The bananas were not on sale. The catalogue said they were on sale. Sure, the catalogue ended the previous day, but wasn’t that unfair to people who couldn’t shop that day? Some people had to work.

 

Karen made her points very clear to a pimply-faced teenage boy trying to stack shelves. She was calm and classy and-

 

‘Let me speak to the manager! Clearly, you can’t help me!’

 

Admittedly, a hair in Karen’s asymmetrical blonde bob may have fallen out of place. She pushed it back into place and glared daggers at the boy, who spoke into his headset while Karen rapidly tapped her feet.

 

‘I see the manager’s taking his sweet time. Honestly, the customer service here is-’

 

‘What appears to be the problem?’

 

Karen turned towards the deep but feminine voice. When she saw the manager, she instinctively held her breath.

 

The manager stood tall and slim. Her black wavy hair fell to her shoulders, just short enough to not require being pulled back in a ponytail. Her amber skin was smooth and soft. Her large bronze eyes carried years of experience looking friendly to customers- even customers like Karen.

 

‘Excuse me, ma’am? Are you okay?’

 

Karen finally gathered enough concentration to see the manager’s name badge. Frema Nazarian.

 

Karen delivered the same speech she had previously given to the boy with at least 70% more stuttering.

 

‘With all due respect, ma’am, you could have enjoyed this sale this day last week.’

 

‘B-but, I received my catalogue in the mail a day later.’

 

Frema took a gentle step forward. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. How about I give you a copy of this week’s catalogue? There are plenty of items for sale.’

 

Karen tried to glare at her, but her gaze quickly softened. ‘But not bananas.’

 

Frema gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘But not bananas.’

 

Behind her, Karen could hear a distant yet familiar set of voices, her son Kyle and her daughters Sharon and Carol.

 

She got in Frema’s face and yelled, ‘Do you expect me to pay full price for these bananas? I’m a single mother!’

 

Frema’s smile slipped as a fire lit up in her eyes. ‘I am too, ma’am.’ She tapped the boy’s shoulder to get him to return to work.

 

‘Well, w-well…’

 

‘Well, what, ma’am?’

 

‘You’re a disgrace! This supermarket is a disgrace! Your motto is ‘Low Prices for Everyone’, and yet you can’t offer a single mother a discount for fucking bananas?’

 

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing the customers.’

 

‘I am a customer! You’re not taking me away. I have a right to be here just like everyone else!’

 

Right on time, Sharon and Kyle grabbed Karen and pulled her back. Carol apologised to Frema in her trademark monotone voice.

 

‘Hey, let go of me!’ Karen shouted. Kyle and Sharon only did so once she was a good metre away from Frema. Karen pointed at Frema. ‘I don’t care if you’re…’ She gulped. ‘I’m never going to this place again!’

 

She stormed out of the supermarket, though not without first kicking the shopping baskets on the floor. Frema sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

 

Karen’s children followed her out into the car park. 17-year-old Kyle picked his nose and scratched his butt under his baggy jeans. His Monster logo cap was thirty degrees off-centre. 16-year-olds Sharon and Carol were identical in appearance but wore very different clothing. Sharon was clad in short shorts and a rather age-inappropriate tube top, while Carol wore a long, loose top with the Collingwood Football Club logo and a pair of tracksuit pants.

 

Sharon placed her hand on Karen’s shoulder. ‘What the hell was that, Mum? Mum?’

 

Karen paid no attention to her daughter, focusing all her attention on the burning sensation in her cheeks. She was silent the entire car trip to the next nearest supermarket. And when she shopped. And when she drove her family home. Her cheeks were still warm.

 

Karen’s home was a modest one-story brick building. As she stepped into the house, she was greeted by paintings with motivational sayings such as ‘Live, laugh, Love’ and ‘Dance like no one is watching’. She continued to frown as she passed them.

 

Kyle’s room was covered in posters of motorbikes, one of which hid a hole in the wall from an angry punch a few months ago. Half-empty cans of energy drinks littered the floor.

 

Sharon and Carol shared the biggest bedroom, with Sharon’s side covered in boy band posters and Carol’s side covered in footy posters. Towards the line between their sides was a small, empty birdhouse they had built together. Underneath the birdhouse was two toolboxes, one pastel blue and the other black.

 

After passing these bedrooms, Karen finally arrived at her own.  The plain beige walls were adorned with little photo frames of her family, from her children to her mother and father. One side of the queen-sized bed was made up, as always. She dropped her leather bag by the bedpost and collapsed onto the untidy side of the bed. Her eye caught a glimpse of a photograph on the bedside table. The photo contained a man around her age kissing her cheek.

 

As sighs took out her energy, she reached for the sheets and pulled them over her, shivering a little at the coldness. She let the empty silence lull her to sleep.

 

‘Hey mum, when’s dinner?’

 

One eye opened. ‘Get it yourself.’

 

‘But you always-’

 

‘Well, maybe, Kyle, it’s time for you to do it for a change. I’m not your personal chef.’

 

Kyle shuffled out of the room. ‘Nevermind. I’ll wait.’

 

The damage had been done- Karen could not get back to sleep. She rolled over to face the made-up side of the bed. She started tripping through her memories of the man in the photo until she stumbled upon a more recent memory- a certain manager’s glossy hair.

 

The flushing face returned. Karen started wondering if she had finally reached The Change. Then again, The Change wasn’t known for making someone tongue-tied or causing them to focus on the little details of another woman’s appearance.

 

Or cause them to throw a tantrum in a supermarket. Not that Karen was in the wrong. Those banana prices? Insulting!

 

Karen groaned and stood up, mentally preparing herself to cook dinner. Under her breath, she muttered, ‘Who does that woman think she is?’

2: Chapter 2: Karen vs The Supermarket

Upon seeing the banana prices outside a local grocery store, Karen received a rude awakening. They were even higher than in the supermarket! Sure, they seemed to be a smidge better in quality, but if she bought a kilogram of these, she would have to only buy half a kilogram of grapes and that simply would not do. If Kyle punched one more hole in the wall, Karen was sure the wall would crumble and the ceiling would fall on top of him.

 

She weighed her options. Would it be worth it to drive to a cheaper grocery store? How much did petrol cost that day?

 

Eventually, she compromised and pulled a couple of bananas off the bunch to make it lighter. Keeping Kyle’s hunger for grapes satiated was much more important than some bananas.

 

She went inside the store to pay for groceries, grumbling about the prices to the poor woman at the register.

 

The sun was just beginning to set when Karen was done with all her shopping. Her back was sore from hunching over a desk all day, made worse by carrying the grocery bags to her car. Once she was home, she ordered her children to help her put away the groceries. Sharon and Carol didn’t bother but Kyle joined her.

 

‘About bloody time,’ Karen said.

 

Kyle opened one of the bags, picked a single grape and popped it in his mouth. ‘Just here for these,’ he claimed, though he continued helping.

 

Karen pulled out a pack of energy drink cans. ‘And these?’

 

Kyle snatched it from her. ‘And these.’

 

‘How was school?’

 

‘Alright. Boring. Keith said he’ll let me borrow his copy of Code of Revenge: Gears of The Soldier.’

 

‘Is that a g-’

 

‘Yep.’

