It sounds weird, but the first thing to come out of my mouth was, ‘Couldn’t she just have gone down to the park for some fresh air?’
My dad got the strangest look on his face before he let out an odd, choke-like laugh.
The answering machine message was followed by a series of postcards from various points across the globe, with hastily scribbled explanations such as I felt stifled or Being a wife or a mother never came naturally to me. None of those statements — totally at odds with the cheery scenes depicted on the postcards’ fronts (Greetings from Ibiza!) — made my dad or me feel any better or any less confused, but perhaps they helped Mum to heal. For ages after she left, I had this weird fear that one day I’d come home and my dad would be gone too.
Anyway, a month after the Answering Machine Incident (as it became known), Dad came into my room holding Bebe, a purebred Seal Point Birman (a beautiful longhaired cat with chocolate tips and white paws). She was frightfully expensive — a fluffy guilt gift, I guess — but taking care of her resplendent-bordering-on-excessive hair and making sure she was happy (she’s a very fussy cat) was an effective distraction. I slowly stopped feeling so sad. After all, my mum had never been very maternal. Most of the time she’d been preoccupied with new home furnishings.
After she left, Dad replaced just about everything in our Spanish-style house. Freedom Furniture’s profits must have soared that year, as every time the thought of my mum crossed his mind, we’d head on down there and load up on a new couch or lamp. Now, four years later, my mum had returned with a Spanish boyfriend, and Dad, now the NAD, was offloading everything.
Despite the attentions of Snookums and Bebe, I was starting to feel a bit down after my disastrous date. Thankfully the phone rang.
‘So, did it go fabulously? You have to tell me every single detail, okay?’ Cassie cried before I’d even said hello.
I sighed. ‘Does that include an unwanted kiss, an almost drowning and an ego-crushing run-in with Hayden Paris?’
‘What? I thought you guys were planning to go to La Bella Donna. How’d you end up at the beach with Hayden?’
‘The beach? All of this happened in my driveway!’ I briefly filled her in on the night’s unfortunate events, knowing her to be the soul of discretion. ‘Where were you, Cass? What happened to Operation Stop Kiss?’
‘Where was your text? I was watching out for it, but it never arrived, so I figured your date was a true meeting of souls.’
‘You never got my text?’ A feeling of horror ran through me. ‘Oh god. If it didn’t go to you, who did it go to?’
It had been nearly impossible to see in the car, and I’d been trying to be discreet while Bradley jabbered on about astrologically favourable locations. I rifled through my still-damp evening bag. My mobile lit up with the words ‘One new message’.
‘Please let this be non-Operation related,’ I whispered as I pressed ‘Open message’.
No such luck.
Operation Stop Kiss? How about Operation START KISS? Oh baby!
Great. Ryan Danfield, whom I’d brushed off two months ago because of his unappealing thriftiness (our finest dining experience was at McDonald’s), had taken my text as fresh encouragement. I’d only just managed to get free of his endless phone calls and emails.
‘Arrgghh!’ I sank back into my chair. ‘Why Ryan?’
‘Don’t worry, Ryan may be worryingly cheap but he’s harmless enough,’ Cassie said. ‘What was wrong with Bradley Scott? Bradley could totally take on Robert Pattinson in a hotness contest. And he’s deep — look how he’s always talking about destiny and the meaning of life!’
‘He got a little too deep when he claimed he was actively practising astral travel in the hope of achieving greater intimacy with intergalactic beings.’
‘What?’ I could hear the giggles rising up in Cassie’s throat.
‘Evidently I don’t hold much appeal if Bradley’s prepared to travel several light years to find a better match.’ I burst into laughter. ‘I wanted unique and I certainly got it!’
Uniqueness is one of the qualities I deem necessary in a prospective partner, and I’m always really careful to make sure that potential candidates possess it before saying yes to a date. I’d said yes to Bradley Scott because he was always talking about the stars and the universe. Little did I know he viewed it as a galaxy-wide dating pool equivalent to RSVP.com. I’d been impressed that Daniel Benis wrote poetry, although I discovered later that this consisted purely of odes to his new Ford Falcon; and Ryan Danfield had seemed like the strong, silent, Heathcliff-from-Wuthering-Heights type until I realised the reason for his silence was a lack of activity in the cerebral area.
‘Oh, Cass,’ I said, turning serious, ‘I really am tempted to call off the search for a while. I think my soul mate is a long way from Jefferson High.’
‘Aurora! You’re always telling me that it’s only possible to find your true love if you put in the dedication, right?’
‘Right …’
‘So now is not the time to give up! You know what they say about frogs and princes.’
‘Huh?’
‘You fell right into the home of the frogs tonight — literally! Prince Charming must be within sight. He’s probably calling out for you right now!’
I could almost hear something!
‘Cass,’ I said dreamily, ‘there is a sound.’
‘Do you mean that buzzing noise?’ she said.
‘Yes!’
‘Oh, that’s just Andrew. Mum and Dad have left me in charge again, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him joyriding up and down our street.’
Cassie’s brother recently saw Rebel Without a Cause and was so inspired he started up his own neighbourhood motorcycle gang.
‘I don’t know why your parents don’t just take the bike off him,’ I said.
‘They’re proud that he’s showing some leadership qualities.’
Cassie’s parents are psychologists, hence the interesting parenting philosophy.
‘Oh no, I’ve got to run,’ Cassie added. ‘Old Mrs Barker’s yelling again — I think the guys just knocked over her wheely bin.’
‘Cass, first day back at school means the opportunity to meet Potential Princes. Remember to wear your best!’
‘Gotta go!’ she cried as the buzzing in the background got even louder.
Thank god I’m an only child.
Cass is the only person who knows my deepest, darkest secret; one that could make me the laughing-stock of our entire school. I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed.
It all has to do with Sleeping Beauty. Yes, the fairytale. When I was five, I was completely obsessed with it — partly because the princess and I share the name Aurora, but mostly because of how romantic it is. A beautiful maiden, asleep in a crumbling, rose-filled tower, waiting for love’s first kiss. A prince fighting through a forest to get to her, then falling madly in love within seconds of beholding her. And then that all-powerful kiss — able to bring the princess back to life, to transform her, to awaken her. Even at five, I realised that locking lips was a very powerful thing.
And so, ever since, I’ve saved my first kiss for my Prince. I’ve opted out of truth and dare, spin the bottle and all other high-school lip-orientated games, and ducked and manoeuvred my way out of a multitude of goodnight smooches. It hasn’t been easy. Most guys try to make a move on the first date, thus the creation of Operation Stop Kiss. The only problem is, my dedication to saving my first kiss for my Prince seems to be leading to no end of embarrassing situations.