by Harry Cook
Mr Whittle’s bemused smile doesn’t reach his eyes – he clearly doesn’t get the gag. “Well, it’s certainly a treat to finally meet Fin’s girlfriend.”
Poppy, June and I snigger in unison.
“What’s so funny?” Mr Whittle enquires, the initial warmth on his face rapidly fading.
“Oh. Fin’s not –” Poppy starts, but Elliot scrunches his face up and cuts in.
“– Here. Fin’s not here. He’s at church with Mum. Had a workshop thing.” Elliot looks between Poppy and his dad like one of them might be about to spontaneously combust.
Then it’s as if Mr Whittle finally realises that June and I have been here the whole time. He stares at us both, looking intently at June like he’s trying to decode a safe.
“What did you say your names were?” Mr Whittle asks.
“They didn’t,” Elliot says affably. “You were too busy acting weird.” He’s clearly trying to smooth over whatever it is that’s happening right now, but his dad doesn’t seem to want to play along.
“We should get going. Will you please tell Fin we stopped by?” I say, grabbing June by the arm, who then takes Poppy’s arm. We head back down the path to the car. I feel panicky, like we really shouldn’t have done that. Something about the way Fin’s dad was refusing to engage with us makes me horribly uncomfortable.
“Well, that was fun,” Poppy says as she turns the ignition.
“Define ‘fun’?” June deadpans.
I put my seatbelt on and we are just about to pull out when Elliot is there at the passenger window, knocking.
June smiles and rolls down her window.
“Hey,” Elliot says. “I’m really sorry about that.”
June shakes her head. “What exactly was that?” she asks.
“My dad . . . he’s . . . I dunno.” Elliot’s clearly struggling to work out what he needs to say. “He’s – he’s not making life easy for Fin right now.”
Poppy leans over June to get a better look at him. I sit quietly in the back seat avoiding eye contact.
“Does your dad think Fin and I are . . . what?’ Poppy asks. “A thing?”
Elliot gives us all a look that resembles pity. “Dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about . . . With a lot of stuff,” he adds, vaguely.
“Gee, that’s helpful,” Poppy says. “Thanks.”
June gives her a glare before turning back to Elliot. “Will you tell him we stopped by?” she asks.
“Yeah, I will . . . I’m sure Dad will too,” he adds grimly.
Poppy puts the car into gear and we leave. As we turn onto the main road, charcoal-grey clouds hang heavy in the sky.
25
Fin
That workshop’s exactly as bad as I imagined it to be. Nothing but a bunch of uptight ancient old guys telling young men how much more “manly” they all were back in the day. Their dreary prayers for our “healing” were the worst. I roll my eyes so many times I give myself a headache and I practically fall off my chair with joy when I can finally leave.
Outside, Mum is waiting with milkshakes by the car and asks me how it was before we’re even on the highway.
I shrug. I can’t be bothered talking. I can’t believe they thought it was a smart move to send me to something like this horror show of a “workshop”.
“So?” Mum says, lifting her eyebrows up with a hopeful smile.
“Do you want the truth or a well-acted lie?” I ask, the anger in my voice coming out sharper than I perhaps intended.
Mum shifts in her seat and puts her blinker on to turn right as I take a gulp of my milkshake.
“You know, we’re only trying to help you, Fin,” she says, looking straight ahead.
“Help with what exactly, Mum?” I ask, genuinely unsure of what she’s talking about. Wasn’t their idea of “help” moving us to an entirely new town? Making me start my life over? What more “help” do they think I need?
“Your father and I are doing the best we can considering the circumstances –”
“What circumstances, Mum? Can we please, just for once, address the big fat rainbow elephant in the room? Please?” It’s incredible to me that I’m challenging her on this, but I’m so glad that I am.
Mum sighs and shakes her head, never taking her eyes off the road. “All things aside, Fin. Your choice of sexuality has made –”
“Mum, please, you can’t be serious,” I say, my legs trembling and my throat tightening up. “Choice? Get real. I’ve had a whole day of listening to uptight old bigots drone on about ‘unnatural choices’ and right now I’m honestly considering throwing myself out of this car –”
“Don’t, Fin,” Mum says, looking over at me. “Honestly, please don’t imagine for a minute we enjoy this. This town is our home too. Do you think we like having people talk about you – about us – behind our backs?”
What am I hearing?
“Mum, people? What does it matter what people are saying?” I say. “I’m your son.” I choke on the last word.
“Then behave like it,” Mum says, straightening up in her chair and brushing away what I think is a tear. I’m about to ask what exactly behaving like a son looks like when she says: “I know Poppy isn’t your girlfriend, Fin. I know, okay?”
Oh.
“This is such a mess.” Mum sighs. “It’s not normal. This sexuality thing will ruin your life . . . Everything we’ve ever dreamed of for you, everything we’ve worked for –”
“What are you talking about!?” I slam the milkshake down on the dash. “What makes you think I’d let you down? Why –” But what am I even saying? It’s so pointless trying to get through to her. Am I speaking a language she can’t understand? “I give up,” I mutter under my breath.
