Double Lines
Two – Melina

I don’t like goodbyes. Even when I left for university, saying goodbye to my family was hard enough. Mum cried. Dad cried. My sister Nichola cried. I cried. So, as I watched them head in different directions to class, I loped around and retraced my steps back to our dorm room to pack.

I had bought them a large box of Ferrero Rochers (which cost me thirty bucks) from the supermarket after I visited with the Dean of Students. I left the box on my now empty desk, with a letter I had written to them telling them I had to go and thank them for their friendship. I also wrote Tilly a separate note, thanking her for all her support when I found out I was pregnant. I asked her not to tell Noah. I had begged her not to say to him when I initially found out, and although she promised she wouldn’t, I felt I needed to ask her again.

Once I placed Tilly’s letter on her pillow, I grabbed my suitcases and backpack and headed for the bus terminal. I didn’t have my own car. As sappy as it sounds, Noah and I shared a car together. We used it when we drove from our home city to the university. I left it with him when I moved out of our shared house. I left him everything. The car, the bed, the computer, the furniture. When we had officially ended, I didn’t want to remember him anymore. He looked sad when I left him standing there outside the door of our house. But I didn’t want to have anything that reminded me of him. I needed to move on.

The terminal was busy with travellers. I went to the counter and spoke with the worker, who directed me to the bus and showed the driver my ticket. He took my bags and let me get on. The seats on the coach were big and comfortable. There were even curtains on the window I could close to shut out the light.

It didn’t take me long to nod off asleep.

“You can continue to study here, Mikaela. We have the facilities to support your pregnancy,” Phoebe Wright, the school counsellor I saw at the Dean of Student’s office, told me.

“I know. But I can’t. I can’t see him. And if Noah saw….” I say. Phoebe worked with me to get my place in the dorms. Because of this, she knew about Noah and I breaking up.

“You know, if it was rape, we could help you,” Phoebe states. I shake my head.

“I wasn’t raped,” I tell her. I had told Phoebe I was pregnant, so I wanted to leave, but not any other details. For all she knows, Noah is the father.

Phoebe nods.

“Well…. All your courses can be done online. You just have to hand in your assignments for this term,” Phoebe tells me. I nod. I’ve already got details for the assignments. I have five classes with three essays and two projects to complete this term, and I’ve already started.

“So, can I just do that, then? What do I need to do?” I ask.

“Well, you’re doing it. All I need to do is email your professors and change your admittance to online. But you won’t get a refund because this semester is already paid for. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” I nod. I don’t care about the money. Everyone needs to live, right? And it’s not the universities fault my circumstances have changed. It’s mine.

“Would you like me to start the paperwork, then?”

“Yes, please. How long will it take? When can I leave?” I ask.

“I should be done by lunch. But call me back by four. You can leave today if you want,” Phoebe smiles.

“Okay. Thank you, Phoebe,” I say, taking another business card from her desk.

“I’ll call you,” I tell her as she opens the door for me. Phoebe nods, and I walk toward the exit.

Someone opens the door for me, and I thank them as I walk through, looking up at them. I’m met with familiar grey eyes. Ethan. I haven’t been this close to him since that night. I feel my cheeks heat up as I continue walking through the door, hoping I don’t do something silly, like trip over my feet in front of him.

“Mikaela….” I think I hear him say. I don’t respond and continue walking.

“Hmm,” I mumble as the coach jiggles from the road. I open my eyes to the bright sun outside. I can’t believe I fell asleep on the couch with my head against the window. I hadn’t even drawn the curtains!

I feel disorientated as I look around. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep or where we are now.

“Excuse me,” I say to the woman in the row diagonally opposite me. She doesn’t look up from her phone.

“Excuse me,” I say again, a little more loudly.

“Oh! Sorry! You’re awake! I was reading my book,” the lady explains, showing me her phone’s screen. I nod in understanding.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Uh, well, we were in Parkville half an hour ago, and I think the driver said the next town was… Southbank? Yes. Southbank,” the lady muses, looking at her timetable.

“Thank you,” I tell her, making her smile.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, returning to her book.

The coach travels through the township of Southbank, Moreland, and then Filigree Valley before reaching my end destination of Brunswick.

I’m left at the inner-city bus station of Brunswick with my two suitcases and backpack. I gulp, trying not to let my tears fall down my face. I’ve never been to Brunswick before; my parents never took me and Nichola here. Even though this is the city my estranged aunt Melina, my mother’s sister, lives.

I feel all alone. Helpless. But I know I need to be strong. I need to do this for my baby and for myself. I walk to the concierge desk and ask if any nearby payphones are available. The woman behind the counter nods, pointing me towards them. I thanked her, dragging my suitcases behind me as I headed for them.

Three phone booths stand against a wall in a row. They look surprisingly clean, and I notice that it has a little shelf underneath the phone to put things on. Dragging my suitcases, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and open it to retrieve the notebook inside.

Dad gave Nichola and me our Aunt Melina’s contact details when we were tweens, just in case we ever needed it. Dad never told us the story about our aunt, there weren’t even any photos of her around our house, and Mum never spoke about having a sister. Mum’s parents died when we were little, and the only family we knew of were Dad’s, so we grew up never knowing about Melina.

I remember when I rang her the day after I had visited the doctor on campus. The number Dad had given me wasn’t a mobile, it was a landline number, and from the sounds of the background noise, I assumed it was the number to a shop.

The person who had answered was a woman, and she passed the phone to Melina. I remembered how awkward I felt when I introduced myself to my aunt.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Melina Hastings?” I asked.

“Yes. How can I help you today?”

“Um. You don’t know me… I’m, um, I’m Pamela’s daughter…”

“You’re Pamela and Griffith’s daughter?”

