by Harry Cook
I take a deep breath before heading inside. I’ve decided to pretend like everything’s normal, in the hope that Mum will do the same. I walk in to find her baking something that smells of cinnamon, green apples and cookie dough.
“Holy crap, that smells incredible,” I say, opening the oven for a more full-on sniff.
“Language,” Mum says, but there’s a smile playing on her lips as she closes the oven and throws a tea towel over her shoulder.
“What are they?” I ask.
“Biscuits,” Mum replies. “For next door. Their cat just died.”
I feign surprise. I’m amazed the old bag of bones was ever alive in the first place. It looked like a barely breathing toilet brush.
“Rest in Peace, Porridge,” I say, bowing my head.
I put my backpack underneath the kitchen counter and sit up on the bench, pouring myself a cup of coffee and watching the rain riot against the windows.
I’m considering the many different ways of approaching tonight and how I should go about asking to go when Mum grabs her bag and keys, turns the oven off and heads for the front door.
“Fin. Come on. We’re going for a drive,” she says, not even bothering to wait for me to catch up.
*
By the time Mum pulls into a car park outside a random grocery store, it’s nearly four thirty and I’m completely aware of how soon Rye’s “In-Tents Barbecue” is. I have two hours to somehow convince Mum to let me go, get changed, ready and presentable and head to Rye’s.
But instead we’re sitting in the car. In silence.
Mum keeps twiddling her thumbs and I can sense that she has something she wants to say – that’s why we’re here, surely? – but I also know she’s finding it hard to express it.
“You okay?” I ask, catching her nerves as I fiddle with the edge of my tee.
Mum nods.
“You sure?” I say.
Mum nods again.
“Fin, I . . .” she starts, but before I have time to properly register what’s going on I hear her sniff and look up to see her wiping her eyes.
“Mum,” I say, reaching over the gearstick to hold her hand in mine.
“It’s just . . . I . . .” She looks up, trying hard to stop the tears. “We’re doing the best we can.”
I look at her and desperately wish things weren’t so complicated. Actually, no. I desperately wish the world didn’t make the irrelevant so incredibly complicated.
I should be enjoying high school. I should be going on dates with guys I have crushes on and being lectured about safe sex by my parents. Excruciating but fine. Instead I’m stuck here feeling like garbage.
“Is it really so awful that I like guys?” I ask, not taking my hand off of hers.
“Fin –”
“Is it really . . . Do you truly believe that I’m ‘broken’?”
I let the words sit between us for a second.
Mum stares at the steering wheel and I feel a lump form in my throat.
“I don’t want you getting hurt . . .” Mum says, which is the last thing I expected to hear from her.
“Hurt?” I say.
“It’s . . . There is so much hate in the world,” she says. “I don’t want your life to be any harder than life already can be . . .”
I sit for a while.
“Mum, as cheesy as this sounds,” I say, “nothing would hurt me more than going through life pretending to be someone else.” I should also tell her that nothing’s hurting me more than my parents not accepting me. But I’m pretty sure she could work that out for herself.
She looks up and for a flicker of a second I’m positive I see a little smile.
“I love you, Mum,” I say. “But I really want some time out of the house. I need you to know that I’m going to stay with a friend tonight.”
Mum tilts her head at me. I don’t know whether this is her way of telling me that she’s trying or whether she’s just too exhausted to fight any more.
Either way, I have a date to get myself to.
*
It’s five forty-five and I told Rye I’d be at his at six so I already know I’m going to look like a sweaty wreck by the time I get there, but I don’t care. I’m slapping the asphalt with my Converse and I have no plans on slowing down.
I make a left on Maine and another on Pasadena and just when I think my heart rate is getting to a dangerously high level I arrive outside Rye’s and I’m greeted by Thelma who has a party hat strapped to her head which says, “Diamond in the Ruff”.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say, bending down to greet her.
When I stand back up, I’m face to face with Rye. He’s standing directly in front of me, twisting his hands awkwardly together like we’re on a first date.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he says as he leans in and kisses me, turning back into his usual bold self again.
We break apart and I lean back in and kiss him again, this time pressing closer so our bodies are touching, merging into each other along their entire length. I feel him flush against me and it drives me wild.
When we’re all kissed out, his face is glowing.
“God, I love that,” he says, kissing me on the forehead and taking my hand. “C’mon, Thelma, let’s go.”
We head through the house and to the back yard which is full of handmade tents. It looks like a bohemian art exhibition or a travelling circus and my eyes bounce from one colourful creation to the next.
Thelma plods over to her water bowl and laps up a few mouthfuls before making her way to her own personal tent and cuddling up on her bed.
“FIN!”
I turn and see Karen heading towards us, Carl trailing not far behind holding a beer and a handful of nuts.
“Honey, I’m so sorry about the other night. I . . . Well, I’m sure you can imagine how embarrassed I am to interfere with –”
“It’s all good, Mrs Hendrix,” I say, squeezing Rye’s hand which has gone cold all of a sudden.
