2: A quarrel

The following Saturday, Vesna stopped at the kerb outside the field instead of turning into the car park. The engine idled beneath them, air-conditioning stirring the loose strands around her face while sunlight flashed against the metal gate.

Anaka, her best friend, sat in the passenger seat with one sandalled foot tucked beneath her, sunglasses pushed into her hair. Sen was already leaning towards the window behind her, watching children in green bibs spill across the field.

“Thank you for doing this,” Vesna said, “I need an hour where nobody asks me for anything.”

She’d spent most of Friday bent over her laptop at the magazine, rewriting the same twelve-hundred-word profile after the featured designer objected to being described as commercial, then waiting while three editors debated a cover line that was eventually changed back to the original. By the time she’d left the office, her eyes had felt lined with grit and the muscles between her shoulders had hardened into a knot no amount of twisting at red lights could loosen.

The tiredness remained that morning, dull and heavy behind her forehead. Everything had to be finished before Monday’s deadline, and the thought of trying to work with cartoons playing in the next room had made her want to lower her face directly onto the keyboard.

Anaka turned her head and studied her for a beat, gaze drifting over the faint shadows beneath her eyes, “Perk of being a business owner,” she said, “I can move things around.”

Vesna gave her a tired smile, “You’re very generous, as always.”

“I’d never do it for anyone but you, Ves.” Ana paused, mouth lifting at one corner, “Though... the promise of two weeks of free coffee definitely helps!”

“Ah, of course. We're friends with benefits.”

“It’s still friendship if there are benefits.” she reached across and squeezed Vesna’s forearm, “That's why you’re so rad.”

A click sounded from the back seat and Vesna looked into the mirror just as Sen pulled the seat belt away from his chest. Before she could ask whether he was ready, he pushed open the door and climbed out, dragging his sports bag after him.

“Careful, sweetheart!”

“I know,” he hauled the strap over his shoulder and looked through the gate. His posture was still a little tight, but there was none of last week’s resistance in it, “But Milan’s already there.”

Vesna had prepared herself to coax him out of the car, perhaps bargain with him through another five minutes of uncertainty but instead, Sen shut the door and shifted impatiently on his trainers while he waited for his auntie Anaka.

Pleasant surprise loosened something beneath Vesna’s ribs and Anaka climbed out and leaned back through the open window, “Coolio! We’ve been dismissed!”

Sen was already moving towards the gate and Vesna lowered her window and called, “Stay where aunty Ana can see you!”

He glanced back, nodded once, then hurried ahead as Anaka followed at an easier pace. 

At home, the silence felt almost physical.

Vesna set her laptop on the dining table, opened the profile and worked for the next hour without cartoons, questions or the soft knock of Sen’s water bottle against the furniture. Sunlight moved slowly across the floorboards while her fingers kept pace with the words. By the time her alarm sounded, she’d worked through the edits she’d already mapped out the night before and answered half the editor’s notes.

She saved the document twice, closed the laptop and reached for her keys.

An hour after leaving them, she pulled back into the football-field car park to collect her friend and son.

Sen reached the car first and climbed into the back, cheeks flushed beneath a damp fringe of fair hair while sweat darkened the collar of his green T-shirt, but his eyes were bright, and a small smile still clung to his mouth as he pulled the door shut.

Vesna turned in her seat, “Good session?”

He nodded, already reaching for his water bottle, “I scored twice today!”

Before she could answer, Anaka opened the passenger door and slid inside. The smile Vesna expected wasn’t there. Anaka climbed in with her mouth set into a grim line, though there was something suspiciously deliberate about the severity of it.

She turned and looked Vesna directly in the eyes, “We need to talk,” she said, “Without small ears.”

Something cold shifted beneath Vesna’s ribs, “What happened?”

Anaka's eyes flicked briefly towards the back seat. “Sen's fine. It's about you”

The answer came quickly enough to loosen Vesna's lungs, but Anaka still looked deeply offended about something.

