath and sits up again. ‘You have to tell them, Michael. You have to tell them it’s your girlfriend’s thirtieth birthday next weekend.’
If the look in her eyes is hopeful or pleading it isn’t intentional, yet she can feel the desperation burning from them as she stares at him. If it were any other birthday, she wouldn’t care. Birthdays were not something they celebrated. But this one is different, and she expects him to understand that. Especially since her thirtieth birthday had been the topic of conversation for some time.
He softens his tone with visible effort and that annoys her even more. ‘Listen, I’ll tell them, okay. But in the end, if that’s when they need me in Brisbane, there’s nothing I can do about it. Just remember that.’
Silence fills the room as Michael closes his eyes.
Maya studies his naked body, his gelled mousy brown hair, his perfectly smooth jawline, his peaceful expression as he slips closer to sleep.
She pokes at his chest. ‘Hey, wake up, I haven’t seen you for three days.’
He grunts and she pokes him harder.
‘Michael don’t fall asleep. I want to discuss this with you.’
He cracks his right eye open and stares at her. ‘Why won’t you let me sleep? I got up at five this morning to catch my flight.’
‘I want to discuss my birthday.’
His exasperated sigh frustrates her and she bites her lip to stop from lashing out.
‘Again with the damn birthday conversation!’ Michael snaps. ‘Why are we still speaking about this?’
‘Because no one’s replied to me, that’s why. Not a single one of them.’
He pushes himself up, adjusting the pillows against the bedhead so he can recline. He huffs and puffs his way into a comfortable position, and Maya prepares for the abrupt response she knows is coming.
‘What do you want me to do about that, Maya? They’re your friends. Have you even tried calling them? People forget to reply to messages all the time, so pick up your phone and call. Just deal with it, so we don’t have to have this damn conversation every week!’
‘I have been calling! I called Jess yesterday, but she never answers, and she never calls back.’
‘Well then, keep calling until they do answer, so you can leave me alone about it.’
Hurt and embarrassment sweep through her and Maya can’t find her voice to reply. Unable to swallow the sour taste in her mouth, she pulls the sheet over her naked body until she’s completely covered.
Michael offers an exaggerated nod, obviously satisfied that the conversation is over. He readjusts the pillows and lies down.
Maya stares at the ceiling, thinking about what he said. Maybe she should call Jess one more time? That isn’t so strange, is it? One friend calling another?
Perhaps it wouldn’t seem so strange if her supposed friends ever contacted her. Yet over the years, their lives had moved on with promotions, careers, new houses, husbands … children. Instead, Maya’s life had stagnated.
Michael’s breathing slows, and Maya turns to stare at the gentle rise and fall of his chest, sighing when she realises that he’s fallen asleep. She taps her fingers impulsively and contemplates calling her friends. She flicks off the sheet and slips her pyjamas on before reaching for her phone. Leaving Michael to sleep, Maya makes her way into the darkened lounge room. She drops onto the couch and swipes into her phone. Her finger hovers over Jess’s name, but she’d only just called Jess yesterday, and besides, it’s Saturday morning. Perhaps it’s still too early to call given it’s the weekend.
Her phone lets out a sudden shriek, piercing the silence. On seeing her mother’s name flash on the screen instead of Jess’s, Maya curses, annoyed that she believed Jess would have bothered to call her back.
‘Hello?’ Maya answers abruptly.
‘Maya? What’s wrong? Why are you answering like that?’ Her mother says with a mixture of surprise and hurt in her voice.
‘Nothing. What’s up?’
Her mother’s sigh grates on her nerves and she slumps onto the cushion. ‘What is it? Did you only call to sigh at me?’
‘No. I called to speak with you. I’ve been calling for over a week now. Sophie said she hasn’t been able to reach you either. I’m glad you finally answered.’
Maya closes her eyes, her stomach muscles tightly clenched and her mind distracted with thoughts of Jess and her argument with Michael.