“It’s not actually,” Rye says. “Mum, you know you shouldn’t have done that.”
Karen puts her hands up. “I know,” she says. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I smile.
“And call me Karen or I’ll have to start calling you Mr Whittle and, let’s face it, you’re more of a Fin.”
Rye looks over at me and winks.
“Agreed,” I say.
*
Not long after, we’re sitting on the back porch playing Jenga when Poppy and June arrive.
“RYE, LOOK OUT!” Poppy screams as Rye fumbles with his block and sends the Jenga tower crashing to the deck.
“Ooooh, you did that on purpose, you giant bin fire of a human,” Rye says throwing a block at Poppy who catches it and puts it between her teeth.
After three rounds of Jenga, Carl sparks up the barbecue as more of Karen and Carl’s guests arrive. June, Poppy, Rye and I make our way to a few logs by a fire pit and Rye sits as close to me as possible without being on my lap.
“This is nice,” June says, taking a bite out of her barbecued tofu wrap.
“It is. Even if we are eating rabbit food by a fire,” Poppy says, laughing at her own pretty rubbish joke.
“I like the rabbit food,” I say, and I mean it, too. It’s a completely plant-based menu and actually delicious. Very impressive. Karen and Carl have gone all out.
Poppy does some weird impression of a possessed-looking rabbit as June elbows her to stop.
We all nearly fall off the porch laughing and I feel pretty amazed at how at ease I am. When I’m with this bunch of lunatics it’s as if nothing else matters. As if none of the stuff at home is in any way relevant or even really happening.
*
It’s midnight when June’s dad arrives to take June and Poppy home. He says no to a beer with Carl, who’s decided to strip down to his swim shorts and crack another can, which is our cue to get the hell outta here and head to whatever it is Rye has in store.
“Night, guys,” Rye shouts as everyone separates.
Waves and various whoops and hollers can be heard as he takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. I don’t know what it is about them, but these tiny gestures of affection, these minimal kisses on my knuckles, just floor me. I want nothing more than to kiss him for ever. To never stop kissing him, not even for air. Okay, maybe for a quick gulp of air, but then back to full-on pash-rash snog fest.
We’ve been walking for about five minutes when I see the first sprinkle of light ahead. It’s faint at first and then as we get nearer I see a few more. Fireflies dash among the reeds as we head further towards more light, this kind more stable: a thousand string-lights dangle above a makeshift tent nestled between two trees. To the left flickers firefly after firefly and to the right an old rustic sign reads: “Little Bay”. A couple of feet from the entrance is a small campfire, next to it some marshmallows, crackers and chocolate.
“Smores?” I ask. “My god, you’re a heart-throb right out of a nineties rom-com.”
Rye smiles, then looks up at me nervously. “I . . . Sorry. If it’s cheesy. I didn’t mean for –” he starts, but instead of speaking I wrap my arms around his waist and plant a giant kiss on his lips.
“This is,” I say, “the sweetest thing ever.”
Rye bows his head and smiles again. “Good,” he says.
We head over to the fire and make a few smores.
“Question,” I say.
“Shoot.”
“How long has this fire been burning for?”
Rye grins. “I got Poppy to come and light it right before they left.”
“Ooh, you’re good,” I say, taking his hand in mine.
“Skilled, one may say,” Rye says squeezing my hand in his and leaning into me.
I finish my smore and I’m about to lick the marshmallow from my finger when Rye swoops in and gently takes my fingers in his mouth.
When I smile up at him, he looks both extremely sexy and intensely terrified all at once.
“Fin Whittle, I honestly love you,” he says, and I take a second to let the words hit me. It’s intense and brilliant and exhilarating all at once.
I’m about to kiss him, but instead change my mind.
“I love you too,” I say. “I really, really need you to know this,” I say. “Because I know that what we’re doing is a big deal. I know what Eric was like to you.” I pause, amazed to find myself saying that guy’s name without even a pang of jealousy. “And I want you to know that you are by far the most wonderful thing in my life.”
Rye grins and shakes his head. “Now who’s going nineties rom-com?” he says.
“Shudddupaya face,” I say, planting another kiss on his lips. “I need you to know this because I don’t say these words lightly. I really, truly, completely, utterly, one hundred and fifty per cent am madly in love with you.”
I take a breath and he kisses me, passionately, hard on the lips.
The kissing gets more and more urgent – I’m realising I might need some chapstick as a matter of urgency – then we’re embracing, hands roaming under tees and along thighs, scrambling to get as close to each other as we possibly can . . . and just before we’re about to start rolling along the actual ground, he takes my hand and leads me to the tent.
I feel my heart rattle, my skin burn and my breathing intensify.
But here we are.
It’s amazing how quickly we take our clothes off. I’m touching every last inch of Rye’s body and the sensation is out of this world; it’s like a million volts of electricity are sparking through my own.
“Are you okay?” Rye asks.
“Yep,” I say, my breath heavy. “Are you?”
“I’m okay a million times over,” Rye says, kissing me some more. “Are you sure you want to . . . you know,” he asks, his hands exploring my body and his lips inches from mine.
