Happy Anniversary

Aria listened, body clenched. The wheezing snore to her left said it was safe to get to work. Her swollen bag stood at attention. The red corner of the envelope protruded from underneath her scrunched-up jeans. It’s a miracle that Claire didn’t see it, let alone the cake mix.

A cold, stabbing sensation hit against Aria’s left thigh. Claire’s sockless feet strike again. Oh no, she gasped! Aria froze. Claire snorted. The bell around her neck clinked as she shifted. Familiar dread attacked. The knife wound ached. Aria faced her girlfriend, watching for the twitching lips and ear scratching. Claire shifted her weight, forehead crinkled. Sweat glued the wild tangle of black to her scalp. One sleepy hand reached for Aria. It was definitely warmer than the foot was. Aria rested her palm on top, squeezing it. She waited, watching the zipped-up door of the tent. No babbling shadows stumbled outside.

Claire’s snores resumed.

Aria set Claire’s hand down on the pillow and wriggled free of the sleeping bag. Twigs scratched her belly through the tarp. Carefully, Aria extracted the envelope and card first. Two dancing hearts brandished a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Dammit, Aria thought. I forgot the Moscato. We can scout for some later, Aria assured herself. There was a bottle shop right next to the gas station. Maybe if Claire hadn’t been right at the counter shoving fistfuls of peanuts and chips into her bag—focus. She withdrew her well-chewed pencil and opened the card.

Oh. Oh no. It’s blank. This wasn’t going to work. Mushy, soft words were Claire’s specialty—they just clogged Aria’s throat and burned her face red. She looked over at her subject. All Claire offered was a peaceful exhale. There was no poetry to be written about a tangled bush of black waves or drool trickling down the corner of her open mouth, as hard as Aria pushed.

She poised her pencil over the blank canvas. My dearest Claire, she began before scratching it out in a fit of self-consciousness. Claire, Happy Anniversary. Aria grimaced. It was a black star in a white void. I love you, she added. No, too simple. Aria found herself wishing she had saved even one of Claire’s poems when they fled the CBD. A little plagiarism at least would level the playing field.

Aria slumped against her bag, gnawing on her pencil. The cold morning air awakened the dull throb in her stomach. Rolling up her t-shirt confirmed what she already knew—the wound was looking crusty and dark. She would have to change the bandages—later.

An orange blob of sunlight glowed through the tent walls. With a frown, she scribbled one more sentence.

You make surviving the Hum worth it. Yours, Aria.

It would have to do. Aria dug into her bag. She moved the fishing rod, machete and rolled up socks aside. At the bottom, hidden under her scarf, was an abused box of red velvet cake mix. It felt like it was made out of wet tissues. Through the holes she could see everything was safe inside the plastic baggies. Her attempt to open it ripped the ruined box in half. A bag of maroon dust and another of chunky white frosting fell in her lap. Perfect.

What was left of the cooking instructions said nothing about campfire cooking. Luckily, between Claire’s love of sleep-ins and the week plus since the last time Claire heard the Hum, Aria’s confidence rocketed upward. She scooted towards the esky. The toasting iron, eggs and oil waited inside.

Aria hugged everything close to her chest—oil in one armpit, the iron in another, bags and eggs stacked in her arms. She shifted. The eggs wobbled. Another step. The cake mix sagged to the left. She could just reach the zipper. One more step. The cake mix drooped further. It was sliding down her forearm. Aria leaned forward, mouth open to readjust with her teeth.

Splat. One, two less eggs. Her inner accountant screamed. Aria unzipped the tent and set down the remaining supplies. There were three more eggs, which meant one more between the two of them before they had to make another dash for a farm or a store. That was a future Aria problem.

Outside was a fresh breeze. What little of the sky Aria could see through the trees was a mess of purple and orange. Aria grabbed her jeans and slipped them back on.

‘Ari?’

Aria looked back. Hazy hazel eyes peered at her through wild hair. Claire sat upright, limbs heavy with sleep.

‘I’m just making myself a quick breakfast,’ Aria said. ‘Might go for a hike up the hill after, did you want to come with?’