‘I’ve been busy,’ she replies. She figures her mother knows she’s lying and that she’s intentionally let every one of her recent calls go to voicemail. Why she even answered this call, Maya doesn’t know. Although the increased frequency of her mother’s calls most likely had something to do with it.
‘Sophie’s coming tomorrow. Will you please come with her this time? I haven’t seen you in so long. You didn’t come for Christmas. In fact, you haven’t come to visit since—’
‘You could have visited me.’
Her mother’s heavy silence weighs down the conversation, and neither of them speaks for some time.
‘You know why I’ve never visited, Maya.’
‘Yes, well, that’s your mistake for moving two and a half hours away.’
‘I’ve lived here for years. Why do you still bring this up?’
Maya sits forward and grumbles. She’s done with this conversation. It’s going nowhere, like every conversation she has with her mother. ‘I don’t want to get into this now. I won’t be able to go tomorrow. I’m busy. I might see you at Easter anyway.’
‘Easter? That’s two months away! Maya, I really need to see you before then. Please, won’t you reconsider coming with Sophie tomorrow? I would’ve asked you earlier if I got a hold of you.’
Maya will not be busy tomorrow. Michael will most likely spend the day working from home, leaving her to potter around the house. But she didn’t want to take the two-and-a-half-hour drive from Melbourne to the small town of Sandy Point to visit her mother with her sister. They would no doubt spend the entire day talking and cooking together while Maya watched from the outside. It’s not how she wants to spend any weekend. Ever.
‘I really can’t tomorrow, but maybe I’ll come next time Sophie goes down. I’ll let you know.’
Her mother clears her throat, making an obvious attempt to brighten her tone. ‘On another note, I was reading the paper yesterday and saw a post-doctoral position advertised for one of the big universities in the city.’
The ache already wrapping around Maya’s stomach squeezes tighter, and she clenches her fist. ‘And?’
‘And … I think you should go for it. You can’t give up on—’
‘Listen, I really need to go.’
‘Wait, I wanted to talk to you about your birthday next weekend. Sophie and I were planning—’
‘Like I said, I really need to go.’ Maya does nothing to curb the impatience in her inflection.
Her mother sighs. ‘Okay. I guess I’ll talk to you later.’
Maya throws her phone onto the couch. Silence grips the room as she recalls the desperate edge in her mother’s voice and how she had been calling non-stop for the last few weeks. How her mother refuses to give up on her.
She glimpses a perfect summer morning through the gap in the curtains, the crest of the moon fading in the vivid blue sky. Her thoughts drift deeper, to a long-buried memory, to a time when moonbeams and stars made her heart burst with curiosity.
A glimmer of moonlight shines through the gap in her curtains and Maya creeps out of bed. She opens the curtains to peek outside but not wide enough to wake Sophie. Three twinkling stars sparkle in the midnight sky. Her eyes grow wide, taking in their beauty, and she studies them with curiosity. Even at five years old, Maya could see there was something special about those stars.
Something she was told at the playground that day is keeping her awake and she needs to talk with her father. She tiptoes out of her bedroom and down the hall. She is frightened of what her mother’s reaction will be, but the question is too important to ignore. Stopping at her parents’ bedroom door, she counts to three, then shuffles inside.
‘Maya? Is that you?’ Her mother sits up in bed and turns the lamp on. ‘Maya, what are you doing up?’
‘I need to ask Daddy something.’
‘Not now. It’s very late, and you need to go back to bed.’
Her father shuffles up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.
‘Dad, I need to ask you something very important,’ Maya continues.
‘No, Maya, go back to bed.’ Her mother’s stern words make Maya shake, but she doesn’t do as she’s told. She can’t. She needs to know the truth.
‘Please, Daddy.’
Her mother’s expression hardens. ‘Go back to bed now, young lady. Whatever it is can wait until morning.’
Maya’s eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t understand why her mother is so angry. It won’t take long to ask her question and she knows her father will have the answer.
‘Rosie,’ her father says, placing his hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Please go back to sleep. I’ll talk to her.’
