Not Your Shoe Size
Not Your Shoe Size
An Act Your Age novella
By Eve Dangerfield
Dedication
To my daddy. Turns out I was dreaming of you before I knew who you were. I’m so glad we found each other.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Acknowledgements
About Eve Dangerfield
So Steady
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 1
It's a funny thing that people are always ready to admit it if they've no talent for drawing or music, whereas everyone imagines that they themselves are capable of true love, which is a talent like any other, only far more rare.
-Nancy Mitford, Christmas Pudding
Love has no other desire but to fulfil
itself.
But if you love and must needs have
desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Kate McGrath was sitting on the 86 tram when Tyler’s message came. It had been a strange day. A dreary morning full of meetings had folded into a tepid afternoon of coffee and emails. Kate caught the tram in a daze, staring out of the greasy window without seeing any of the colour and concrete of Melbourne. When she arrived in the city, she’d been a penniless, small town teenager and the skyscrapers and packed streets had felt as unknowable as the ocean. Now everything that could be seen had already been seen a thousand times. Her phone buzzed and Kate was sure it was her boyfriend telling her he was working late or couldn’t pick up dinner. Another mildly irritating thing at the end of a mildly irritating day. Then she read Tyler Henderson’s message and it slapped her awake like an icy wave.
Daddy’s very disappointed in you, baby. Put on your pretty nightdress and wait for me in your bedroom. I’m going to teach you a lesson.
Kate’s mood changed so suddenly it was like she’d become an entirely different person. Gone was her faint disappointment in the day’s events, the plastic glaze over her attention. Her pulse raced; her breathing jacked up. She felt utterly alert, a small animal freshly aware of a predator.
Her daddy was angry, and he was going to make her pay.
She glanced around to see if any of her fellow straphangers had noticed her shift from absent to electrified. They hadn’t. An elderly woman was nodding off at the back of the carriage and a few guys in football jumpers were playing with a nerf ball, oblivious to anything but their game.
Students, she thought, until one turned and revealed he was in his early thirties or older. She squinted and realised all the guys were in their thirties, though they were laughing and shoving each other like teenagers as they bounced the ball on the floor and off the tram walls. Kate glared at them.
Grow up, she thought, then pressed a hand to her mouth. Grow up? Who in God’s name was she to tell anyone to grow up? No one had less of a right to tell people to do that than her. She’d worn hair ribbons and slept with a teddy and pretended she didn’t know how taxes worked until she was twenty-five. And even now she wore pencil skirts and refused to play the ingenue in public, her entire sexual aesthetic was built around acting naive and helpless. In pretending to be a little girl for daddy.
What’s wrong with me? she thought as a guy dove low to catch the ball and his friends cheered. I’m twenty-nine, when did I become such a bitter old bag?
No sooner had she asked than a strange feeling hooked behind her navel. An internal tugging, like the wind working on dandelion seeds.
What? She asked, but no answer came. The sensation hovered, stirring and pulling, impatient for something unknown. Kate folded her arms over her stomach, hugging herself tight. She first felt this way a month ago, sitting at Shanghai dumplings with her roller derby team. The Barbie Trolls had just won their third championship, and everyone was drinking and laughing and cramming down barbecue pork buns. Kate had tried to keep up with her teammates, to mirror their good mood, but she was celebrating behind a sheet of frosted glass. No matter how much she drank and laughed and hugged everyone, she didn’t feel like she was there.
She told herself it was anticlimax, the melancholy of her own unrealistic expectations, but two days later the tugging sensation returned. She was sitting at her desk, typing up a report and perfectly fine and suddenly she’d felt so bored she’d wanted to run from the room screaming. She couldn’t understand it. She’d never felt this way, even as a kid, and her childhood could roundly be described as ‘shithouse.’ But nothing was shithouse about her life now—it was wonderful. She had a job and friends and a gorgeous apartment and a boyfriend so perfect she’d never even dared to dream of him. It wasn’t right to be restless. To want more than she had. It wasn’t fair.
A shout made Kate look up. The guys were now bouncing the ball against the tram ceiling, laughing manically. One of them shouted something, and after a moment of confusion, she realised he’d spoken a different language. German, possibly. She looked closer and realised they were all carrying backpacks, piled into the tram corner while they played their game. They must be tourists. Maybe strangers who’d bonded over their shared language. Maybe a gang of friends exploring a new city. Her navel ached; the tugging was so intense she felt like a hooked fish.
What? She demanded. Do you want to play handball? Go to Germany? Eat a bratwurst? What?
She willed the answer to materialise, but there was no reply. She had an internal dial tone. She unclenched her teeth and unlocked her phone so she could reread Ty’s message. The sight of it made her insides heat. What game would they play tonight? She had no way of knowing. Even though they were almost five years into their relationship, she still couldn’t predict Tyler Henderson. He had a limitless imagination and he role-played like it was his job.
Daddy’s very disappointed in you, baby.