 

Karen fell silent. Her knowledge of video games was limited to what she heard on the news, not nearly enough to carry a conversation about them.

 

All she managed to say was, ‘Uh, that’s nice. Just make sure you don’t stay up too late playing it.’

 

Ah, the classic line when you don’t know how to talk to your children about video games.

 

‘Oh, and Kyle, give me your pocket knife. I know you bought one.’

 

‘But mum-’

 

‘I don’t want that game influencing you!’

 

‘It’s for self-defence!’

 

‘Why would you need that?’

 

Kyle kicked one of the grocery bags on the floor. ‘You know what? Put this shit away yourself.’ He stormed back to his room and shook the frame as he slammed the door shut. 

 

‘Hey, come back!’ Karen shouted. No response. The ache in Karen’s back got worse as she leaned down to pick up items from grocery bags herself. Her arms were too weak to lift an entire bag onto the kitchen bench, which would have lessened the strain of leaning down. 

 

The following week, Karen tried another grocery store. The prices were better but the selection was downright embarrassing. There was none of the variety promised by living in the great capitalist landscape of Australia. Karen was sorely disappointed.

 

Of course, Karen had to make this disappointment known to the cashier. ‘I may as well live in Russia if I’m getting this little choice.’ The cashier had no choice but to laugh awkwardly and grit her bared teeth.

 

When Karen looked into the half-empty boot, devoid of many of the groceries she needed, she knew enough was enough. She winced at the thought but could no longer avoid a simple truth: she had to return to that supermarket.

 

As she drove home, she considered how to avoid that manager and decided to shop on a different day. For the first time in a while, she grinned.

 

That grin did not survive the following week’s shopping trip. Frema Nazarian, that beautiful witch, was at the supermarket, albeit as just another shopper. She wore a tight red shirt, scandalous high-waisted pale lemon shorts and a form-fitting blazer the colour of sand.

 

And, of course, the witch smirked upon seeing Karen. ‘I must have misheard you a few weeks ago. I thought you said something along the lines of ‘I’m never coming back here again!’ Did you actually say something else?’

 

Blood scorched rapidly through Karen’s veins. ‘I’m not here for you.’

 

Frema raised an eyebrow. ‘When did I suggest that?’

 

That boiling blood went straight to Karen’s cheeks. That dumb vixen must have cursed her with her luscious lips and spellbinding eyes!

 

‘Uh, that… you just seemed like the kind of person to think about something like that. And why are you being so rude to a customer?’

 

‘I’m not on the clock, am I?’ Frema asked as she pulled a jar of instant coffee from a shelf. A strong, agonisingly palpable desire nestled in Karen’s heart, eager to be quenched. This desire? To one-up Frema.

 

She reached up towards an even higher shelf on the opposite side of the aisle. Alas, she was too short to pick up the packet of biscuits. Frema saw Karen’s flailing arm and grabbed the item for her, gracefully placing it in Karen’s trolley. 

 

Karen snatched the biscuit packet from the trolley and held it up to her chest like she was guarding it with her life. She stared at this audacious succubus with wide eyes that popped out of their sockets. 

 

Upon realising how ridiculous she must have looked, she put the packet back in the trolley. 

 

‘It’s not like your customer service was great even when you were working,’ she said.

 

‘I apologise.’

 

‘Thank y-’

 

‘I should have magically been transferred to both the marketing department and the accounting department so I could change the prices of bananas for you.’

 

‘Surely you’re allowed to give discounts!’

 

A few shoppers turned their heads to witness this loud argument.

 

Frema put her hands on her hips, swishing her blazer behind her. Karen noticed. ‘On what grounds would I give you a discount?’

 

‘Y-you… have a nice jacket!’

 

Karen scrunched her lips inside her mouth like she had just drunk unsweetened lemonade, her entire face now the colour of raspberries. Frema froze, as did the shoppers. Karen mulled over ways she could dig a hole in the ground to die in without breaking the pipes down below.

 

Frema’s laugh was perhaps the ugliest laugh possible, a nasal cackle with plenty of snorting. Yet, somehow, it was also the sweetest laugh Karen had ever heard. A few customers grew bored of the deflated conflict and resumed their shopping.

 

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Frema said in between laughs. ‘I’ll give you 1 per cent off per compliment. Do we have a deal?’

 

Karen crossed her arms and looked beside her at the seemingly mocking smiles of the various brand mascots. At least their stares didn’t embarrass her as much as Frema’s beautifully horrendous giggling. 

 

‘I meant to say I should get a widow’s discount,’ she admitted.

 

Frema wiped a tear from her eye and held back the dregs of her laughter. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t know how you got from widow’s discount to how good my jacket looks, but hey, I’ll take it.’

 

Karen glared at Frema. ‘Well, enjoy your one compliment. It’s all you’re getting.’

 

‘Shame. I have a whole collection of these blazers at home. All different colours.’

 

Karen thought to ask if she had a collection of shorts no one her age should wear, but she held her tongue and returned her gaze to the mascots on the shelf.

 

‘I’m Frema, by the way.’

 

‘Karen.’

 

Frema went back to her task of putting items in her trolley. She looked for a symbol on an instant coffee jar and groaned when it wasn’t there.

 

‘Don’t tell the higher-ups that I’m complaining, but there really should be more kosher stuff here,’ she murmured.

 

Karen whipped her head towards Frema. She felt a twinge of disappointment that Frema wasn’t Christian, though she had a feeling when she first heard her foreign-sounding name.

 

Wait, why was she disappointed? It wasn't like, if Frema was a Christian like Karen, they could…

 

Karen blinked quickly and her cheeks somehow got even hotter. Why was she even entertaining this idea? Hell, what idea was she even entertaining?

 

‘Are you okay?’ Frema asked, getting just a little too close to Karen’s face.

 

‘I’m perfectly fine. I was just surprised. You don’t exactly-’

 

‘Look Jewish? Yeah, that’s probably because I’m a Mizrahi Jew.’ She pulled a necklace chain out from underneath her shirt, revealing a Star of David pendant. ‘Persian, to be exact, though my mum was born in Israel.’ Frema chuckled, though the sound took on a bitter tone. ‘Sorry I don’t look like Woody Allen.’

 

‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘All good. I’m used to it. Shouldn’t be, but I am. But hey, I managed to get an apology from you. That’s a start.’

 

Karen started pushing her trolley as Frema chatted about various topics, also pushing her trolley. Frema was surprisingly talkative and Karen was content to listen because, every so often, her laughter would come out. Karen found herself grinning ear to ear every time she heard it.

 

By the end of their shopping trip, the corners of Karen’s mouth had lowered completely. A realisation dropped two tonnes’ worth of bricks onto her heart.

 

She was deeply, intensely attracted to this woman.

3: Chapter 3: Karen vs Karen

It became a weekly ritual: Karen and Frema shopped on Frema’s day off, Karen said something embarrassing, Frema’s ugly laugh resonated through Karen’s soul. Just a typical interaction between gal pals.

 

Their conversation topics were often benign and ordinary: work, the weather (which mainly consisted of Karen ranting and Frema giggling) and the footy (which garnered tirades in equal measure from both Karen and Frema). Whenever Karen brought up her own kids, Frema listened silently but added nothing to the conversation. Her face went solemn, only for her to laugh again when Karen complained about the weather again.

