A Home Like Ours by Fiona Lowe (feel good books .txt) 📕

including by a right-wing page calling themselves Reclaim Australia.

A new comment came through from Cohousing Australia offering their support. Jade clicked like and walked to the garden.

Helen and Bob were having what Fran would call a robust discussion—something about the best place to plant a passionfruit vine. Jade interrupted them.

‘Helen, your Facebook post’s gone viral.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means people are sharing it to their groups and friends.’

Bob beamed. ‘That’s fantastic. Well done, Helen.’

Helen didn’t look convinced. ‘So people in Boolanga are reading it?’

‘Maybe. Probably.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s hard to tell where everyone’s from. A lot of the comments aren’t about the tiny houses.’

Jade passed her phone to Helen who held it a full arm’s length away.

Bob took his reading glasses out of his pocket and passed them to Helen. ‘I’m buying you a lanyard.’

‘You are not,’ she said tersely. ‘Only old people use them and I’m far from old.’

Jade snorted. ‘Yeah—’ Bob’s frantic headshaking made her swallow the word ‘right’.

‘Talking about old, Jade, when are you twenty?’ Bob asked.

‘The eighteenth.’

‘Isn’t that the same day as Milo?’

‘Yep.’

‘You were in labour on your birthday?’ Helen’s expression was unexpectedly sympathetic.

‘It sucked big time but Milo was worth it. At least this year I get my birthday back.’

Helen’s laugh sounded more like a harsh bark. ‘You’ll never get your birthday back. You’re a mother now and—’

‘I reckon this calls for a double celebration,’ Bob cut in. ‘We can fire up the pizza oven. What do you say?’

Jade didn’t know what to say. Even before Charlene had spent six years as a Jehovah’s Witness, she’d never made a big deal about birthdays.

Bob’s forehead creased at her silence. ‘Silly me. You’ve probably got your birthdays all planned with family and friends.’

Pleasure and pain twisted Jade’s heart and stupid tears burned the backs of her eyes. Bloody Bob. Always so freakin’ kind. She kept waiting for him to show his true colours—discover the real reason he was being so nice—but he remained the same genial and thoughtful bloke he’d been since she met him. The only thing he’d ever asked her to do was write a letter for Helen’s housing project.

Usually by this time in her birthday month, she’d dropped a hundred hints to Corey—not because he forgot exactly, but sometimes he was so busy it slipped his mind. But this year each time she’d gone to text him, something unfamiliar and hard had jabbed her. For reasons she couldn’t fully explain, she’d stayed silent, reminding herself that fathers didn’t forget something as momentous as their son’s first birthday. Except Corey hadn’t made contact in weeks.

Jade gave Bob her best nonchalant shrug—the one that said she was doing him a favour, not the other way around. ‘I s’pose I could do lunch. That way maybe Fiza and the others can come.’

‘Great idea.’

‘Can we have bubbles and balloons?’

‘Too easy.’

‘I think you’re forgetting something,’ Helen said. ‘If Judith finds out the women are coming, she’ll cause a scene.’

‘I’m a fully paid-up member of the community garden,’ Bob said. ‘The bylaws clearly state I can book the shelter for a private function as long as I stump up the booking fee. Don’t you worry, I’ll get it sorted.’

‘Can you cook pizza?’ Helen asked him.

‘Oh ye of little faith.’

Helen crossed her arms. ‘So that’s a yes?’

Bob grinned. ‘All the world is made of faith and trust and pixie dust.’

Helen rolled her eyes. ‘Sounds like Peter Pan’s cooking your birthday pizza, Jade.’

‘You two are so weird.’ But she couldn’t help smiling.

‘Actually, Lachlan’s the pizza expert,’ Bob said. ‘He worked at Enzo’s when he was at uni. Perhaps we could ask him—if that’s okay with you, Jade?’

Jade’s stomach suddenly filled with butterflies. What the hell? That wasn’t right. She had no reason to be nervous about seeing Lachlan. The dude had dork written all over him—he sang in a choir and talked to plants!

She stomped on the irritating butterflies and concentrated on the fate of the party. ‘If inviting Lachlan’s the only way to avoid dud birthday pizza, you better invite him.’

All Jade really wanted for her birthday was a photo of her and Corey helping Milo blow out the candle on his cake. She’d convinced herself that if she made a cake—her first ever—then perhaps it would bring Corey home. Using this week’s Vodka Cruiser money, she’d bought the ingredients and followed the recipe and instructions to a T on the Women’s Weekly Food website. Only her number one cake didn’t look anything like the picture on the screen.

Her birthday was eleven and a half hours old, the cake sat on its foil-covered baking tray yelling lousy mother, and Corey hadn’t texted or called.

She picked up the cake, planning to dump it in the bin, when the doorbell rang.

‘Milo, it’s Daddy!’ As Jade ran to the door, it occurred to her that Corey never rang the bell, he just walked in, but it wasn’t enough to stop her heart from breaking. ‘Fiza? Why are you here?’

‘We thought it might be hard for you to walk today with Milo’s cake.’

Jade’s face burned. Why had she told the women at the garden she was making a cake, like it was something she was good at? But they’d all been interested, wanting to know about birthday celebrations, which apparently weren’t a big deal in their culture. It had felt good having their attention.

‘I didn’t make it,’ she lied.

Fiza looked over her shoulder, her face creased in confusion. ‘But I see it.’

‘It’s really bad.’

‘Let me look.’ Fiza walked in and studied the cake.

Jade fought tears. ‘I wanted it to be perfect.’

‘It is perfect.’

‘Are you blind? It’s lumpy and crooked and the icing’s all streaky.’

‘It is colourful and made with love. This is all that matters.’

‘But—’

‘I always try to give my children a cake and a small gift.’ Fiza’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. ‘There were years I could not do this. It broke my heart.’

Jade thought she understood. ‘Because you didn’t have enough money?’

Fiza stared at her as if she was working out what