“On what, Fin? What could you possibly give up on? You haven’t even tried to see where we’re coming from.” Mum’s voice is deflated, resigned, like she really has been in a wrestling match with her whole belief system.
“Please just don’t in any way indicate to Dad that Poppy and I aren’t . . . whatever. Okay? I can’t deal with him,” I say. I feel numb. But at least we’ve somewhat addressed the fact that I’m not into girls without ever actually talking about it at all.
Mum stares ahead and turns the radio on. Dolly Parton’s “Tennessee Homesick Blues” is playing and I’m glad because Dolly’s upbeat vocals help alleviate the miserable sinking feeling that now engulfs me.
We pull into our drive and trudge inside. Elliot gives me a proper hug, which is kind of odd because he’s not really a hugger, and we head into the dining room where Dad has made a casserole. It’s his specialty and, in fairness, it’s always really tasty.
We sit down and Dad says Grace and we dig in. The sound of cutlery on plates is a nice way to break up the blistering silence that’s for sure.
My fork is halfway to my mouth when Dad wipes his mouth and stares at me.
“How was today?” he asks.
“Great,” I say, lying through my teeth like a boss.
Mum looks over at me before distracting herself by taking a sip of water.
“You feel like you have more of a foundation now, yeah?” Dad says, cautiously.
All I can do is nod.
“So, I met your girlfriend this evening,” he goes on, before taking a bite and chewing slowly.
I nearly spit my own food across the table. “My . . . what?”
“Yes.” Dad looks at me so forcefully I feel like I’m being X-rayed. “Poppy, Rye and . . . June, was it?”
“She’s nice, Fin.” Elliot clears his throat. “Your other friends are sweet too.”
I feel myself tense and my hands are suddenly so sweaty I need to wipe them on my jeans.
I see Mum cast an anxious look around the table. “Can you pass the salt?” she asks.
I wipe the Niagara Falls of sweat from my palms again and I pass Mum the salt. “Well, I’m glad you think so,” I say, doing my best to sound nonchalant.
Dad is still boring into me
with his X-ray eyes, but I breathe my way through dinner and somehow we manage to avoid any further controversy.
When I finally escape to my room, I collapse on my bed, my mind a complete and utter blank.
*
I spend the weekend hibernating. After the “workshop” on Friday, all I want is to be left alone. By the time Monday comes around, I’m dreading school. For the second time, I have to justify my family’s super weird behaviour to my friends.
Poppy arrives at school sporting a knowing smirk which I know is harmless but I really don’t want to have to explain anything right now. I’m not in the slightest mood to account for myself and my absurd family, but by the look on her face, she can’t wait.
“Hey, boyfriend,” she says, throwing her arm across my shoulder and giggling.
I shake my head. “Hey,” I say, taking some chewing gum from my pocket and offering her one.
“I could share yours!” Poppy says leaning in to give me a kiss which makes me laugh as I push her away.
“Get off me, you big hetero weirdo,” I say, handing her her own piece which she pops in her mouth with a grin.
“Have you seen Rye?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. How come?”
“No reason,” she says, taking her phone out of her pocket and sending a message.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I say awkwardly. “Heard all about it when I got home.”
Poppy scoffs. “Don’t be dumb,” she says. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have turned up like that.”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just –”
I’m cut off by June who, appearing out of a nearby classroom, spots Poppy and gives her a kiss as they entwine their hands – completely unconcerned about the looks some students still throw their way. I have to admit, seeing these two so in love makes me feel both all mushy inside and also like I want to set myself on fire. Especially because I’m here all on my own with nobody. Life’s fun like that.
“Hey, Fin,” June says.
“Hey.”
“What were you saying?” Poppy asks, smiling.
“I dunno. All good,” I reply, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
We round a corner and stand near a bubbler as Poppy laps up water like a cat.
“So, word on the street is you’re out for my girl,” June says, sending Poppy into a laugh-choke at the bubbler and causing her to spit a mouthful of water at the wall.
I burst out laughing. June is a riot and, if I’m being honest, it is kind of hilarious. The thought of me and Poppy (even if we were in any way “compatible”) is just . . . no.
“Yeah, about that,” I say, my grin fading. “I’m really sorry. It’s just my dad . . . he’s . . . not the most supportive.” It’s so hard to explain my family situation. For the first time it hits me how impossible it would be for these two, with their chill and ridiculously on-side parents, to understand where I’m coming from. So, I go quiet instead.
They look at me and their sarcasm and playfulness disappears to be replaced with this sweet look that reads it’s all good.
“We love you, man,” Poppy says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“I mean, you’re quite the dish,” June says smiling. “I could see it.” She motions to both of us and laughs.
“A dish?” I say. “Yeah, like McDonald’s.”
Poppy makes a heart shape with her hands and, as we round another corner, we see Rye walking towards us.
He looks sheepish and almost embarrassed to see me. It’s suddenly beyond awkward and I have no idea why.
Poppy and June sense it too and decide to scoot off and leave Rye and me alone together. Thanks a lot.
“So, about the other night,” Rye says, kicking his boot gently on my shoe. I feel my tummy go over at this simple touch from him.
“I’m really sorry,” I say.