“Bunko. Now.” Anaka fastened her seat belt, expression unchanged, “But buy me my coffee first.”

From the back seat, Sen immediately looked up. “Bunko?”

“Maybe,” Vesna said, catching Anaka’s eye in warning. “We’ll see.”

Vesna looked at the other woman, because whatever catastrophe Anaka had apparently survived could, evidently, wait for vanilla syrup.

Vesna started the car without another question. Whatever had stripped the ease from Anaka’s face wasn’t something she wanted discussed with Sen listening from the back seat.

She pulled out of the car park and headed towards 'Kora', Anaka’s favourite boutique coffee shop. The late-morning traffic moved slowly beneath the heat, sunlight flashing across windscreens while the air-conditioning pushed cool air against Vesna’s hands.

At Kora, she unfastened her belt and stepped out before Vesna had fully stopped. Through the window, Vesna watched her disappear beneath the striped awning, unease tightening steadily through her stomach.

Anaka returned a few minutes later carrying the coffee Vesna had paid for through the app, carrying a lidded paper cup, the scent of dark roast and vanilla slipping into the car with her. She took one measured sip, settled back into her seat and stared ahead.

“Let's go.” she said.

Vesna pulled away from the kerb, and five minutes later, tThe bright green-and-yellow sign rose above the next junction, and Sen kicked his heels happily against the seat.

“You really meant Bunko!”

“Apparently yes,” Vesna said, glancing at Anaka and Anaka took another slow drink of coffee and offered nothing.

The moment Vesna parked, Sen unfastened his seat belt and scrambled out. He barely waited for them before hurrying through the entrance, his attention fixed on the floor-to-ceiling play structure behind the dining area, all twisting tubes, rope bridges and bright plastic slides.

“Food first,” Vesna called after him.

Sen stopped and looked back, disappointment flashing across his face, “Then can I go?”

“Yes, after you eat.”

He accepted this with a small bounce on his heels and hurried towards the counter instead.

Vesna fell into step beside Anaka, “Are you going to tell me now?”

Anaka lifted her coffee to her mouth and Vesna waited, watching her friend take an infuritatingly slow drink.

“Ana.”

“Sen’s waiting, Ves.”

Vesna let out a groan and followed the small line of Anaka’s gaze towards the counter where Sen had already begun studying the menu board despite ordering exactly the same thing every time they came.

When she looked back, Anaka’s face was perfectly composed. Too perfectly, in fact.

“You’re enjoying this,” Vesna muttered to her and the corner of Anaka’s mouth moved.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Vesna narrowed her eyes but Sen turned around at that moment and called, “Mama!”

“Coming, sweetie.”

By the time Vesna had ordered Sen’s usual meal and two small sides for herself and Anaka, her patience had thinned considerably. She carried the plastic beeper towards a booth beside the play area and dropped into the seat opposite Anaka.

“Right.” Anaka glanced towards Sen.

He was kneeling on the seat beside Vesna, attention fixed through the glass at a boy crawling across one of the rope bridges.

Then she looked back at Vesna and and drank her coffee while maintaining pleasant eye contact.

Vesna was shooting her back with anything but pleasantries. “You said we needed to talk.”

“We do.”

“So talk.”

“Not yet.”

Vesna let out a breath through her nose, “You cannot tell me we need to talk alone, refuse to explain anything for the entire drive here and then sit there drinking coffee.”

Anaka lowered the cup and considered this, “I can and I just did.”

“Ana.”

A small smile threatened at the edge of her mouth before she hid it behind another drink. Whatever this was, Anaka was enjoying herself far too much for somebody delivering catastrophic news.

Some of the pressure beneath Vesna’s ribs eased, though not enough to stop her foot tapping beneath the table. “What happened at practice?”

Anaka’s eyes slid briefly towards Sen. “Later.”

“You already said he’s fine.”

“He is.”

“Then what-”

The beeper rattled violently against the table between them and Vesna closed her eyes and when she opened them she found Anaka’s lips pressed tightly together.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.”