What would they pretend she’d done? Whatever imaginary transgression Ty had cooked up, he was undoubtedly going to spank her for it. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d tie her to the bed, wrap her hair around his fist, and force her to give him a blow job. Kate closed her eyes, picturing the scene. What would she wear? The pink negligee or the silk baby blue pyjamas? Strange how sex changed plans. A few minutes ago, all she’d wanted was to put the kettle on and eat peanut butter from the jar; now she couldn’t wait to shower and get into bed hungry.
It wouldn’t be her real bed, though. Not the king with dove grey sheets she shared with Ty. This bed was tiny, lacy, and pink. The bed Kate’s little girl self slept in. A year ago, she’d decorated the spare room as a surprise for Ty. He’d come home from a trip to Queensland to find it styled in a mishmash of teen nostalgia and the hyper feminine, frills and band posters and teddies. Now it was their playroom, a soft, pretty place where they could explore the dark edges of their sexualities.
Kate smiled before glancing around the tram, re-checking that people weren’t reading her mind, seeing the perverted things she did. As before, no one was paying her any mind, but her paranoia and guilt lingered. It probably always would. Her shame at liking dirty things went deep. She still cried almost every time she and Ty played daddy/little girl. One second she craved humiliation, the next it overwhelmed her. It was lucky Ty was so good at comforting her. She was so, so lucky.
Then wh
y are you so distracted?
Kate’s temples throbbed. Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up, welcoming the distraction. There was a fresh message in the group chat she shared with her friends and derby teammates Rapunzel, Casey, and Tambara. The latest entry was from Rapunzel.
Dede’s moving in on Saturday. Her dad’s driving her up in his van. I’m so jealous. I’m jealous of her dad because he gets to sit in a van with her. I don’t think I can handle her moving in. If she moves in, I think I’m going to have to move out. Of the earth. By killing myself. Thoughts? Emotions?
Kate smiled. Rapunzel’s share house had recently interviewed a roommate she swore was ‘The One.’ Rapunzel had been single and indifferent about it for seven years, and she wasn’t handling full blown infatuation well. ‘Freaking the fuck out’ was how Kate would describe it. Her usually sardonic friend kept flooding the group chat with requests for reassurance that Dede would both move in and fall in love with her. Kate started typing an encouraging response, but Casey beat her to the punch.
I can’t believe you’re letting the girl you have a crush on move in. It’s going to totally fuck up the house dynamic. Haven’t you heard of not shitting where you eat?
This was swiftly followed by a message from Tambara.
You’re setting an all-time lesbian record, moving in with someone who doesn’t even know you like her.
Grinning, Kate cleared her supportive message and typed a response.
Leave her alone, you guys! Rapunzel: don’t stress, I’m sure it’s all going to work out. Just try not to scare your new roomie/potential girlfriend/wife.
No replies came, though she could see all three of her friends had read the message. Kate stared at her phone, a familiar anxiety licking at the back of her neck. She was still relatively new to friendship. Her ADHD had isolated her from other kids for most of her childhood and teen years. She’d been the weird kid for so long that, even now, a minor social faux pas could send her into a tailspin. She re-read her message with mounting panic. She meant ‘scare’ with overt displays of affection, but Rapunzel was also physically intimidating; six-foot-three with a waist-length blonde plait, she looked like a combination of her fairy tale namesake and the tower she was held hostage in. Ty didn’t scare easily, but he had almost shit himself when he saw Rapunzel for the first time, something he only admitted after two years and a third of a bottle of whiskey. Kate grimaced at her phone.
“Come on,” she whispered. “You’re not offended, are you, Rapunzel? When we lived together you went to the toilet with the door open.”
Her phone buzzed. Rapunzel had sent ten thumbs up emojis.
Thanks for the support, Katy Cat. Knew I could count on you. Unlike those other bitches.
Relieved, Kate posted a GIF of Maya Rudolph tracing a heart in the air.
God. You *would* think it’s okay to fuck your roommate, Mac. Casey typed. You fucked your boss.
Kate wrinkled her nose. After almost five years it was easy to forget she had met Ty at her first engineering job. Like their twenty-year age gap, it just didn’t seem relevant. But it was eternally interesting to Casey, who aside from finding work romances fascinating, had a bit of a crush on Ty. Kate tapped out a quick response before Tambara could join the fray.
Much like my sex life, my relationship with my FORMER boss isn’t relevant. What time is Dede moving in, Rapunzel?
At ten this Saturday. I’m shitting myself. I think she was flirting during the interview and I think she’s gay from Insta, but what if she hates me? What if she’s secretly straight??
Don’t be stupid, Tambara wrote. No one is secretly straight. Here’s an idea; Samuel’s at his grandma’s this weekend. Why don’t we come around and do brunch? That way we can suss this Dede bitch out and you can look all cool and collected with your friends around you?
Rapunzel posted five crying face emojis. You’d do that for me?
Totally. Casey wrote. I’m in.
Kate opened up her calendar app and checked she had nothing scheduled. She and Ty were due to attend the Crofton Engineering Excellence Awards that night, but that left plenty of time to meet Rapunzel’s crush.
I’m down, Kate typed. This is so exciting; we haven’t done brunch in ages!
Right? Rapunzel replied. You straight people and your dogshit priorities...