Claire didn’t need to say ‘no thanks’ or ‘ugh’—Aria could see it in the eye roll. She watched Claire flop back down and snuggle into the sleeping bag. Her girlfriend mumbled something about an egg smell before falling silent. No snoring this time, no matter how long Aria waited.

Aria closed the tent back up before lighting up the campfire. Some crockery was drying near the clothesline. She snatched up the largest bowl and filled it with cake mix and eggs. The soon-to-be batter already smelled delicious. She scrubbed her hands as clean as a squirt of hand sanitiser would allow before shoving her hands in there. The egg yolks felt like cold jelly. Too late Aria remembered that she and Claire had cutlery. With a grimace, she squished them in her palms and began mixing. The resulting goo looked like cherry-coloured brownie batter. There were only a few lumps left.

Now, the moment of truth. Aria eyed the toasting iron, then the crackling campfire. All of a sudden, she missed having a mini super computer in her pocket. She smothered the inside of the iron with oil. Angry flames ate the spill. Aria reached for one of her mugs and scooped out a test portion of batter. It was enough to fill the iron to the top.

The fire popped. Aria slid the iron under the reddest log as Claire showed her just a couple months ago. Would ashes help, Aria wondered. For a second, she considered throwing out the surprise just to get Claire’s expertise—maybe after the first attempt.

Aria retrieved what was left of the box. It was hard to make out the baking times no matter how she held the soggy cardboard together.

‘Feed it.’

Aria pivoted. Not a titter from Claire just yet. Familiar nausea attacked. She waited, her feet primed to run into the tent. The voice squawked one more time, the same phrase that had stalked the two of them since leaving the CBD.

‘Feed it.’

‘Claire?’

The bell jingled. In the morning light she could see Claire’s hunched silhouette rising. No, not today. Aria looked at the iron, then at the approaching threat. She could hear Claire muttering. It was too soft to make out.

Claire rubbed her ear. The Hum was approaching. Shit. They didn’t have long. Aria fumbled with the zipper. It got caught on a leaf. Shit! Claire shuffled inside, hands probing the floor of the tent. They did not need another hole, much less what came after the hole digging. Aria pulled. The stupid leaf twitched, but didn’t move.

‘Claire,’ Aria called out. ‘Have you got your headphones?’

‘What?’

‘Put your headphones on, I think the Hum’s nearby!’

Claire unzipped the tent, eyes wide. The headphones were, uselessly, around her neck. A scrunchie secured every strand of hair behind her hair, save one stubborn strand. Claire tucked it behind her ear in a familiar, but terrifying motion.

‘Relax,’ Claire sighed. ‘I can’t hear it. Why? Did you see any Babblers?’

‘I thought I heard one.’

Claire stepped out of the tent, dragging a burlapped bottle with her. She closed her eyes, and listened. Agonising seconds passed. Aria brought the bikes around, just in case. She reached into the tent for her bag.

‘Ark, feed it!’

Both women jumped. A blur of red and yellow zoomed past. Aria, in a fit of fear and wisdom, hurled her backpack at it. The parrot dodged with ease and chirped at her from a nearby branch. Aria’s clothes spilled out into the clearing. She screamed—her favourite cardigan was in the flames! Tired laughter spilled out of Claire’s throat.

‘I always hated that thing,’ Claire wheezed. ‘It makes you look like a grandma.’

Aria side-stepped around the fire. Grinning robots turned black. The smell assaulted her face until she couldn’t stop coughing. Claire pulled her away from the fire and reached for a water bottle.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll save it.’

‘No wai—!’

Claire hurled water onto the cardigan, saturating the whole fire. The toast iron looked as soggy as the rest of the logs. Sad, rust-coloured dough leaked out the side. Claire, in ignorant triumph, offered Aria the soggy wool.

‘It’ll be fine, the soot should just wash off. Anyway, did you want to tell me what happened to the eggs smeared all over our tent?’

Aria lifted up the toast iron. Under all the burnt wool and ash, she could still smell the sweetness. It just made her feel sad.