Their food gave Anaka another five minutes of protection.

Sen ate with his attention divided almost completely between his meal and the play structure, while Vesna picked at a chip she didn’t want and watched Anaka across the table.

Every time their eyes met, Vesna lifted her brows. Every time, Anaka either took another infuriatingly slow sip of coffee or looked elsewhere with exaggerated innocence.

Once, Vesna mouthed, Tell me.

Anaka smiled sweetly and shook her head and Vesna kicked her lightly beneath the table, making Anaka’s eyes widened in theatrical offence.

Sen looked between them, “What?”

“Nothing,” they said together.

Sen finally pushed the remains of his meal away and slid from the booth, “Can I go?”

“Yes.”

He was gone before the word had properly left her mouth, hurrying towards the play structure. Vesna watched him disappear through the entrance and caught another flash of his green shirt behind the netting seconds later.

Then she turned straight back to Anaka. “Now.”

Anaka took one final, deliberate drink of coffee and Vesna’s eyes narrowed. The cup came down and Anaka stared at her across the table for a long, solemn beat.

Then her expression hardened into something so deeply offended that Vesna almost wondered whether she’d misread the entire thing.

“What the hell?” Anaka demanded, keeping her voice low, “I thought we were friends?”

Vesna blinked, “What?”

“I thought friends told each other things.” Anaka pressed one hand dramatically to her chest, “Since when did you start hiding things from me? Frankly, Ves, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Vesna stared at her for a beat, “Ana, will you just tell me what’s going on?”

Anaka swayed backwards, one hand rising to her forehead as though the question itself had weakened her.

“You never thought it was worth mentioning,” she said, recovering just enough to point accusingly with her coffee cup, “that Sen’s coach was that hot?”

For one suspended second, Vesna only stared at her.

Then relief broke through her in a startled laugh, making her tip her head back against the booth.

Anaka’s eyes widened, “You’re laughing?”

“Of course! I thought something serious happened!”

“This is serious!” She planted her free hand on her hip as well as she could from inside the booth. “Since when do you hide things from me? I’ve always had exclusive access to every detail of your life!”

Vesna pressed her fingers beneath her eyes to remove the tears gathering there, still catching her breath, “Ana—”

“No.” Anaka lifted the cup between them. “There’s no explaining your way out of this.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, that’s all.”

Anaka’s eyebrows drew closer, “That’s not the only reason I’m upset.”

Vesna leaned back slightly, “Oh, there’s more?”

“You didn’t tell me he liked you.”

“What?”

“Yes.” Anaka set her coffee down with a firm tap.

“He asked where Ms. Vesna was, whether Ms. Vesna was all right, and whether Ms. Vesna was out sick.” She held up three fingers. “He said your name three times in the two minutes I spoke to him.”

Vesna stared at her, then shook her head, “He was checking on Sen’s parent. I didn’t tell them someone else would be bringing him, which was my fault. It was probably just protocol.”

Anaka went very still and Vesna knew that look.

“What?”

“There.” Anaka pointed at her with one finger.

Vesna leaned back slightly, “There what?”

“That.” Anaka’s finger moved between them as though the answer should have been obvious, “That thing you do.”

“Which is what?”

“The thing where I tell you something I saw with my own two eyes and you immediately explain to me why I didn’t actually see it.”

Vesna rolled her eyes, “Ana.”

“No, seriously.” Anaka leaned forwards, lowering her voice as a family passed behind Vesna’s shoulder, “I spoke to the man for maybe two minutes. In those two minutes, he asked where Ms. Vesna was, whether Ms. Vesna was all right, and whether Ms. Vesna was sick.”

She held up three fingers again. “Three times, Ves.”

“He was being polite.”

Anaka’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Nothing.” She sat back and folded her arms.

“You’re sulking.”

“I am absolutely not sulking.” Anaka turned her face towards the windows with such deliberate offence that Vesna almost laughed, “I’m reflecting on the devastating reality of being chronically disrespected by my closest friend.”