She had a point. Now Tambara was a mum and Casey was married and living on the other side of the city, their schedules left hardly any room for socialising. They talked constantly, but if it wasn’t for roller derby, they’d barely see each other. Still, that was normal right? That was growing up? Kate glanced up at the Germans bouncing their ball and laughing. They were still together. They were getting along.
Speaking of straight people; Casey wrote, when are you and your former boss going to ‘Ty’ the knot, Mac? I vote soon. I want to be a bridesmaid while I’m still hot.
If anyone had been sitting near Kate, they’d have heard a low growl. This was an old question, one she’d answered many, many times. Her fingers hovered over the reply window as she debated her answer. Her imagined responses grew snippier and snippier until she locked her phone and put it on her lap. Casey was just teasing, but it wasn’t a tease she knew how to respond to with humour anymore. She stared out the window at the darkening cityscape. It was true what people said—one friend gets married, everyone follows. Tambara was the first, then Gilly, then Jenna and Nikki and now Casey, who’d been with Lachlan less than a year. Now almost all the Barbie Trolls were experiencing wedded bliss, and of the remainders, only Kate had a long-term partner.
Casey was the only person who outright teased her about her lack of engagement, but everyone was curious. Everyone asked if she wanted to be engaged, married, have kids, be proposed to. Every New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day and birthday and Christmas there were question mark texts and raised eyebrows. The status quo knocking on her door, asking ‘When are you and Ty going to do The Normal Thing?’
Kate exhaled against the window, raised a finger and drew a heart in the fog. In her head ‘marriage calling’ blared to the tune of ‘London Calling’ by The Clash. Once upon a time she did anything to be seen as normal. To do The Normal Thing. But she’d made her peace, by and large, with being different. She’d accepted her ADHD, her kinks, the fact that estrangement was the only way to deal with her insane family. She’d accepted her weirdness, the way you were supposed to. Like all the self-help books said. But her love for Ty had always felt so conventional. So traditional. When the question of marriage knocked, she hadn’t expected to look inside herself and find a solid, inflexible answer.
She didn’t want to get married.
To anyone.
Not even Tyler Henderson, the most exciting, attractive, wonderful man in the universe.
But how did you say that without phrasing it as a rejection? Like you didn’t love your partner less than people who got married?
Kate’s phone buzzed like killer bees. She picked it up to see Tambara and Rapunzel telling Casey to back off. Casey had already said sorry for being ‘a big nosy bitch’ and offered to buy her a coffee on Saturday. Kate felt a warm pang behind her ribs. It was nice to be defended and apologised to. It was also good that she didn’t have to explain why getting engaged made her feel like she had a chicken egg in her throat.
No problem, she wrote. I have to go, I’m almost at my tram stop. See you dudes Saturday.
She slid her phone into her handbag and stood. As she did, she saw the German tourists laughing together. The feeling hooked her again, that restless longing. I want something, I want...
But she couldn’t phrase it. Instead she imagined the dandelion stalk being tugged out of its base. Drifting along to float into grassy fields unknown.
Chapter 2
When Kate reached her Aunt Rhonda’s apartment—the habit of calling it Aunt Rhonda’s was unbreakable—she threw her bag on the couch and headed for the shower. She stayed under the water for a long time, increasing the heat
until her skin was tender and the stall thick with steam. She wanted to be raw, to flay off her melancholy afternoon. If she melted away her skin, she could become someone else, not Kate McGrath, engineer, girlfriend, friend, and derby teammate. Something less. Something small and sweet and manageable.
Steaming and pink, Kate stepped out of the shower and towelled herself dry. When she wiped the misty mirror, she saw a rosy-cheeked adolescent. It wasn’t flattery. She didn’t look twenty-nine. She didn’t look twenty-three. Last month she’d worn her high school rugby jumper to the shops and the assistant asked if she was looking forward to graduation. She resembled a teenager more than most of the teenagers she saw out clubbing on Saturday nights. Those girls knew how to flaunt themselves in a way Kate was still working on.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m cute the way I am.
That thought would have once rung hollow, but tonight Kate smiled at her reflection and liked the smile she got back. At least until a wave of moodiness swept her.
“No,” she told herself, stern as a schoolteacher. “Not now. Now is for sexiness.”
She turned from the mirror and opened her toiletry bag. The temptation to apply make up in these situations was ever-present, but she knew from experience that foundation and mascara would be smeared all over the pillows if Ty’s role-play led to manhandling or crying—which it always did. She satisfied herself with dabbing water jelly moisturiser onto her still-flushed skin and opened the cabinet and grabbed her box of Ritalin. She swallowed the capsule with a mouthful of tap water. It used to bother her, having the tablets where Ty could see them. When he first moved in, she hid them in the couch cushions and in disused mixing bowls, forgetting her own stashing places so she had to keep getting refills. Eventually, when he found five Ritalin blisters beneath the SodaStream, Ty got angry.
“I know you take Ritalin,” he’d said, holding up the pills like a cop brandishing his MDMA bust. “Why don’t you keep your pills in the medicine cabinet instead of hiding them all over the fucking house?”