“I’m sure,” I say, kissing him lightly. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” he says, covering us with some more blanket and stroking my cheek.
“Do you have a . . . uh . . . protection?” I ask. Rye leans across to the corner of the tent and finds what he’s looking for.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” Rye says.
We both burst into giggles as we fumble with the wrapper.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Our lips are making love and our words are making love and then we are making love and it’s perfect and magic and terrifying and there’s a lot of fumbling and awkwardness and still it is utterly totally sexy and oh my god now I know why people talk about this so damn much. I have no idea if I’m doing any of this right. Or if I’m what he expected. It’s almost scary but epic. Just uh-mazing. Yep. I’m talking movie-magic kind of wow. Completely and totally mind-blowing, knock it out of the park, sweet home Alabama incredible.
34
Rye
I cannot believe this is happening.
Wait, no, yes I can actually.
Of course this would happen. Why would anything be different? Because he told me he loves me? Because I bought it? Maybe I’m just as dumb as Eric always told me I was. At least Eric was upfront about his douche-baggery.
I cannot believe how stupid I am.
I’ve been pacing outside the tent for fifteen minutes and I’m struggling to figure any of it out.
So I sit down, leaning against a tree, and bury my fingers in the soft earth around it like I’m searching for treasure. But I don’t find any answers there either.
Worst of all, it’s all a bit of a blur after we fell asleep together. I barely woke up when he left. I caught some of his ramblings, but nothing makes sense. I mean, why would he leave like that? He must really have wanted to get the hell away from me.
Jesus, I know it wasn’t as smooth as it might have been, but was I that bad? That bad for our first time that he needed to disappear before we could even talk about it?
I’m shaking I’m so upset. I can’t believe I read him that wrong. I just lost my virginity with a guy who bailed before dawn. Not even a note or a text. I mean, shit. Not even a rubbishy Facebook message.
I turn and head the fuck away from the tent. I want to get as far away from it and the memory of last night as humanly possible.
I walk like the earth is on fire and when I get to the back porch Thelma is snoring with her tongue hanging out, a pool of slobber underneath her chin.
I scratch her ears as I walk past and practically knock the fly screen off its hinges.
“Hey hey hey,” Mum says. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head, but Mum’s having none of it as she gently taps my shoulder and brings me in for a hug.
Shit. Now I can’t stop crying and I’m completely soaking Mum’s shoulder with tears.
Talk about a mess.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing a hiccup. “I just . . . We.” I catch myself. I’m not going there.
“Where’s Fin?” Mum says as she wipes my eye with her sleeve.
I shrug.
Mum looks at me quizzically and takes a deep breath. Then I think it all falls into place and I don’t need to say any more. Mum knows.
“Hun, before you get yourself in a state. Take a few deep breaths and remember that Fin is going through a lot right now and –”
“What? You think I don’t know that? But we’re meant to be a thing. We’re supposed to be there for each other. I’m supposed to . . . He’s . . . Ugh.” I turn and walk. I’m not doing this. I’m not talking boys with my mum.
“Rye, honey, come back,” Mum calls after me, but I’m already out the front door.
*
By the time I get to Kettle Lake my misery is at its peak. I’ve drafted thirty different “screw you” messages to Fin but I can’t bring myself to send them. However crappy I feel, I know it’s just so out of character for him.
I feel my phone vibrate and desperately plead with the universe to let it be Fin
.
Poppy’s name flashes on my screen.
Poppy: Hey hot stuff. How was last night? ;) Here’s an eggplant emoji.
I sigh then text back.
Me: Don’t even ask.
Poppy: Where are you?
Me: My spot.
Poppy: Don’t move. On my way.
I kind of wish I hadn’t told her. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. I just sometimes need to be on my own.
Within fifteen minutes Poppy is sitting next to me and we’re sharing a cheese scroll and a giant green apple slushee.
“It doesn’t sound right,” Poppy says, tearing apart a piece of pastry and stuffing it in her mouth.
I shrug. I don’t know what to say or feel or think right now. I feel like pulling a million blankets over my head and sleeping for a week.
“I know it doesn’t. But it’s what’s happened,” I say, taking a huge slurp of the slushee and then immediately regretting it when the brain freeze hits.
“Nope,” Poppy says.
“What do you mean ‘nope’?” I say.
“Nope. I don’t buy it. There’s no way Fin would just bail without a good reason.”
I shake my head.
“Seriously, Rye. Do you honestly believe he’d do that to you? There’s no way.”
Poppy looks at me with this pleading look that I try to figure out.
“Then where is he?” I ask, bemused but cautiously optimistic.
“I don’t know. But we’re going.” Poppy starts to stand. “Right now, come on. We’re going to find out.”
I look up at her as she dusts the dirt off of her clothes.
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Not sure?” Poppy looks a little pissed but mostly confused.
We stare at each other for a beat longer than usual.
“No, Pops. I can’t. I’m not getting hurt again. I’m done with being hurt.”