“Oh my God.”

“Fifty years of friendship.”

“It hasn't been fifty years.”

“Feels like twenty.”

Vesna picked up the plastic beeper and turned it between her fingers, “You’re making something out of nothing. He asked where I was because I’m usually the one who brings Sen, nothing more.”

Anaka looked back at her. The dramatics had gone.

“Dude,” she said, quieter now, “you never believe me.”

Vesna’s fingers stopped against the edge of the beeper.

Anaka leaned forwards and struck her index finger lightly against the tabletop, “Tell me, have I ever been wrong?”

Vesna’s mouth parted, but Anaka kept going.

“Was I wrong about your mom pushing you towards the career she wanted? Was I wrong about Sen’s father never appreciating you?” Her finger hit the table again, harder this time. “Was I ever wrong? Huh? You tell me.”

The hurt beneath her anger landed more heavily than the dramatics had.

“You never believe me until it’s too late,” Anaka said.

She leaned forwards and struck her index finger against the tabletop, “Tell me, have I ever been wrong?”

Vesna’s mouth parted, but Anaka kept going.

“Was I wrong about your mom pushing you towards the career she wanted? Was I wrong about Sen’s father never appreciating you?” her finger hit the table again, harder this time, “Was I ever wrong? Huh? You tell me.”

The hurt beneath her anger landed more heavily than the dramatics had.

“You never believe me until it’s too late,” Anaka said.

A silence settled between them, broken only by the muffled shrieks from the play area and the low hum of the kitchen behind the counter and Vesna looked down at the untouched beeper.

“Fine,” she said at last, “So what if it were true? How does that change anything?”

Anaka’s brows drew together, but Vesna didn’t give her room to answer.

“It’s been two year since the divorce and this entire year, I’ve gone on every blind date you’ve suggested.” she counted them off against the table with the edge of her hand, “Men who weren’t serious. Men who were perfectly nice until their intentions became clear. And those disgusting ones who heard ‘single mother’ and decided I existed to satisfy some bloody MILF kink.”

Anaka’s mouth tightened at the edges.

“What guarantees coach Valko’s any different?” Vesna asked.

“Nothing guarantees anything,” Anaka leaned forward, “but that doesn’t mean you judge him before you’ve even got to know him.”

Vesna gave a short, humourless laugh, “I spent two years getting back to where I am now. Two years, Ana. I finally feel like myself again so I’m not interested in letting some man come into my life and ruin me all over again.”

Anaka’s expression changed, “He didn’t ruin you, Ves.” her voice lost its feather-light ease, “You made the wrong choice when you married him.”

The words struck hard enough that Vesna's eyes went still.

“You chose to ignore every sign,” Anaka continued.

“I know what I did.”

“Do you?” Anaka’s palm flattened against the table, “Because you keep talking like it happened to you out of nowhere. Like loving someone automatically means handing them the power to destroy you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Yeah but it's exactly what you’re doing.”

Vesna’s shoulders tightened, “You don’t get to reduce my marriage to one bad decision.”

“No, but I’m reminding you that you survived your own mistake.” Anaka held her gaze, “That means you can trust yourself not to make it again.”

Vesna looked away towards the play structure, catching a flash of Sen’s green shirt behind the netting, “Even if I gave coach Valko a chance, it’d be strange for Sen.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s his coach.”

“So?”

“So, I’m not bringing confusion into my son’s life because a man looked at me a few times the first time I met him.”

Anaka sat back, folding her arms, “That’s not the real reason though, I can tell.”

Vesna’s jaw tightened, “He’s younger than me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He coaches children’s football, Ana.”

Anaka blinked, “How do you know that’s all he does?”

Vesna turned back to her, “Why? You don’t think so?”

“No,” Anaka lifted her coffee and took a thoughtful sip, “That man trains properly, Ves. Not three sets on a machine and a protein shake properly. I mean properly.”

Despite herself, Vesna’s irritation faltered, “You gathered all that from standing near him for an hour?”