 

One fateful day, the bananas rose in price again. Frema winced, expecting a fit of rage from the other woman. Instead, Karen quietly complained and added an unexpected comment.

 

‘Well, maybe there were some issues with the supply.’ She picked up a bruised, almost caramel-hued banana at its end like a dirty napkin. ‘These do look pretty old.’

 

Frema had to smile at that. 

 

Throughout these mundane ventures, Karen thought herself remarkably good at hiding her attraction. She didn’t even gasp when droplets from Frema’s checkout-bought water bottle slipped down her chin and neck. Well, her breath stopped as she took in the seductive view, but at least she wasn’t obvious about it.

 

As weeks turned into two months, they graduated from shopping to eating lunch together. Frema suggested it and basically dragged Karen along to a restaurant with no clue how much it annoyed her. Over time, it became Karen’s respite during her lunch breaks, though the clock of capitalism constantly ticked in her ears to remind her that she would soon be due back at the office.

 

Frema always tried something new but Karen stuck to chicken salads. Occasionally, Frema would suggest adding variety to the other woman’s diet but Karen refused most of the time. After almost ordering something for her against her wishes and accidentally sparking an argument, she gave up on mentioning it. One afternoon, Karen eyed Frema’s dish.

 

‘Want some?’ Frema asked with a smile-smirk combo. She twirled her fork around the fettuccine and gently held it up. Karen paused, then nodded. Just as she was about to grab a fork, Frema fed Karen herself. The absolutely heterosexual woman nearly choked on the fork in her mouth, her cheeks as hot as the steam rising from the pasta.

 

She swallowed the alfredo-covered noodles in one go and coughed the heat out of her mouth. Frema apologised but her laughter called her sincerity into question. 

 

Once she was home on these hangout days, Karen looked at herself in the mirror, asked herself what her sexuality was meant to be and immediately decided to procrastinate on that train of thought. She was too tired. She could think about it tomorrow.

 

Much like someone swearing they’ll go on a diet soon, the special “tomorrow” never came.

 

One day, the two… friends? Karen wasn’t sure what to call her and Frema. Anyway, the two acquaintances went to the nearest shopping centre. It was Frema’s idea, as she saw some ads featuring blazers the other day. Why she needed more blazers than she already had was beyond Karen’s understanding, but more time with Frema was more time with Frema.

 

An employee at one shop was a teenager with a cold expression and a bored tone of voice as she failed to help Karen. Frema quickly spotted the telltale signs of an incoming tantrum in Karen: raised shoulders, spluttering as she spoke and glaring at a nearby table of folded clothes like she wanted to knock the piles of shirts to the ground. She released a defeated sigh but placed a hand on Karen’s shoulder.

 

To her surprise, Karen deflated. Her shoulders lowered, her speaking returned to normal (if a bit sheepish) and she stopped staring at the table like a magpie looking at another bird’s nest. If Frema didn’t know any better, she would have thought Karen had melted into her touch.

 

She began to notice other little details about Karen as they shopped: the self-interrupted stares, the frequent blushing, the moments of stepping closer for a moment before shuffling further away. The way Karen chortled at the start of each hangout but laughed freely by the end of it, the way her dimples showed when she beamed at her, the way her short, stumpy hand gently brushed against each item as she considered buying it.

 

Frema groaned. She was in trouble.

 

Karen heard the groan that was meant to be internal. ‘Are you alright? Did you strain a muscle or something? We can sit down and have a break.’

 

Frema shook her head but gazed upon the other woman with eyes that looked like melted gold.

 

‘I’m fine,’ she said, absentmindedly caressing Karen’s cheek. When they both realised what she was doing, Frema quickly pulled her hand back. Instead of apologising, which she had initially planned to do, she turned her attention somewhere else. ‘Oh, this store has lots of nice blazers!’

 

As Frema walked past her towards the store, Karen touched her own cheek where Frema had touched it. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted.

4: Chapter 4: The Manager vs God

Carol and Sharon were arguing in the kitchen. Kyle was holed in his room with his cheap gamer headphones on and Kero Kero Bonito playing loudly in his ears. Anything to block out the yelling.

 

Sharon was the loudest but Carol was the one with the clever comebacks. Well, she thought they were clever anyway. What was the topic that tore this household apart? Whose job it was to take out the rubbish.

 

Karen had tried to calm them down but was now sitting by the kitchen bench with her head in her hands. She eventually stood up and walked to Kyle’s room to confirm something. He was now swearing at a rival player in a game. She saw all the empty cans and dirty clothes on the floor. She went to her bedroom, took out her phone and began her search for babysitters on Friendful Marketplace.

 

The next day, she told the babysitter all she needed to know and made her way out into the outdoors. The sun dipped her smiling lips in a golden feeling of freedom.

 

After a moment of glory, the smile faltered a little. What was Karen going to do now?

 

She began wandering around the suburb, basking in the sun but feeling the dead coldness of boredom in her gut. Her eyes searched everywhere they could for something, anything, to do.

 

Her icy interior melted upon seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar setting. Frema, clad in plain grey sweats, waved goodbye to a teenage boy wearing a kippah as he got inside a car with a man.

 

When the car passed Karen, Frema saw her. Frema’s mouth and eyes widened. ‘H-Hello. Fancy seeing you here.’ She placed her hand on a piece of air where she thought the mailbox was, almost tripping over nothing as she continued lowering her hand in search of the mailbox.

 

Karen blushed on her behalf. ‘Yeah… I’m guessing that was…’

 

‘My son, yes. So, uh, what are you up to?’

 

‘Not much. I’ve got the day to myself, but I don’t know exactly what to do with it.’ Karen chuckled awkwardly.

 

‘Same here.’ Frema’s eyes began to glisten. ‘Would you like to go to the beach together?’

 

Karen blinked. ‘The beach? Isn’t that a little…’

 

‘Well, you’ve got nothing to do, right? Ooh, wait, I’m gonna get my camera!’

 

Before Karen could protest, Frema ran inside her one-story red brick house. Karen waited next to the lush garden, with its vast array of photogenic flowers. The garden stood in stark contrast to the house itself, which was plain and displayed a big crack in the front window.

 

After a few minutes, Frema came out of her house with a large, age-worn black camera around her neck, two wide-brimmed hats in her hands and a green blazer on her body. Underneath that blazer was a navy blue and white striped top. Her tight denim skirt hugged her curves. Did Karen notice? Is water wet?

 

Karen looked down at her old, raggedy three-quarter jeans and her loose, slightly holey green t-shirt with the words ‘Follow Your Dreams’ stuck on the chest. 

 

‘Oh look, we match,’ Frema said. ‘Cute top, by the way.’

 

Karen grabbed the hem of her top and raised it ever so slightly. ‘This old thing? I didn’t exactly plan on you seeing it.’

 

‘I know. Still cute.’

 

Cute. 

 

That word lodged itself in Karen’s brain and refused to let go.

 

Karen laughed a little too loud. ‘Let’s go to the beach!’ she yelped as she snatched one of the hats and plopped it on her head. Her eye twitched a little at the hat mussing her hair, but ther corners of her mouth stayed up.