‘Hey, when’d you find bread? You better not be eating French toast without me.’

‘Well, it was meant to be a surprise,’ Aria sighed, ‘but I found some cake mix in the gas station a couple days ago.’

‘Oh. Well, did you save any of the mix?’

‘Yeah, it’s just over there in the bowl, but the fire’s gone out.’

‘Well I think since you went to the trouble of preparing breakfast, I can try to bake it while you nurse this.’

Aria looked over at Claire. Her girlfriend held up the bottle she had dragged out of the tent. With the smuggest smile she could manage, she unsheathed—no. Impossible.

‘Where’d you even find that?’

The black bottle with golden lettering was unmistakable. It still had the foil seal on top and not a single crack in the glass. Claire caressed the bottle of Moscato, eyes shining.

‘The gas station, obviously. You were so busy skulking about the bread aisle that I thought I’d help myself to some celebratory libations. Bubbly’s a little overrated, so I got my sweetheart a sweet wine. It was easy enough to hide it under all the chips and peanuts, after all.’

She stretched and moved over to the stack of mugs drying by their clothes. The bottle opening sounded like a gun shot. Aria couldn’t help flinching.

‘So, what am I cooking?’

‘Red velvet obviously,’ Aria smiled. ‘You know, since we can’t drive up to that cake shop this year?’

‘Ah yes, the one run by the world’s most ill-mannered pastry chef. I wonder what ever happened to old Randall?’

‘He’s probably hiding in that Sorrento beach house of his.’

The wine sloshed into the tin mugs. With a sudden bout of guilt, Aria scrambled over to the nearest dishcloth and wet it with some water from the esky.

‘I’ll take care of the eggs, okay? You just watch the fire?’

‘No no, you sit down and rest. Don’t worry, I’ll fix whatever culinary disaster you have in my toast iron.’

‘It’s fine, I got it,’ Aria called, stumbling into the tent. A congealed mess waited for her. The eggs were already starting to smell a bit weird. A quick glance over to Claire’s side of the sleeping bag revealed the envelope was gone.

‘Ari?’

Aria jolted. She peeked over her shoulder, half-expecting one of those increasingly common sad looks Claire liked to wear. Instead, there was a small smile and a mug of wine waiting for her. The card was tucked in Claire’s armpit. Oh. Her face felt like it was on fire.

‘I’m sorry,’ Claire sighed. ‘In between the Hum in my skull and all the running, I just haven’t been able to pick up my pen and write you something half as nice as this.’

‘That’s okay,’ Aria said with a small smile of her own. ‘Don’t push yourself too hard?’

‘I should be saying that.’

Claire’s hand was cold against Aria’s middle. Her lips straightened into a frown.

‘Come on, let’s get this cleaned up.’

‘It’s alright,’ Aria sighed. ‘I can do it after I clean the eggs.’

‘The eggs aren’t going to get infected, Ari. Come on.’

Aria sank into a sitting position. Claire fished out the roll of bandages they pinched from the last pharmacy they visited. Hesitating, she cut off the old ones. They sounded as crunchy as they looked. It was hard not to gag.

‘How’s it looking?’

‘Well it’s not seeping with pus anymore,’ Claire said. She pressed the largest clump of gauze they had left against the wound. The bandages constricted.

‘Careful,’ Aria gasped. ‘remember, you’re not trying to kill me.’

Claire didn’t look up. Her eyes were on the crescent-shaped cut. Both hands trembled.

‘Sorry, bad choice of words.’

With a waver in her voice, Claire asked ‘Do we have any antibiotics left?’

‘Yeah, there’s six pills left. It’s a shame we didn’t find any painkillers though.’

‘Well, the wine isn’t just for a good time.’

A quick kiss. Aria melted into it. She held Claire as close as she could, hoping for at least one more day with her. Claire didn’t seem eager to break away herself.

‘You make the ringing in my ears worth it,’ Claire exhaled. ‘So no dying, okay? Now when you’re done in here, come by the fire so I can show you how to make a real campfire cake.’’

‘I’m looking forward to it. Happy anniversary, Claire.’

‘Happy anniversary.’