Anaka’s mouth curved for the first time since they’d arrived, “You underestimate me far too much, Ves. Give me time,” Anaka said, already reaching for her phone, “and I can find things out for you.”

Vesna’s stomach tightened, “No, I’m not interested.”

“Mm.”

“I mean it.” she folded her arms, though the movement felt more defensive than she intended, “He’s too good-looking, he flirts like breathing, and he can hold an actual conversation without making it painful. A man like that can't possibly be single.”

Anaka’s hand paused above the table and then she drew out her phone and gave Vesna a soft, wicked smile -a smile Vesna knew too well.

“No.”

Anaka unlocked the screen with her thumb, “I’m only checking the time,” she said, lowering her eyes towards it with exaggerated concentration.

“With both hands?” Vesna asked, leaning slightly across the table to catch a glimpse of the screen.

“Digital clocks are complex, Ves,” Anaka said, angling the phone away while her fingers began moving suspiciously fast.

“Ana,” Vesna warned, holding out one hand across the table.

Anaka tipped her head, hair sliding over one shoulder as she continued typing with exaggerated innocence, “What?” she asked, an airy little hum starting beneath her breath.

Vesna reached for the phone. Anaka snatched it back with a laugh and pressed it against her chest, turning her shoulder away just as Vesna’s fingertips brushed the edge of the case.

“Stop it, I’m serious!” Vesna said, reaching around Anaka’s arm for it again.

“Jesus, Ves,” Anaka laughed, twisting farther towards the wall while lifting her coffee safely out of range with her other hand.

“Give me the phone,” Vesna said, catching the end of Anaka’s sleeve and tugging her gently back towards the table.

“No!” Anaka protested, curling over the phone with such dramatic protectiveness that Vesna might have thought she was guarding state secrets instead of a search bar.

“You’re acting completely unhinged,” Vesna said, trying once more to hook two fingers around the edge of the phone.

“I’m acting unhinged?” Anaka demanded, jerking it just out of reach as their elbows bumped against the table and sent the plastic beeper skittering several inches across the laminate. “You’re the one trying to mug me in a Bunko!”

“You’re investigating a man I spoke to for five minutes!” Vesna said, abandoning the phone long enough to shove the beeper back towards the middle of the table.

“Exactly!” Anaka said, straightening triumphantly and holding the phone high against her shoulder. “You’ve barely spoken to him, and you’re already building a case for why he’s unavailable.”

“I don’t want to know!” Vesna said, reaching for the phone again before stopping herself.

The words came out sharper than she meant them to.

Anaka’s smile disappeared.

Around them, the restaurant carried on in bright, greasy normality while Vesna slowly settled back into her side of the booth. She didn’t want a surname, an age, a photograph or a relationship status. She didn’t want facts that might make him more solid than the broad-shouldered coach she could dismiss as charming, attractive and entirely irrelevant.

Knowing things removed distance and took bricks from walls she’d spent two years building.

Anaka lowered the phone from her shoulder and placed it beside her coffee, “Fine,” she said, watching Vesna more carefully now.

“I won’t do anything,” Anaka said. Her face was composed, but the mischief still lived at the corners of her mouth, light and slippery.

“Ana.”

“What?”

“You’re planning something for later, I can tell.”

Anaka pressed a hand to her chest, “The lack of trust in this friendship is honestly devastating.”

Vesna held out her palm, “Phone.”

“No,” Anaka shook her head and tilted her chin upwards.

“Then promise me.”

Anaka sighed and placed the phone face-down on the table, "Promie you what?"

Vesna kept her gaze on her, “Even if you find something, don’t tell me.”

The last of Anaka’s amusement collapsed into disbelief, “Dude.”

“I’m serious. Promise me, please."

Anaka let her head fall back against the booth and groaned towards the ceiling, “Ugh, fine!”

The beeper buzzed violently on the floor beneath them making both women look down. Its red lights flashed against the tiles, rattling beside Vesna’s shoe like an alarm and she bent to pick it up.