 

‘We’ll take my car,’ Frema insisted. Karen agreed. After Frema drove it out of the garage, Karen squeezed into it. Her knees were nearly up to her chin sitting in this cramped car, but at least it was clean and smelled like lemons.

 

While gently putting the camera in the back seat, Frema told her, ‘I’ve got an old MP3 player. Choose any songs you like.’

 

As she scrolled through the songs, Karen recognised virtually none of them. Some songs appeared to be in foreign languages and others looked like obscure indie rock songs. Frema’s taste looked eclectic, having every genre under the sun. That is, except for pop and popular rock.

 

Karen eventually settled on an obscure rock album that had a pretty cover. Frema grinned. ‘Good choice.’

 

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. The beach? Really, Karen?’

 

‘Live a little. It’s your day off, right?’

 

Karen nodded. The car was silent for a moment until Karen spoke. ‘So, uh, your son…’

 

‘Joshua. He’s spending the rest of the week with his father.’ Frema’s grip on her wheel tightened, her knuckles turning white. Karen felt a slight sting in her chest at the mention of Frema having a male partner. Frema shook her head. ‘Anyway, what are you looking forward to doing at the beach?’

 

Karen looked up at the car ceiling in thought. ‘I haven’t built a sandcastle in years,’ she said. Frema hummed. Karen tilted her gaze down to her lap. ‘How old am I?’ Frema’s pleasantly unpleasant laughter spilled from her lips like expensive wine.

 

Throughout the ride to the beach, Frema spoke the most. However, Karen added to the conversation with relative ease. She asked her where she got the camera from and, after receiving the answer (her father), when she got interested in photography.

 

‘I always wanted to try photography but I only really got into it around last year, after…’

 

The white knuckles returned. This time, Karen changed the subject and the heavy air quickly lightened.

 

After an hour or so, they arrived at the car park above the beach. Karen’s hat blew away as soon as she got out of the car. She gasped and ran after it but cool gusts of wind kept pushing it away. When she finally managed to pick it up, she pulled it down until it was tight on her head. Frema laughed again, eliminating any chances of Karen’s cheeks cooling down any time soon.

 

There was a constant temperature shift on Karen’s skin as the cool sea breeze battled against the blazing sun. The air smelled salty and sounded like giggling children, reminding Karen that she was a grown woman going to the beach without her family. She tried to pull down her hat even further to cover her face but it would not budge.

 

The two giggled like the kids nearby as they hobbled down the wooden stairs to the beach. Frema raised her arms and drank in the sun before taking her shoes off and running to the shore. Karen gingerly sat down on the sand and watched her splash around.

 

At one point, she looked up at the sky. It was mostly clear but had a few clouds. The very last time she had gone to the beach with her husband, it was completely clear. She frowned until her gaze returned to Frema. A few clouds would have to do.

 

Karen began digging into the sand, taking a large sum of it and dropping it next to the hole. She ignored the stares and continued doing this until she had created a makeshift castle. The dry sand frequently slipped through her fingers, but she loved the coarse texture in her hands. It reminded her of the wood shavings she brushed away when building a cubby house with her daughters.

 

Sharon and Carol, around age seven at the time, had found a book on woodworking at the school library and begged Karen to help them build something. Her husband joined them and, eventually and reluctantly, so did Kyle. The whole family painted the built cubby house and took multiple photos of Sharon and Carol entering through the little door.

 

At the beach, Karen finally realised she had stopped building the sandcastle and was now absentmindedly playing with the sand. Her face was overtaken by a solemn expression, one that Frema noticed all the way from where the shore met the water. 

 

The taller woman ran back to Karen and asked if she was having fun. Karen crossed her arms and looked away.

 

‘I am too old for this after all,’ she said.

 

Frema knelt down by the sandcastle and inspected it. ‘This is actually pretty good, though.’

 

Karen, her cheeks rivalling the sun above, lifted her hand to push the sandcastle down. Frema grabbed her hand to stop her. Her hand was warm and soft, contrasting against Karen’s skin, chapped from years of building things with her daughters.

 

‘Wait, leave it. I want to take a picture.’ Frema ran back to her car to grab the camera. ‘Smile!’

 

‘I said I’m too old for-’

 

‘Then quit acting like a child,’ Frema retorted with a glare that immediately softened. ‘Come on, smile for me.’ 

 

Karen sighed but complied. ‘I’ve never been photogenic.’

 

Frema looked at the photo she had taken. ‘Well, congratulations, 'cause now you are.’

 

Karen covered her face. ‘Stop it!’

 

‘I’m serious.’ Frema showed her the photo, widening Karen’s eyes. Karen turned her head at an angle as if admiring herself in the mirror. ‘I can take a more stylistic photo with you looking in the distance if you want.’

 

‘No, that’s quite alright.’

 

Frema sat next to Karen and took some photos of the ocean, then different shots of the crowd of beachgoers. The two talked as she did this, only taking one break for a lunch of fish and chips near the beach. Over time, the crowd weakened as more families left. Even with the sun beginning to set, Karen didn’t ask to head back home.

 

‘So, what was your son’s name again?’ Karen asked.

 

‘Joshua. He’s a very sweet boy. I like to think I raised him right. But try telling his father that.’ Frema paused. ‘Never mind. I’ve said too much.’

 

Did Karen seem like the type not to pry? ‘I’m guessing you two are… divorced?’

 

Frema nodded with a sigh. She looked into the viewfinder at the ocean like it could transport her anywhere else. The crashing waves were not quite soothing enough to make the conversation easier.

 

‘Now Younes has custody every day of the week except for Fridays.’

 

‘But surely they would give custody to the mother.’

 

‘Well, in the legal system, sure. For the religious divorce, well, I guess I’m just lucky he agreed to divorce me instead of keeping me with him. We made a deal. I get to separate from Younes and see Joshua once a week, so long as I don’t corrupt him.’

 

Karen’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘Corrupt?’

 

The camera shook in Frema’s trembling hands. ‘Younes thinks… well, his synagogue thinks… I’m going against the Torah. He’s Orthodox, you see. His particular synagogue doesn’t take too kindly to, uh, gay members.’

 

Something burst in Karen’s chest, creating an explosion of shock, hope and shame. The sensation was so powerful she had to cough it out.

 

‘I see. Are you still, uh, Orthodox?’

 

‘I’m Reform now.’ 

 

‘Do you like it better?’

 

Frema lowered her camera at that question. After a long pause, she replied, ‘I miss the Orthodox traditions sometimes. That’s why I keep following kosher even after leaving.’ With a laugh, she added, ‘Some of my Reform Jewish friends give me funny looks about it, but I want to keep that close connection to my faith. It’s not like I had much choice to leave my Orthodox synagogue. I wasn’t welcome there.’

 

She gulped and held her head in shame. ‘I spent so long being my parents’ perfect little girl that I lost myself. I even picked on a boy in year 7 ‘cause he looked gay, whatever 13-year-old me thought that meant.’ Her laugh was pretty but bitter, a shell of its usual self. ‘And for what? So I could end up a giant lezzo myself? I mean, I didn’t know I was at the time, but I still feel like a hypocrite.’

 

She kicked the sand in front of her. ‘As soon as I told Younes the truth about me and asked if we could separate, I knew I had to leave my old life behind. You couldn’t make me go through conversion therapy if you dragged me there by my legs. I had to start anew.’ 

