THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(8)

“It is,” Bridget said quickly, gesturing at the spare chair in front of her. “Maia, this is Heath. Grab a seat, love. You deserve a break, after all your help today.”

I shoved my hand towards her, desperate to appear normal, even though that was the opposite of how I felt. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Hi.”

She slowly reached out to take my hand. The moment we touched, I had the weirdest sensation. It was as if time had frozen, stopped completely. The world shrank and floated away, taking the café and Bridget with it. Her eyes seemed to reach inside of me, as if she were searching for something. It was unsettling, this stranger with Em’s face staring at me like that. I felt exposed, as if I had just given her something, a piece of myself, and I immediately wanted it back.

“Nice to meet you,” I repeated, releasing her hand quickly.

I wished I wasn’t barefoot. I felt under-dressed and definitely under-prepared. Crazy to think that having shoes on would make me feel more capable, more protected from whatever was happening, but it was the truth. Something about having this girl in front of me made me feel vulnerable.

Bridget shuffled us over to sit down at the nearest table. I could feel the back of my neck heating up as I struggled to think of something else to say, but thankfully Bridget beat me to it.

“So, you’re heading over to Dad’s, are you?” she asked.

I didn’t dare look back at Maia, not until I’d gotten my head under control. It was too risky.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get your coffee and his chocolate éclair ready, then,” she said, standing up and walking over to the coffee machine behind the counter.

I panicked. Alone with Maia, my brain shut up shop. She was even more like Emily up close. Those eyes – round and hazel-coloured, just like Em’s, only with more of a green tinge to them. Em’s eyes had been more hazel, mostly brown. The memory of Maia’s hand, small and delicate, was burned into mine. I swallowed down the lungs that were now sitting in my throat and forced fantasy aside, dragging logic forward.

It’s not her. She looks like her, but it’s not her.

I agonised over something normal to say, something conversational. Small-talk. Something other than ‘I don’t know if Bridget mentioned it, but you look a hell of a lot like her daughter.’

“So, Bridget tells me you want to learn how to surf?” I said instead.

For a split second, I felt triumphant. I could do this, talk to her, look at her, without making myself look stupid. I just had to concentrate. Hard. Then I realised what I’d said. I’d practically offered her the one thing I wasn’t prepared to do.

She smiled nervously, both hands on the clipboard that now rested on the table. “Yeah. I was looking through the brochures she has over there earlier. I think I’ll contact the surf school tomorrow.”

I glanced behind me, at the makeshift information centre Bridget had set up in the corner. It was filled with brochures and pamphlets on local amenities, places of interest and suchlike.

“That’s a good start,” I said, turning back to her, relieved. “They’ll teach you the basics, enough to get you up and going.”

“That sounds perfect,” she smiled.

Holy shit. Even their smiles were similar. Not the same, but very close. I found myself looking for differences, as if trying to further convince myself. I’d always been one for hard evidence. I didn’t do fairy-tales. In that respect, Bridget and I were total opposites.

“Heath could teach you,” Bridget piped up from across the room. “He’s been surfing forever, haven’t you, love? He’s patient and a good teacher. He taught my daughter how to surf.”

And there it was, right on time. If I didn’t love her so much, I would’ve happily throttled her, right then and there.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

She looked more embarrassed than I did.

“I know you’re busy,” Bridget said, making her way back over to the table with a takeaway coffee and a paper bag. “I didn’t mean to drop you in it. Maybe you could think about it, and let Maia know at the party tomorrow night?”

I smiled graciously, as if we hadn’t had this conversation only moments ago.

“Coffee for you, chocolate éclair for the old man,” she said. “I’ve put an extra one in there, too – it’s for you, not for him, so make sure you stake your claim. You know what he’s like.”