‘Wait, you’re having what put in?’
Daryl looked confused, glass paused halfway to his lips as he reacted to what his brother had just told him.
‘It’s like a little door-thing. Goes into the side of the tub,’ Errol explained, exasperated. ‘Why is this so hard for people to understand?’
‘Because you’re twenty-six, Errol.’
‘So, those sorts of things are bath modifications to help seniors. Sydney seniors are very different to you, Errol.’
‘And why should they have all the fun?’
Daryl put his glass down, deciding that he was not, in fact, about to have a drink.
‘Look,’ Errol started, before his brother could butt in, ‘how many times have you been standing in the bath, about to get out, one foot on the slippery enamel and the other just hanging in the air?’
‘I’m more of a shower person—’
‘Well, I’m not!’ Errol rose from his seat like a southern pastor, slamming his fist on the cheap backyard table they were sitting at. ‘I’m a bath person!’ he proclaimed. ‘And I shouldn’t be terrified of exiting my bath!’
Daryl was slightly taken aback. He put his hands up in a soothing gesture, the way one would calm a large dog, or small gorilla.
‘Relax,’ he said, mildly concerned. ‘I didn’t realise you cared so much.’
‘Well,’ Errol huffed, pulling his seat back out, ‘I do. If I want to modify my bathtub, I should be allowed to.’
The two sat in an awkward silence for a while, Daryl apprehensively sipping his iced tea.
‘So…’ Errol attempted, swirling his empty glass. ‘How are the kids?’
‘They’re, uh, they’re fine,’ Daryl murmured, unable to make eye contact. ‘Beth came home from school the other day and, uh, she said the funniest…’ he trailed off. Finally, he couldn’t help himself.
‘It’s for seniors, Errol!’
Errol let out a frustrated groan and stormed off, leaving Daryl alone at the plastic table.
‘Actually, I could go for a seat in the shower,’ he murmured to himself, finishing off the drink.