 

Karen, unsure how to respond to that, kept silent. The duo listened to the sounds of the beach and matched their breaths to the crashing waves.

 

After several minutes, Frema finally spoke. ‘What about you? Did you get divorced?’

 

Karen bit her lip. ‘He died… wow, I think it’s been almost three years. Cancer. It’s funny you brought up religion since I’m pretty sure God’s against me. Or, at the very least, he owes me big time for taking him away from me.’ Tears pinched her cheeks as they fell down them, turning them red and sore. Frema reached out to comfort her but pulled back before touching her. ‘He should be making my life easier after letting something so horrible happen, but no! He had to leave me to care for my children alone and find a way to keep my finances together without my husband’s income.’

 

She flailed her hands about. ‘When I see these young people complaining about dealing with shitty customers, I’m like, boo-hoo! Wait till you have to raise three children alone! Wait till you have to feed more mouths than your own! Wait till you have to worry when the prices of groceries go up! Bloody ungrateful pieces of…’ the rest of the words were jumbled under her low-pitched swear fest.

 

Frema scowled at her. ‘It’s not their fault life hasn’t dealt you the best cards. You don’t know what their lives are like.’

 

‘It’s got to be easier than mine!’ 

 

Having finally spilled these thoughts out of her mouth, the cluttered mess in Karen’s mind cleared. ‘I… I’m sorry. Why do you even put up with me? You hated me until…’

 

‘I wouldn’t say ‘hate’. I was half pissed, half amused.’ Frema leaned back on her hands behind her. ‘But when you complimented my jacket, I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that I had to learn more about you, about how one person could change their treatment of you on a dime. And I’m glad I tried to learn more.’

 

Frema’s glorious chuckle returned. ‘I guess it must have been the halo effect or something. I have a feeling I wouldn’t have been so forgiving of your behaviour if you weren’t so cute.’

 

Karen coughed again. ‘What?’

 

Frema looked away from her and towards the shore. ‘I said what I said. Don’t worry, I won’t try anything if you’re straight.’

 

Karen grasped her own shirt in front of her heart. ‘Of course I’m straight! I had a husband!’

 

‘So did I. I don’t know your life.’

 

‘A husband who I loved. Genuinely.’

 

‘Fair enough. There is bisexuality, though.’ Frema nonchalantly placed her hand on Karen’s. Karen had to remind herself to breathe. Of course this had to be happening during a beautiful sunset. Frema’s hand enveloped Karen’s like a warm blanket. ‘Is that a possibility for you?’

 

Karen couldn’t bring herself to answer. Eventually, she pulled her hand away. ‘Take me home now!’

 

Frema’s eyes glazed over with an unknown emotion. ‘Fine.’ The two headed back to the car and drove back to their suburb. Karen reluctantly gave her address and allowed Frema to take her home. Aside from that, they did not talk the entire trip home.

5: Chapter 5: Karen vs Nature

Friendful was a powerful app. It could connect mothers from all over the world, allow them to give advice and, most importantly, distract Karen from memories of a particular wavy-haired temptress.

 

She wrote a post about her children’s angry behaviour and received a wide array of suggestions, from herbal tea to fresh pee. One mother believed Karen’s children had autism and that she should try calming essential oils. That option certainly seemed more beneficial than drinking human waste, so Karen asked for details. The mother sent a link to her work Friendful page, where she advertised the essential oils from a company called WonderLiving.

 

Karen grinned. Wow, a person with her own business was going out of her way to help a stranger like her! 

 

The page included many posts with the hashtag #girlpharaoh accompanying essential oils, which the page claimed to be based on Ancient Egyptian medicine and made with “all-natural ingredients”. The oil blends all had strange names like Ankh, for healing, and Scribe, for increased intelligence. The calming oil Karen wanted was called Amulet, a little turquoise bottle filled with honey and frankincense, among other ingredients. Karen bought a dozen bottles immediately.

 

The words #girlpharaoh stuck with her, so she read more posts even after buying what she wanted, trying to understand the meaning. Over half of the posts were not about the actual oils but about working for the business. The mother claimed to be making bank with this side hustle and encouraged other women to join her downline. During the following weekend, there was going to be a seminar for people who wanted to join the business.

 

Seeing this opportunity, one thought entered Karen’s head. 

 

No more worrying about the price of bananas.

 

On the day of the seminar, Karen found herself in a conference room full of middle-aged women with similar haircuts to hers, mixed in with some college-aged women and one lone man. The walls were covered with shiny gold curtains, possibly to make the business look prestigious. The neatly-placed rows of fifty chairs were almost full and filling fast. At the end of the room was a slightly-raised stage, flanked by two standing posters showing a smiling thirty-something woman.

 

Karen took a cookie from the craft table and scanned the room for a free chair. Finding none, she stood against the left wall and began taking little bites out of her cookie.

 

The same woman from the posters walked up onto the stage with a cordless microphone. After testing the mic, she gazed at the audience with glimmering eyes.

 

‘You know, I was a lot like all of you when I was younger.’ Her voice was commanding but soothing. ‘So eager to do something with my life. I could have just done a 9 to 5 job and tried to make a living out of that. How many of you work those kinds of jobs? Raise your hand.’

 

Most of the room raised their hand. The woman continued. ‘I wanted something more, and I knew I had to do it the right way. I was determined not only to make a little cash but also to empower women. That’s what WonderLiving is all about. How do we do this?’

 

The projector screen behind the woman lit up and displayed a business structure chart. ‘This is network marketing. Now, I know it looks like a pyramid…’ the audience laughed, Karen included. ‘...But if you look closer, it’s a tier system, and anyone can rise through the ranks. You’ll start off in the Farmer Tier and, if you make enough commission, you can become a Craftswoman, then a Warrior, a Noble and finally a Pharaoh. We at WonderLiving are all about lifting women up and letting them be their own bosses. You choose the hours, how much product you sell and who you sell to. You can even choose to make this a side hustle to make a little passive income while you work elsewhere. It’s all up to you.’

 

Karen beamed at this idea. The slide changed to a stock photo of a smiling group of women. ‘In joining WonderLiving, you also get to become a member of a welcoming community of women who treat each other like family. These are your fellow Girl Pharaohs.’

 

Before the woman could finish her speech, Karen had already taken her pen out to sign up.

 

She bought 99 dollars’ worth of products and headed home. The items arrived a week later. She set up a Friendful page for her business and waited for customers to start pouring in. 

 

They did no such thing.

 

She started recommending her products to people on the mum groups and got a couple of people interested, though not enough to pay back the startup cost. She expanded the scope of people she contacted to her friends on Friendful, most of whom didn’t reply.

 

Over the next few weeks, Karen didn’t speak to Frema when she shopped, even when Frema waved at her. It didn’t take long for Frema to give up. An idea popped into Karen’s head when she heard a shopper complain to another about having trouble sleeping.

 

‘Oh, have you tried the Sarcophagus oil from WonderLiving? It’s perfect for that kind of thing.’ A blush adorned Karen’s cheeks. ‘Sorry, I overheard you and wanted to help someone struggling. We women have to stick together, you know?’

