Monday’s Child

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‘Getting a bit hefty there, babe.’

Tony’s words, still fresh, knocked around in Cecily’s mind like a rogue apple in a car boot. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know she’d put on a little weight – her recent wardrobe refresh was a testament to that – what she couldn’t fathom was what the hell it had to do with him.

Surely her worth as a person hinged on more than a ten percent weight change? And, if she was inclined to appraise a person’s value by their physical appearance, surely Tony was a depreciating asset.

But men didn’t seem to be held to the same standards, did they? The softening of Tony’s midsection did nothing to alter his standing in the world, the melting of cheek over jaw, even less. And the appearance of grey at the temple was practically celebrated! Cecily hmphed.

‘Are you done?’

Cecily blinked and turned sharply towards Grace.

‘You’re having a whole conversation in your head,’ said Grace, addressing the marbled polymer clay she was methodically rolling between thumb and forefinger.

Cecily opened her mouth to object but Grace held up a finger and continued. ‘Don’t bother. You are.’

Cecily rolled her eyes and made precise incisions in the centre of each of the doughy spheres Grace had created, transforming them into the beads which comprised her best-selling necklace.

‘You’re acting like you’re surprised he’s a jerk, Cee Cee,’ Grace persisted.

Cecily clenched her jaw and remained focused on her task.

The pair worked in silence until Cecily spoke. ‘You should hear the way he talks about this place,’ she said, sweeping a hand in an arc to encapsulate the bright warehouse space. ‘He makes out like it’s a hobby. Like I’m some bored woman who likes playing with pretty things.’

Monday’s Child had begun as a roving market stall sixteen years ago and Cecily had grown the business into a thriving café, plant nursery, homewares and accessories store.

Grace’s nostrils flared. ‘And what about what he does?’

‘Well, that’s a career,’ said Cecily, smirking.

‘He’s a fucking real estate agent! You’re a business owner! You’re a… You’re a goddamn entrepreneur!’

Cecily smiled broadly, dissolving Grace’s outrage and the two erupted into laughter.

When the ruckus died down, Grace said, ‘You know he has to go, right?’

‘I know,’ said Cecily. She stood and picked up the tray of perfectly imperfect beads. ‘I’ll pop these in the oven, do you want to get started on the stud earrings?’

Grace nodded. ‘Coffee first?’

‘Coffee first,’ Cecily agreed.

When Cecily returned, she found a café latte waiting on her desk and Grace chatting animatedly to a man and woman while brandishing a Peace Lilly. Cecily sat and picked up her cup. She smiled at the filigree heart in the velvety foam and sipped.

She wished, not for the first time, that she was into women. She would have put a ring on Grace years ago, if she was.

She lowered her head and laughed to herself, her chandelier earrings bobbing erratically about her face. She looked up to find that she was being watched by the man Grace was attending to. When Cecily met his gaze he curled his lips into a half smile before returning his attention to his wife, who was indicating a glossy-leafed Zanzibar Gem in an earthenware pot.

Cecily squinted at the man, recognising him as someone who visited the store often. He looked to be mid-forties, like her, with a physique that hinted at past sporting prowess. His hair – slightly thinning – was cut short, accentuating the thick curl of his eyelashes. He was always polite and bright-faced when he came in for a coffee – a double shot latte, if she remembered correctly – lingering briefly to chat after the exchange of money for cup.

Cecily watched as Grace led the couple to the inverted forest of macrame pot hangers hand crafted by single mothers in Sub-Saharan Africa. The wife, a fresh-faced woman of no more than thirty, sported straight black hair pulled into a ponytail and a coordinating set of sage-green activewear.

Despite herself, Cecily felt annoyed at the notion that she should be competing with the likes of this glossy woman for the attention of this ilk of man. She may as well stop waxing her upper lip and buy a cat immediately!

She laughed at the mental picture, shook her head and drained the remainder of her coffee before unwrapping a stick of coral polymer clay and kneading it.

A few minutes later, Grace approached the counter holding two potted plants, the woman walked in step with two white rope hangers, dangling limply from the crook of her arm. The man trailed them, extracting a well-worn wallet from his back pocket.

‘Here, darling, I’ve got it,’ he said, handing over a silver credit card which his wife readily accepted.

He strolled the few steps to where Cecily was sitting, cutting small lengths of polymer clay.

‘I didn’t realise you made things here,’ he said.

Cecily smiled. ‘Bits and pieces. I mainly source things from small batch, ethical producers.’

He gave a closed-lip smile and nodded solemnly, his gaze sweeping around the room, as if seeing it anew.

‘It’s mainly meditative,’ Cecily added.

When he looked perplexed, she elaborated. ‘Making things, I mean, it quiets my mind. Otherwise it’s…’ Cecily wiggled her fingers wildly either side of her head.

‘I see,’ he said, laughing.

Cecily smiled.

‘Do you and your wife live around here?’ Cecily asked. ‘I mean, I’ve seen you come in a few times, for coffee.’

‘My wife?’ he said, knitting his eyebrows.

Cecily looked towards the young woman who had gathered up her brown paper bags and was walking towards them.

‘Ready to go, Dad?’

The man’s gaze remained fixed on Cecily, the corner of his mouth curling into that endearing lopsided grin again.

Cecily suddenly became very aware of her body. The curve of her flesh, the beating of her heart, a feeling of breathlessness fluttering through her like bunting in the breeze.

‘I’m Marc, by the way,’ he said, extending his hand towards her.

Cecily saw her own hand extend to meet his. Felt it being warmly enveloped.

‘Cecily,’ she said, ‘Or, Cee Cee, sometimes.’

Marc continued to hold her hand. ‘And this is my daughter, Maddie,’ he said indicating the smiling woman beside him with a tip of his head.

‘You have a beautiful shop,’ Maddie said.

Cecily reclaimed her hand and smiled at Maddie. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘So, Cecily. I’ll be seeing you,’ Marc said, his eyes earnest.

‘I’ll be seeing you,’ Cecily repeated slowly.