“Yes…” I begin. Melina doesn’t sound happy to hear from me, “my name is Mikaela,” I say.

“Mikaela? They named you Mikaela?” Melina asked softly.

“Yes. Um. A few years ago, Dad gave me your number and said that if Nichola and I ever needed somebody, you would be there for us…”

“Nichola?”

“My sister.”

“Oldest or youngest?”

“I’m the oldest.”

“Griffith gave you my number?”

“Yes. He said if I ever needed help…”

And then I told her about my relationship with Noah and, embarrassingly, how our relationship ended.

“But the worst thing is…” I had said between tears, “is that I’ve found out I’m pregnant, and it’s not his.”

Melina was very gentle with me. Asking me what I wanted to do, with me telling her I didn’t know. I told her I couldn’t have the baby at university or home because everyone would know, and I couldn’t face them.

“Come here,” Melina told me. So now I’m standing here, waiting for my mother’s sister, a woman I’ve never met, to come and pick me up. I think about my final hours at university. I had let my phone die out and had thrown it in the garbage bin at the departing train station. Standing here, waiting, makes me regret doing that. It was an impulsive act. I didn’t want Noah to contact me, so I threw away my phone, my only link to my family.

I’m lost in thought when a van pulls up with the words’ Sweet Temptations’ written down the side, a stylised capital ‘T’ written above the name. I watch as I hear the driver’s door close, the driver walking around the front of the van toward me.

“Mu- mum?” I stutter when the woman walks towards me. She smiles, chuckling.

“No. I’m your aunt, Melina,” the woman greets. Melina, my aunt, looks exactly like my mum. Same green eyes, the same brown hair, same face.

“Your parents never showed you pictures of me, huh?” Melina asked. I shook my head.

“I’m surprised your mum left that part out,” Melina says, mum’s thoughtful look on her face.

“No… mum never mentions you. It was Dad who told us about you,” I explain. Melina looks at me, a sad expression on her face.

“That sounds about right,” Melina comments softly

“Well, let’s get you home, huh?” Melina says, coming forward to take one of my suitcases. I help her put my luggage in the back and hop into the van’s passenger side.

“So… you’re a baker?” I ask as Melina drives out of the city. I can’t get over how alike to mum Melina looks.

“Yeah. I’m more like the manager of the bakery. I own Sweet Temptations,” Melina smiles.

“That’s cool,” I comment.

“What about you? What are you studying?”

“I’m doing a double degree in Education and Special Education,” I admit.

“Oh. Do you want to teach or something?”

“Yeah. My best friend’s older brother has Autism. I’ve always been interested in Special Education because of him. Xander is one of the nicest people you could meet,” I say, thinking of Cassie’s older brother. Xander is three years older than us, but he was always kind towards us. As a kid, he needed lots of different therapy, and I liked the ideas they taught him. I wanted to learn more,” I admit.

We drive on, me telling Melina stories about Cassie and Xander and Melina telling me about her job. I learned that Melina went to culinary school before opening her own business and works alongside her bakery staff. She employs two other bakers who work with her and a shop assistant who works up the front. I also learn that Melina owns the building her shop is in and that she lives in the above apartment.

Melina turns down an alleyway where a carpark is hidden between the buildings. I must give her a look of fear because she laughs.

“Don’t worry. This place is safe. I have cameras pointed to the carpark and on the other side of the building,” Melina tells me.

I follow Melina to retrieve my luggage and walk with her towards the side of the building with two doors.

“The door on the left is the entrance to the bakery, and the door to the right is the entrance to my apartments,” Melina explains as she unlocks the second door.

“Lock it behind you,” she instructs as she takes the stairs.

I’m pretty surprised as I walk into the apartment’s main room. The stairs open to a large living area, with a grey two-seater couch in the middle of the room, in front of a flat-screen tv. A low square, wooded coffee table sits in front of the sofa, and an armchair sits at its left. Behind the couch is a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, and a door I can see opens to a bathroom. Near the windows, which I assume is on the roadside of the apartment, is a four-seater table, and to the left is an open L-shaped kitchen. To the right, I see more stairs, which I assume leads up to the bedrooms.

“Wow. This place is all yours?” I ask, astonished. Melina chuckles.

“Yeah. I had to get out of Batemans Bay. Too many bad memories,” Melina shrugs. I look at her, and she smiles weakly. I don’t know why she left my hometown or why she’s estranged from my family. But it’s something I eventually want to learn more about.

“Are you hungry? I have some leftovers, we can eat, and then I can show you to your room.”

“Yeah, I’m peckish,” I reply. Melina nods, and I follow her toward the kitchen. Like the rest of this level, the floor is wood, with a golden polished look. The counters are metal, industrial looking, and the splashback tiles are a shiny green colour. Instead of floating cabinets, open shelving sits on the walls, which are wood planks with metal brackets holding them up.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a pantry,” I muse as I watch my aunt take a container out of the fridge.

“Oh, I do. It’s downstairs. I could have built a large walk-in pantry here, but I like this look. It speaks to me, you know,” Melina says. I nod. I like the look of the kitchen too.

I walk around the ample apartment space as Melina puts the food in the microwave. On the shelves are photographs I’ve never seen before… pictures of two identical-looking girls. I smile as I recognise my mum and Melina. I can tell which one is mum by the little beauty mole above her lip, but that is the only difference I see between her and her sister.

A smell of bacon and eggs fills the room, and I turn to see Melina plating up our food.

“That smells yummy,” I compliment, as I watch her add potato salad and salad to the plates.

“I hope so. I baked the pie myself,” Melina winks at me.

- Edited