 

The shopper smiled with a raised eyebrow. ‘I’ll look it up.’

 

Karen’s heart jumped up and down at this little victory. She was so excited she forgot to tell her about her Friendful business page.

 

Every weekend she went shopping, she brought a few bottles of essential oils to the supermarket to conveniently have on hand whenever a shopper had a problem.

 

‘Oh, you have trouble concentrating? You should try Scribe. I’ve got a couple of Scribe oils if you want to buy a couple from me. They’re real cheap.’

 

‘Oh, your husband’s struggling with indigestion? That’s awful! Has he tried the essential oil Oasis? It has peppermint in it, which aids with digestion.’

 

‘Oh, I’m so sorry your son has cancer. I hear the Ankh essential oil is great for that.’

 

By the time she uttered that last suggestion, Frema had noticed what she was doing and took her aside.

 

‘What are you doing in my supermarket?’

 

It took a while for Karen to gather her thoughts when faced with Frema’s beauty. ‘I-I-It’s not your supermarket. You don’t own your own business like me.’

 

‘Good for you. You still can’t sell things here.’

 

Karen held the oil bottle in her hand close to her chest. ‘Why not? I’m helping people who need me.’

 

‘If you try and shill your products here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ Frema crossed her arms and stared down at Karen.

 

‘But I’m a customer! I have every right to be here!’ To demonstrate this, Karen took a packet of chips from the shelf and plopped it into her almost empty trolley. She had been in the shopping centre for more than an hour.

 

‘Not if you’re bothering the other customers.’

 

‘At least I’m not trying to date them!’

 

Frema blinked. ‘What does that have to do with… Look, I’m sorry about that day. I got caught up in the fun of the day and I thought you liked me too. I shouldn’t have assumed that and I should have been more careful not to misread the situation. Can we at least stay friends? I’m content with that so long as you don’t try to sell things in this store.’

 

‘Why would I want to stay friends with a lesbian?’ Karen asked that question a little too loud. As customers turned their heads, Frema and Karen shared a blush. Frema’s eyebrows met up high and her lips parted ever so slightly as she took in Karen’s words. She then looked down.

 

‘Well, if that’s how you really feel, I’ll leave you alone.’ Her voice was deep and quiet. ‘Just leave my customers alone.’

 

Karen shoved her oil bottles back in her handbag and stomped away with a huff, until she realised she still had shopping to do. She gingerly walked back to her trolley and pushed it down the aisle with her nose turned up.

 

Anger brewed within her gut, slowly rising as she thought of Frema and her stupid gorgeous face and her dumb adorable laugh and her infuriatingly endearing spontaneity. She then remembered the hurt look on Frema’s face from moments before. She wondered if she herself would have that face if someone found out about her own attraction.

 

Heads turned again when Karen held her arm out on the shelf as she walked forward, knocking everything to the floor.

 

‘Out!’ Frema shouted.

 

Upon her arrival home, Kyle asked Karen if she could get him a game he wanted for his birthday, which would take place in two weeks. Karen didn’t answer, storming off to her room and slamming the door shut.

 

On the WonderLiving website, she bought more inventory. She was going to afford that game for Kyle. She made a habit of buying more items every day. Her fellow Girl Pharaohs on Friendful always emphasised the importance of buying lots of products. According to them, if someone didn’t make money from this business opportunity, they simply hadn’t worked hard enough.

 

The day she planned on buying Kyle’s present, a week before his birthday, she checked her bank account and saw she didn’t have enough to buy a single game. A labyrinth of dark thoughts weaved into her mind as she held her phone with trembling hands.

 

She asked the WonderLiving page on Friendful if anyone was also struggling to make back the money they spent on products. The Girl Pharaohs on the page told her to network with more people.

 

As desperation ate at her, Karen searched Friendful for Frema and read through her public posts. She had posted a picture the previous day with a thermometer in her mouth. The caption read, ‘The flu’s a bitch.’

 

Karen didn’t send a friend request but did send a message.

 

Hey girl!

 

I saw you’re feeling a little under the weather. I know just the thing to help with your symptoms. You should try the Ankh essential oil from WonderLiving! It’s made of all-natural ingredients and it has incredible healing properties!

 

I also have a great business opportunity for you. I don’t know how much you make managing the supermarket, but I’m sure it’s not much. I know you and you deserve more. You’re so smart and I would love to have you as part of my team. 

 

At first, Frema left Karen on read. By the end of the day, however, Frema made her thoughts known.

 

You must have nerves of steel if you think you can try to sell me the crap that got you kicked out. I thought maybe you were going to message an apology but no, you had to turn it into a money-making opportunity for you. Screw you. I’ve been so patient with you but now I’ve given up. No more trying to reason with you or keep any friendship with you. I’m done.

 

Karen dropped the phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was stuck in a frustrating limbo, miserable enough to want to cry but not enough to actually do it.

6: Chapter 6: Karen and The Manager vs Society

Kyle, Sharon and Carol sat by the dining table. ‘What’s up with mum?’ Carol asked, stirring the chocolate powder in her cup of milk.

 

It was nighttime and Karen had already gone to sleep. The three children were lit by the flashlight feature on their phones, unwilling to turn on the kitchen lights and risk awakening their mother. The room still reeked of lavender and honey, which would be nice if it wasn’t so potent. Karen had a habit of leaving the oil diffuser on for hours.

 

‘It’s that dumb business she’s started,’ Kyle answered, slamming his fist against the table.

 

Sharon nodded. ‘She tried to put oil in my ear last night. Claimed it could help me get to sleep. As if I could sleep if I’m worried about getting shit poured in my ear.’

 

‘So… what do we do?’ Kyle asked. The other two shrugged, then Carol took a sip of her homemade chocolate milk. Sharon absentmindedly tapped the placemat in front of her. They collectively sighed.

 

The next day, Karen came home from work with bags under her eyes. She collapsed on her bed but forced herself to take out her phone and check her WonderLiving page on Friendful. 

 

Kyle, Sharon and Carol burst through the doorway to her bedroom and Kyle stood in front of the door to block Karen from leaving. Carol and Sharon swooped to Karen’s side.

 

‘What are you guys doing?’

 

Sharon ‘Well… you see, we’re concerned about-’

 

‘Your new business sucks,’ Carol interjected.

 

Sharon slapped Carol’s shoulder. ‘Carol!’

 

‘What? It’s true. Mum, you keep saying you can’t buy us stuff because you’re trying to get your business off the ground. Why do you even need it? What are you even selling?’

 

Karen started her rehearsed spiel about the benefits of WonderLiving essential oils. Kyle’s eyelids quickly began to lower.

 

‘Are you making any money from these oils?’ Sharon asked.

 

Karen paused, then shook her head. ‘But I’m sure soon the money will start pouring in!’

 

Carol groaned. ‘Why did you need the extra money? We were fine before you joined this Wonder… whatever.’

 

‘Well, you know how expensive groceries are now, since I had to change where I shop.’

 

‘Just apologise to the supermarket,’ Sharon suggested. ‘That was ages ago.’

 

Karen crossed her arms and was silent for a moment, her face a blank slate. ‘I may or may not have had another… outburst… in front of the same manager.’

 

‘Then apologise to that manager.’

 

‘No way am I talking to that temptress Frema again!’

