#10: Routine
“I’m just going to warn you,” Kit said, poised with hands grasping the handles of their bathroom mirror, “this shit is expensive.”
“OK,” Trixie replied, chuckling nervously.
“This is not some supermarket-shelf hobby, OK? It costs a fuckload of money. Like, all my money. And it’s addictive.”
“Kit! Stop being so dramatic.”
Kit raised their eyebrow at Trixie. “You’re not the best at saving money, Trix. I just don’t want to lead you down the path to ruin.”
Trixie laughed, raking back her sweat-slicked hair. It was damp and warm in Kit’s bathroom – the climate, they’d told Trixie, they’d preferred to “do business in”. Trixie, who was already prone to profuse sweating at the best of times, felt like she’d been saturated in a shower of her own armpit juices.
“Don’t laugh!” Kit groaned, “It’s serious, Trixie. I knew you’d be like this.”
“Oh my god, Kit, I get it,” Trixie said. “Hey? I get it. Just show me.”
Kit paused dramatically, drawing in all their breath. Trixie drew her breath to match, inhaling dense, moist air and a hint of tea tree. Then Kit opened the mirrored doors of the cupboard.
Inside, lined up with geometric precision along the cabinet’s narrow shelves, was a collection of bottles, tubes and tubs. Some of these bottles bore embossed, minimalist labels boasting “hydraulic acids” and “retinols”; others were inscribed in a language Trixie couldn’t read but guessed, from her limited skincare cult knowledge, was Korean; still more looked like they’d been transported to Kit’s bathroom cabinet from some ancient apothecary – cobalt and amber glass bottles full of unctuous mixtures spiked with sharp scents. It was all meticulously organised. In the far-left corner of the cabinet, Kit had arranged three jars containing cotton pads, sponges and what looked like sheaths of slimy paper.
Kit had stood back from the sink, to allow Trixie full visual access to the intensity. Trixie gawped for a moment or two, then looked back to Kit. “OK.”
“Yep.”
“So you use—”
“All of it, yep. I use everything in this cabinet at least once a week.”
“Kit, that’s—”
“I told you!”
Trixie let out a long, hot breath. “You did tell me. You did.”
“I promise you, it’s less daunting than it looks right now.”
Trixie raised a sweaty eyebrow. “I kind of doubt that.”
Kit perched on the edge of the shallow bathtub. They spread their palms out between their open knees. “So? What d’you think?”
“I think maybe skincare is not the hobby for me.”
Kit grinned. “Nah, look. You don’t have to do”, they waved at the open cabinet, its small bottles beginning to show signs of perspiration in the humidity, “all this. We can, like, simplify it for you.”
“How simplified, though? Because I have one shelf in the bathroom right now, and Stef usually puts her stuff on it whenever she’s just been to Priceline.”
Kit stood up again, reaching out for Trixie’s chin. They pulled Trixie’s face close, inspecting it with the intensity of a scientist in view of a microscope. “Well, you’ve got really nice skin already. There’s loads you don’t even need to do. But your skin’s really dry.”
Trixie shrugged, trying not to breathe directly into Kit’s face, acutely aware of the takeaway coffees she’d shared with Natalie on her way to North Melbourne. “I sweat a lot.”
“Yeah,” Kit said. They released Trixie’s face and reached back into a drawer in the basin vanity. They pulled out some thin, woven paper and stuck it to Trixie’s forehead, right between her eyebrows. “Hold that there for a tick, hey?”
Trixie pressed her index finger to the paper, watching as Kit pulled one or two of the bottles and tubes down from the cabinet. They were muttering under their breath, swapping this container for that, replacing others with a stock from another cabinet under the sink. Abruptly, they turned back around and removed Trixie’s finger from the paper, taking it and examining it. “Yes, I thought so,” they said, frowning.
“What is it, doc?” Trixie joked.
Kit, still looking at the blotting paper, grinned and poked out their tongue. “OK. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what might work for your skin type, Trix. And I think you can do it in a way that suits your . . . budget considerations.”
“Broke, no savings, spending obsessed, frivolous,” Trixie ticked the items off her fingers.
“It’s fine. We can make it work.” Kit frowned at Trixie. “And you’re not frivolous, Trix.”
Trixie laughed, “OK, sure.”
“Truly.”
“Go on,” Trixie urged, eager to change the subject, “give me my assessment.”
But Kit had already shifted mood. They eased back onto the edge of the tub and gave Trixie a searching look. “How’s this broken-hearted crusade thing going for you then?
Trixie rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know, it’s . . .”
Trixie had avoided thinking too much about how the group’s pact was unfurling. She’d been happy imagining that things with Nat – as ill-defined and complicated as they appeared bound to continue being – were providing enough insulation against the, to put it mildly, failure of her career as a casual happy-go-lucky dater.