With a huff, her mother gives in. Her father climbs out of bed, and Maya smiles. He’s wearing his green pyjamas. She loves those green pyjamas.
‘Daddy, you look like a frog in these clothes,’ she says, grinning.
He crouches until he’s staring into her eyes. ‘What is it, bella? It’s very late.’
‘I know, but I need you to come outside with me. It won’t take long, I promise. And then I’ll go straight back to sleep.’
His face creases and she worries he’ll say no. But he doesn’t. Instead, he extends his arm towards her and takes her hand. It feels tiny in his as he clasps his fingers tight around it. She loves the way it feels, safe and certain.
Maya leads her father outside where they stand on the deck. The warm summer air brushes her skin and she points a finger to the sky.
‘Those three stars, Daddy. They look special.’
He smiles at her, and it makes her feel special.
‘What makes you say that, Maya?’
‘They’re brighter than the others and they’re in a line.’
‘Is that your question? About whether these stars are special?’
‘No. A girl at the playground said that stars are made from fairy dust that fairies sprinkle in the sky, but I don’t believe her. Can you tell me, Dad? What they’re really made from?’
In the moonlight, her father’s eyes glimmer. He looks at her and his smile curls his lips at the corners.
‘Stars are made from very hot gas. Those gases are mostly hydrogen and helium,’ he says.
‘Ah.’ She grins. ‘That makes more sense, Dad. Much more sense than fairy dust. So … are those stars special?’
He laughs, and warmth tickles her tummy. She loves making him laugh. She makes him laugh so much more than she makes her mother laugh.
He sweeps Maya up into his strong arms and kisses her cheek. ‘How are you only five years old? Yes, my sweetheart, I guess you can say those stars are special. They’re part of a constellation called Orion’s Belt. Do you know these stars can be seen in Italy, too? I remember looking at them when I was a boy.’
Her eyes widen and her heart leaps. She’s desperate to hear more of this strange new thing.
‘What’s a cot-en-sa-lion?’ she asks.
Her father erupts in laughter, then quickly hushes. ‘Not now, my darling. It’s after midnight and you need to get to sleep. After breakfast, we’ll read some books about it, okay?’
She nods. She doesn’t like to upset her father.
He leads her to her room and tucks her into bed. His hug as he kisses her goodnight fills her with warmth, and she snuggles into her sheet.
‘Dad,’ she whispers, grabbing his hand. ‘Why did Mum get angry with me?’
‘Because it’s late and she’s worried you won’t get enough sleep.’
‘But she gets angry at me a lot. Like when I asked about how the fridge makes things cold, and she got angry that I wasn’t packing my pencils.’
His gentle face creases as he sighs. ‘Your mum … sometimes she doesn’t understand you. But she always tries, in her own way. And she loves you, Maya. Never forget that. Even when you think she’s angry at you, she loves you. Now, goodnight, bella.’
He leaves, and Maya glances through the gap in the curtains, glimpsing the starry sky. She can’t make sense of what her father said, but that doesn’t matter. Even if her mother doesn’t understand her, she’ll always have her father, who does.
Maya’s eyes fly open, the memory causing her heart to drum rapidly. She turns to peer through the gap in the curtains, and her breathing intensifies.
The bookshelf beside the window catches her attention, and she feels a desperate pull towards it. The books have been whispering her name more and more urgently as the years have gone by. In the past, she’d been tempted to heed the call, but whenever she traced her fingers over their dusty spines, her heart would crumble and she would walk away.
Today, the call seems louder, the pull stronger. She gets off the couch and tugs the curtains open. Sitting in the armchair beside the bookshelf, she reaches for the thickest book, and her stomach sinks when she remembers the day she came home with it. The way Sophie giggled, how she joked that the book was so thick and so heavy it could be used as a weapon. Together, the sisters laughed, rolling around Maya’s bed, pretending to knock each other unconscious with it. Even at eighteen and twenty years old, they still mucked around like they used to when they were kids.