His eyes finally meet mine and he looks genuinely confused. “Sorry?”
“Yeah, about . . . well about the whole awkward thing at mine. I didn’t –”
“You don’t have to be sorry. My god, I’m the one who’s sorry. We shouldn’t have just turned up like that. It was a bad call. And stupid. And –”
“No, it’s . . . I’m –”
We both stare at each other and next thing we’re both doubled over, hands on knees, laughing.
Something’s shifted and it feels like the air is alive between us.
“Do you want to go to the beach? We could get fish and chips?” he asks and I smile the biggest smile the world has ever seen.
“I would love that.”
He smiles back.
“Now?” I ask.
He laughs some more. “Tonight!” he says.
The day rolls by and I’m a bundle of nervous energy and tingly happiness from the top of my head to my toes. It’s the most awesome yet terrifying feeling in the world. This all-encompassing, all-consuming feeling that I want nothing more than to be around someone. Even if we’re just passing in the halls or sharing a glance, every time I’m near Rye my heart beats faster.
*
Before I even realise it, it’s six o’clock and I’m standing outside McElroy’s Fish & Chippie wearing my skinny jeans, white tee and sweater with the Looney Tunes logo on the back. I feel pretty cute but nowhere near as hot as Rye as he rolls up looking like the drummer from an indie rock band.
“Hey,” he says, slowly walking up to me and going in for a hug.
I let my arms wrap around his waist and breathe him in. He smells of incense, lavender and some cologne that’s earthy and sexy as hell.
“Hey,” I say. “You look nice.”
He smiles and even though the sun is almost gone I can see a sprinkle of a blush across his cheeks.
“You do, too,” he says, kicking his shoe at the gravel.
We head inside, keeping an eye out for Poppy but no one’s here but her mum, Isla, who serves us enough chips to keep us going for a week.
I’m doing my best to not look at Rye as we wander back outside and head towards the beach, but I can’t help it. He’s ridiculously attractive tonight. Maybe it’s not tonight that’s making him attractive, but the energy shift that’s happened today. Just by the outline of his dimples, I can feel him smiling without looking at him. He glances up and catches me staring. My face tingles and I look back at the beach ahead of us and pretend like I’m searching for a good place to sit.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I say, looking back at him.
“You good?”
“I’m great,” I say.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
We grin at each other and I think my face might actually seize up from how much I’m smiling.
“What are you thinking?” Rye asks, as we glance around at the picnic benches.
I’m thinking I want to lean over and kiss you, that’s what I’m thinking.
“Over here,” I say, instead, leading him over to a secluded bench right on the sand. I gallantly wipe some old seaweed off the seat. The air is still warm and the light is gently fading; the perfect night – made even more perfect by Rye looking so outrageously gorgeous next to me.
“Oooh, I like your style,” he says and cracks another one of his ridiculous smiles. “Thanks for coming,” he says, once we’re settled down and tucking in.
“Are you kidding? This is awesome.”
“Woah, someone must really like fish and chips.”
“Something like that,” I say.
Rye shifts and one of his curls falls across his eyes which he shakes away with a flick of his head.
Neither of us are precious about our table manners. Firstly, we’re on the beach. Secondly, I’m not about to care about whether I look like a rabid dog when something that tastes this good is in front of me. We both eat like dingoes and throw random questions at each other in between bites of fish and salty chips.
“Favourite movie?”
“The Goonies.”
“Least favourite food.”
“Celery.”
“Running or swimming?”
“Swimming.”
“Hot or cold?”
“BOTH, that’s impossible.”
“East or West?”
“What?”
We laugh, eat and stare at each other every once in a while, the banter flying easily back and forth between us.
Eventually Rye eats his last chip, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “But, really, I’m sorry about the other night . . .” he says.
I’m reminded of that other part of my life. Not this. Not this wonderful beachside portion of chips and flirt-like-nobody’s-business night. My life at home. With parents who want to change me. Who don’t love me as I am.
“No, Rye. Honestly,” I say. “Please. Don’t.”
“No, we shouldn’t have rocked up like that. It was so uncool. Your dad . . . he –”
“I need to tell you something,” I interrupt and before I can help it I feel myself getting overwhelmed. I refuse to cry. Not because of some macho-masculine rubbish or anything, but because I’m worried that if I start, I won’t stop.
Rye’s face turns serious and his eyes lock on mine.
I take a breath and then I tell him everything. Literally everything. Emily, Jesse and Jake, my life in Pittford, the night at the bowling alley, Aunt Carla and her thousand cats, moving here like it was a national emergency, even that goddamn workshop. Right up to us now. Sitting here on Lochport beach on a Monday night over the saltiest portion of chips ever and with so much cute flirtatious energy I feel like I’m going to explode.
“So that’s that,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye because I said I wouldn’t cry but I can’t help this one rogue fighter which got too close to the surface and escaped.
We sit quietly for a moment and he just looks at me. The feel of his gaze is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Nobody has ever looked at me like this and I feel my whole body hum.
“So, I need to tell you something, too,” he says, after what feels like a really long time.
“Sure,” I say.
“I really like you, Fin. Exactly as you are.”