 

Carol raised an eyebrow, noting the redness of Karen’s cheeks. ‘Temptress?’ The memory of Karen’s behaviour upon first meeting Frema lit up like a lightbulb in her mind. She held in her laughter and looked at her siblings to see if they had any clue what was going on. 

 

That question brought Karen to her feet. ‘Get out of my room,’ she said as she reached past Kyle to grab the doorknob. Kyle stood resolute, not budging an inch.

 

‘It’s okay,’ Carol said to Kyle, who moved on command. Despite Karen telling her children to leave, she was the one who exited the room.

 

Sharon sat down on the bed. ‘What was that all about?’

 

Carol paused to think. Was she crazy? ‘Temptress… did this manager tempt mum? Into what, exactly?’ She looked to her siblings to see if they picked up on her cues.

 

Sharon lifted her legs until she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her eyes grew three sizes and her jaw hit the floor.

 

‘But Mum’s not a lesbian!’

 

‘I never said she was.’

 

‘Wait, Mum’s a lesbian?’ Kyle asked with the face of an F-grade student given the Mensa test.

 

‘Either way, we need to talk to this manager,’ Carol said, her eyebrows low with determination.

 

Sharon pointed out, ‘And get her to do what? Even if Mum goes back to the supermarket, she might still want to stay in that company.’

 

Kyle looked at his hands like they were fading away. ‘Woah, woah, woah. But if Mum’s a lesbian, then how was I born?’ He patted down his body to check it was still there.

 

Carol ignored him to continue discussing with Sharon. ‘Well, if my deduction’s right, then this manager might be the last person left who can talk some sense into her. She might listen. Or hell. She could be tempted to leave Wonder-whatever.’

 

Sharon shook her head. ‘We don’t even know when this woman’s on her shift. How do we find her and convince her to help?’

 

‘Listen to me!’ Kyle yelled. Carol and Sharon turned their heads. ‘Is Mum a lesbian?’

 

The twins shrugged in perfect synchronisation. ‘Anyway,’ Carol said. ‘Time to make a plan.’

 

Frema pushed the trolleys into each other, struggling to get all of them to fit. A single drop of sweat slid down her forehead. After wiping it away, she smiled at customers and began visiting each aisle to inspect the employees’ recovery work. 

 

A bland and repetitive but vaguely upbeat pop song played through the speakers. This should have been fine, as Frema was no music snob despite her personal tastes. That being said, hearing it for the fifth time in an hour would turn anyone into a hipster who funnel-chugs lowercase ambient albums.

 

Sunlight burst through the windows and glass doors but the building was still a little chilly, thanks to the frequently opened but rarely closed fridge doors in the frozen produce section. As she made her way through the aisles, she made sure she closed every single one of those fridge doors.

 

This was a rather average work day.

 

The company phone buzzed in Frema’s pant pocket. She immediately took it out. ‘Welcome to Wilco’s. Frema speaking. How may I help you?’

 

‘Oh, you’re there,’ Carol said. ‘How long will your shift last? We’ll be there as soon as possible.’

 

Frema’s eyebrows met in confusion. ‘Could I have your name? I’m afraid I don’t recognise your voice.’

 

‘Oh, you probably don’t remember us.’

 

Kyle had to butt in the conversation. ‘We’re Karen’s kids.’

 

‘I see… is there anything you need?’

 

‘Nope!’ Sharon replied. ‘We’ll see you soon.’ She hung up.

 

Frema stared at the phone in her hand, dumbfounded. She released a quick chuckle before pushing the phone back into her pocket and continuing her inspection.

 

It wasn’t long before the three kids arrived. Carol asked a staff member where Frema was. Frema wound up recognising the three pretty quickly. They were the spitting image of Karen.

 

‘Can I help you?’

 

Kyle said, ‘Maybe.’ His face was still shocked as he tried to understand what his mother’s sexuality was.

 

‘Yes!’ Carol yelped, stepping on Kyle’s foot. Kyle yelped even louder at the shoe on his foot. He glared at her but she ignored him. ‘We need you to get Mum to leave a company she keeps spending money on.’

 

Frema raised a single eyebrow and wore an awkward grin. ‘I’m not sure I’d be much help with that. I doubt she’d-’

 

‘But you have to try-’

 

‘I did. I can’t deal with her anymore.’ She pulled a line of items forward on the shelf. ‘She doesn’t listen to reason.’

 

‘But you’re a temptress!’ Sharon argued a little too loud. She lowered her head as shoppers turned theirs. ‘I mean, that’s what Mum said. Can’t you tempt her to leave the pyramid scheme she’s in? She won’t hear what we have to say.’

 

That word shot into Frema’s brain like a pinball, bouncing around it faster and faster. Temptress. What a word. Frema’s heart couldn’t help but grow wings and gently fly up. She closed her eyes and thought.

 

Following half a minute of deliberation, she spoke. ‘Fine. I’ll give it one more shot. Where’s your mum? My shift ends in a few minutes.’

 

Once her shift was over, she drove the kids to Karen’s home. They walked up to the front door and Carol knocked on it.

 

When Karen opened it, her face went through the entire spectrum of emotions. She eventually settled on fear and began to close the door. Frema held the edge of the door with the grip of a coconut crab. Karen may have been an unstoppable force, but Frema was an immovable object. The result turned out to be an explosion.

 

‘Leave me alone!’ Karen screeched.

 

‘Not until I have a good talk with you!’

 

‘And what? Judge my life while you live the worst possible lifestyle?’

 

‘Coming from the woman who called me a temptress!’

 

Karen gulped. She sighed, looked at her feet and opened the door. A voice unfamiliar to Frema entered her ears from behind Karen.

 

‘Oh, is someone late to the party? You’re not going to give the whole presentation again, are you? That’s a common rookie mistake.’

 

Something about that voice and its platitudinously plastic tone ground against Frema’s ears. It was a sensation akin to hearing the familiar squeak of a roller shopping basket scraping against the floor. She looked up and saw a middle-aged woman, taller than even Frema herself, with a blonde bun whose tightness highlighted her extensive use of botox.

 

Behind her, a gathering of similarly aged women stood in the living room like they were surrounding a water cooler at work, wine glasses in their hands. Most of them had a haircut eerily like Karen’s.

 

The bun-wearing woman, herself holding a wine glass in one hand, shook Frema’s with her other. Her smile was positively Stepfordian. 

 

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Brenda. Did you want to try some of Karen’s products?’ Her wine flipped like a pancake in her glass as she swung her arm towards a full table of WonderLiving products. ‘There are still some left to buy.’ Despite keeping the same plastic smile, her voice smirked when she said that last part. 

 

Frema finally stepped through the door, inadvertently pushing it into Karen. ‘Frema. You must be Karen’s upline.’ The air between Frema and Brenda was like the surface of still water. Karen’s shoulders felt much the same way. She smiled big enough to show her teeth but not enough to be convincing. The only movement she could make was turning her head from Frema to Brenda and back again like she was watching a tennis match.

 

Brenda blinked her wide but dead eyes. ‘I see you’re already familiar with network marketing. How wonderful! You seem like you’d be a good fit as a distributor like Karen.’

 

‘Oh, no, I really couldn’t-’

 

‘Anyone can! That’s the beauty of working at WonderLiving.’