It had been such a long time since Trixie had even dated, let alone dating just to, well, date. And the apps made it all so much more complicated. Her date did not look like their photos; she didn’t look enough like her photos. Her date had exaggerated their employment position, or their living situation, or their general interest in any of the things they’d professed an interest in – everything from Georgette Heyer books to the way Melbourne turns suddenly from flat farming land into the city when you approach it by plane (something Trixie had done only a handful of times, but which she adored about her chosen home). Or Trixie had said she loved surfing (which she’d never tried), had definitely read Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life (a book Pierre actually refused to stock in the Carr St Bookshop), and feigned an interest in AFL (she’d always been a League girl).
“It’s actually going kind of shit for me,” Kit said, and Trixie felt a burst of relief flood her, like the rush from a just-popped balloon.
“God, me too. Who knew that, I don’t know—”
“When did dating get so hard?”
“Thank you!” Trixie sighed dramatically, flopping onto the edge of the bathtub beside her friend. “Thank you. I seriously don’t remember it being this bloody difficult before.”
Kit frowned at their knees. “I know. I’m striking out. Everyone is just – it’s just – it is hard.”
It didn’t seem that anyone was having much luck, besides Amal, who had managed a series of successful dates, with a few even ending in a cheeky sleepover. Trixie wondered if Kit, whose face had drooped considerably with malaise, was also thinking about their ex-girlfriend’s prowess in the dating scene.
“I’m not jealous,” Kit said, as if reading Trixie’s thoughts, “but how is she doing so well?”
Trixie gave Kit a knowing look.
“Yeah, yeah. Look, she’s gorgeous. She’s fun. I am jealous. A bit.”
“Naturally,” Trixie replied, laughing. “I’d be jealous if Lukas had turned around and fucked everyone in a 5km radius. But We did all agree to this.”
“I know.”
“And it’s not like you haven’t also been dating. Just with a little more conservatism than Amal.”
“I know. I know.” Kit ran their hand through their hair. They looked defeated.
“You should’ve gone on that date with the scientist, Kit.” Trixie said, exasperated. “She wanted to meet you!”
“What, Marta? Nah. It’s OK. We actually caught up in the week and it didn’t really vibe in the way I was – I dunno. Maybe I’m just not ready?”
“If I’m ready,” Trixie said, “you’re ready.”
Kit gave Trixie an odd look. “I thought we were discussing how you’re not ready, because you haven’t had any success yet.”
Trixie felt her cheeks redden a little, and laughed. “Well, you know, I’m giving it a crack at least. You’ve got to go on the dates first, Kit, to see if they’ll fail.”
“Yeah, yeah. OK.” Kit clapped their hands together and stood up, a sign the conversation was over. “Now, Ms Combination Skin, let’s do this”
Later that afternoon, as Trixie slid into the front passenger seat of Natalie’s car, she wondered if she should’ve told Kit about Nat after all. There was no real reason she was keeping their thing – whatever it was – a secret from the rest of the group. Yes, it did technically violate the “broken-heart” pact, but Trixie was certain (mostly certain, at least) that no one would really care. Trixie wasn’t the one with an ex-husband, a child. She had nothing that needed to be hid from delicate family. Still, something was nagging at her, whispering at her to remain silent.
“You smell nice,” Nat said, burying her face into Trixie’s neck for a quick, soft kiss.
“I learned about skincare,” Trixie replied, sounding a little like a proud child after a hard day at school.
Nat smiled at her, bemused. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“We were just mucking around,” Trixie muttered. She pulled her seatbelt across her lap, and Nat reached over to punch at the glovebox until it fell open.
“Your pick, babe,” she said. “What’s going to serenade us over to Carlton North this afternoon?”
“What’s in Carlton North?”
“You’ll see!” Nat grinned, then flicked the indicator and pulled away from the kerb. Trixie watched in the mirror as Kit’s apartment grew small and then disappeared in the rearview mirror.
To celebrate the tenth chapter of The Broken-Heart Brigade, Matilda has shared a playlist of tracks she (and Trixie) love, which M listens to while writing each installment. You can access it via the Spotify link below. Enjoy!
The Broken-Heart Brigade is released via weekly e-newsletter instalments through Substack. It is supported by Matilda’s generous subscribers, Melbourne City of Literature, and the City of Melbourne COVID-19 Arts Grants.
The Broken-Heart Brigade is made in Naarm (Melbourne), on stolen Wurundjeri land that was never ceded. Matilda pays respect to the rightful Aboriginal owners of the land on which she lives and works, and hopes the readers of her writing do too.