 

Frema laughed but its lack of ugliness caused Karen’s body to clam up even more. ‘Well, you know the saying. Just because they can doesn’t mean they should.’

 

‘Where do you work? I’m sure you could use some extra cash.’

 

‘I’m a supermarket manager.’

 

The smirk transferred from Brenda’s voice to her face, finally showing itself. ‘Well, you definitely sound like you should work at WonderLiving,’ she said as she took another sip of her wine. Her words cut deep, surprising Frema. She should have been used to this kind of thinking by now, and yet-

 

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

 

The two battlers turned their heads towards Karen, who looked akin to a deer angry at the headlights.

 

Brenda swallowed the wine in her mouth. ‘Well, who would want to work at that kind of place when you could be your own boss and earn a lot more? A supermarket manager…’ Brenda shivered before stepping towards a finger food table. She wiggled her fingers but decided not to eat anything Karen had prepared. ‘Though I guess you can tell a lot by the company you keep.’

 

Karen’s shoulders rose, she spluttered drops of wine left inside her mouth and she began lending a magpie’s eye to the nest that was her table of essential oils.

 

‘A supermarket manager is a perfectly fine job!’

 

‘Do you really believe that?’ Brenda asked.

 

‘Of course, I do! Frema works hard and is making a life for herself, unlike SOME people! You don’t know her, so stop talking shit!’

 

The crowd of bob-haired women gasped. Even Brenda was taken aback. ‘How dare you talk to me like that. Let’s not forget who helped you gather people for this Pharaoh’s Court. You couldn’t do it without me.’

 

Karen looked down in shame. Then she felt Frema’s comforting hand on her shoulder and looked back up with fire in her eyes.

 

‘Yeah, you’re right, and I think it’s time for them all to leave! Go! Shoo! Shoo!’ She stormed into the middle of the gathering and shooed them away just as she said. She looked at the essential oil table and raised her arm to push them all to the ground. She saw Frema’s embarrassed stare and brought her arm back to her side.

 

After closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, Karen said, ‘I’d rather not share my home with someone who doesn’t appreciate hard workers like Frema.’ 

 

Brenda glared at Frema before grabbing her purse and shutting the front door behind her. Frema opened her mouth but Karen held up her pointer finger with her eyes closed again and her lips pursed.

 

She said nothing but led Frema to the study. There was no way in hell she was going to take her to her bedroom.

 

Naturally, once the kids finally walked into the house, they kept their distance from the study but listened in. Karen, to their luck, didn’t notice. ‘What do you want? Did you enjoy ruining my party?’ she asked Frema as she plopped down onto the swivel chair.

 

‘I want you to be honest with me.’ Karen swirled in her chair until she was facing away from Frema. ‘I’d also like you to be more mature, but we can’t have everything, can we?’ A groan jumped out from Karen’s lips. ‘Why did you join a pyramid scheme?’

 

Karen whipped back around to face Frema. ‘It’s not a pyramid scheme! It’s network marketing. Pyramid schemes are illegal!’

 

Frema considered arguing over this point but decided to move on. ‘Okay, then why did you join a network marketing company? And don’t give me a sales pitch.’

 

Karen started to turn back but Frema grabbed the top of the chair and pulled it towards her. She leaned down until their faces were inches apart. Karen couldn’t form words when confronted with Frema’s horrifying beauty. All she could do was stare silently at Frema’s lips.

 

Frema’s whispers tickled Karen’s own lips. ‘What changed in your life to make you decide that?’

 

Before Karen could think, she kissed Frema. The other woman’s lips were soft and the kiss was delicate, as if they both feared the other would disappear if they went too hard.

 

Frema broke the kiss almost immediately. ‘Nope. Less kissing, more talking.’

 

‘I knew it!’ Carol exclaimed. Karen’s eyes popped out of her sockets. Frema slid open the door fast enough to make a thud against the frame.

 

‘Shoo! Get outta here, you weirdos!’ The three kids obliged. With a sigh, Frema shut the door again and rubbed the side of her face. ‘Your kids are… something else.’

 

Karen nodded, her head hung in the greatest shame she had ever felt. ‘They know… they can’t! I’m not even…’

 

Frema kneeled down and placed a soft hand on Karen’s. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to come out as anything if you’re not ready.’

 

Karen shook her head. ‘I was supposed to forget. I was supposed to do something, anything, to forget about you.’

 

‘What makes you think you could forget this ugly mug?’ Frema’s gorgeously awful laugh returned.

 

Karen gradually joined in despite disagreeing, then gradually stopped. ‘I haven’t known you very long. I barely-’

 

‘And that’s completely fine,’ Frema replied, slowly sliding her hand up the other woman’s arm. ‘We can get to know each other over dinner, maybe. Just, please leave that company. I beg you. Your kids are so worried and I hate what it turned you into.’

 

Karen pushed Frema’s hand away. ‘Turned me into? You already had every reason to hate me. I’m a mess who can’t handle any change. All I can do is knock things over and leave.’

 

‘Can’t argue with that. But you know what I discovered when you complimented my jacket?’ Frema brushed some of Karen’s hair behind her ear. ‘Even the worst customers can change, and maybe that means I’ve been able to change myself. Trust me, you’re not the first bad customer I’ve run into. When they left, I always saw them as complete scum who could never be redeemed. But you listened to me when I was complaining about my life. No one’s really done that for me before. Hell, look what you did just now at your party!’

 

Tears rolled down Karen’s cheeks and Frema wiped them away. Karen asked, ‘But what about all the stock I bought? No one wants it.’

 

‘I’m sure we can figure something out. But buying more stock won’t solve the problem.’

 

Karen nodded and wrapped her arms around Frema’s neck, pulling her closer. She continued sobbing as she whispered thank yous and sorries into her shoulder.

 

She could not sell the stock, but she concluded that the essential oils smelled nice enough to use in moderation. She diffused a bottle of oil every couple of days, enough to lessen the stock without polluting the air her children breathed.

 

Every weekend or so, she and Frema would go on a date. They spent a chunk of their time together whining about their lives, but they both listened to each other intently. By the end of the date, they had moved on to chatting about anything that brought them joy, from a new tv show to a series of photos Frema was proud of taking. It was as if they had forgotten what they had whinged about at the start.

 

After seeing sparkles in Karen’s eyes when she talked about the things Carol and Sharon had built, Frema suggested that she try woodworking again. At first, Karen shook her head and laughed awkwardly.

 

‘I couldn’t.’

 

‘But do you want to?’

 

Karen couldn’t help but nod.

 

A few days later, she invited Frema over without telling her what she wanted to do. As soon as she came in, Frema was greeted by the smell of wood chips. Karen handed her a hammer and led her to the backyard, where the whole family was building a dollhouse.

 

‘If I sell these, I can make back the money I spent at that....’ Karen’s words trailed off and a blush appeared on her face.’

 

‘That pyramid scheme?’ Carol asked with a chuckle.

 

The blush got redder. ‘Yes, that pyramid scheme. Now quiet down and do your job!’

 

The three kids snickered. Frema chuckled and gave Karen a comforting kiss before joining her in hammering nails into the dollhouse. It took a couple of hours, but they eventually created a little home for themselves.