I pull my phone out of my bag, open the Facebook app, check whether there’s a response from Aiden yet—there isn’t—and then feel so guilty that I’m sitting next to my boyfriend while looking for a message from another guy that I log out of the app immediately and decide not to log back in for the rest of the weekend.
I watch Matt while he continues chatting. Most girls find him attractive, but I think it has more to do with his confidence and his winning smile than his actual physical features—although there’s nothing wrong with those. He seems at ease now, the way he always does, one elbow leaning against the window while his hand loosely grips the steering wheel. His other hand rests on my knee.
For weeks after we started dating, I’d catch myself staring at him and thinking, I can’t believe he picked me! This good-looking, friendly, everything-he-touches-works-out-in-his-favour guy picked me to be his girlfriend. He must have been aware of my epic shyness, because weeks passed between the moment he first showed interest in me and the day he finally asked me out. Weeks of shy smiles, notes passed in class, awkward conversations in corridors, and rumours that he liked me. By the time he asked me out, I was convinced I was already in love with him. I was convinced I’d never love anyone else the way I loved him.
But now … now I can’t help wondering something. If Matt had never shown any interest in me, would I ever have wanted to be with him? Would I have liked him simply for being him, or was it only because he liked me first?
“Why did you ask me out?” The words have left my mouth before I can stop them. Before I can even think them. It’s as if my mouth has taken over and left my brain behind.
Looking as startled as I feel, Matt says, “What?”
“I … I mean … what first attracted you to me? Why were you interested in me? We didn’t run in the same social circles back at school, so … I mean, you didn’t know me at all.”
“Uh …” Matt is one of those guys who usually has an immediate answer for everything—even if it’s an answer that’s rubbish—so his hesitation surprises me. He looks straight ahead at the road, both hands on the wheel now, and says, “I think the first time I noticed you was during that English book review oral we had to do at the beginning of matric. I’d only ever known you as That Really Shy Girl.” He looks at me then, his confident smile back in place, and adds, “That Really Pretty Shy Girl,” and I can’t help smiling with him. “I don’t think I’d ever heard you speak before,” he continues, “so that was the first thing that interested me. The next thing was when you started talking. I could tell you were nervous, but you were so passionate about the book you were reviewing, that the nerves didn’t show that much. I have no idea what book it was, but I remember that you spoke so intelligently, so intensely, that it was as if you understood that book better than anyone else who’d ever read it. And right then, I thought, ‘I want to know more about this girl.’”
I start blushing and look down at my lap. “I love you,” I say quietly.
He grips my knee again. “I love you too, babe.”
He turns the radio up and sings along while I watch the towns slipping away on either side of us. The mountains come into view slowly, first as a hazy blue-grey line of bumps in the distance, then taking shape and growing in size as we get closer. By the time we turn off the tar and onto the tree-lined dirt road that leads to Matt’s grandparents’ farm, the mountains are all around us, their peaks looking deceptively close.
We drive through an open gate, beside which stands a wooden pole with an aged sign nailed to the top of it: Millers’ Place.
We’ve arrived.
The road leading up to the old farmhouse is always longer than I remember. On the left, the trees are too numerous to see between, but on the right, I catch glimpses of the lake and the hills and mountains rising beyond it.
“You’ll be sharing a room with Simone and Elize,” Matt tells me.
“Oh. Okay.” Matt’s Afrikaans cousins aren’t my favourite people in the world, but I can deal with them for three nights. “There must be quite a few people coming if three of us have to stay in one room,” I add, thinking of the many bedrooms and bathrooms I came across while exploring the farmhouse in previous visits.
“Well, you know how big my family is. Some of them are staying in a resort nearby, but everyone else has descended upon Nan and Grandpa hoping for free accommodation.”
“I bet Nan loves it, though.”
“I think Grandpa loves it even more.”
I smile to myself. Of all the people in Matt’s extensive family, I think I like Grandpa the most. After I got to know him, I admitted one day that my brain always seems to be making up stories. He looked at me as though there were no one else in the world he’d rather be listening to and said, “Tell me one of your stories.” And so, going completely against my character, I did.
The road bends to the left, and the farmhouse comes into view. Gravel crunches beneath the tires as Matt steers his car around to the back where a long awning is already providing shelter for at least ten cars.
Uneasiness stirs inside me. “So, um, is everyone else here already?”
Matt’s eyes flick to the time on the dashboard: 3:38 pm. “Probably not, since the party only officially starts at four.” He squeezes his car into the only space left beneath the awning. “Everyone who’s staying here started arriving this morning, so I guess they’re around somewhere, but I don’t know about all the people from the resort.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and open my door. “It must have been nice to have a quiet week here with just your grandparents before the hordes started arriving.”
“Well, it was hardly a relaxing holiday.” Matt removes my suitcase from the back of the car. “You know my mom practically organised this entire thing herself, so every day she was issuing orders to the rest of us to get stuff done.”
I stare up at the house while Matt locks his car. “I didn’t realise it was such a big thing,” I say quietly.
“He’s turning ninety, Sarah. It might be the last party the old man gets.”
“Matt!”
“What? It’s the truth.”
Matt takes my hand and I walk with him past the cars to the open back door. I can hear the bustle of activity coming from the kitchen as we approach it. “I told you not to pinch!” someone says. I step inside in time to see a small, squealing girl dashing out the door on the opposite side of the kitchen, followed closely by Nan.
“I’m going to catch you!”
“Oh, you’re back,” Matt’s mother says, hurrying towards us in an apron. “Sarah, it’s lovely to see you.” She gives me a quick half-hug, then leans around me to grab a cloth hanging on the back of the door. She rushes back to the other side of the kitchen, where platters of food are lined up across the counter, and wipes at something I can’t see.
“We should probably get out of the way,” Matt says to me. I wave a quick hello to Josephine and Zukie, the two domestic ladies who help Nan in the house, then follow Matt out of the kitchen. He leads the way up a creaky wooden staircase and along a carpeted passage to a bedroom with two single beds and a blow-up mattress. A pair of sunglasses and a flowery backpack sit on one bed, while an iPod and some rumpled clothes lie across the other.
“I guess you’re taking the mattress,” Matt says.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.” He leaves my suitcase next to the other two on the floor and heads back down the passage.
I kick off my slip-slops and unzip the suitcase. My blue wedges are the only ‘smart’ shoes I brought, so they’ll just have to be smart enough for Matt. I sit on the floor while I tie the straps around my ankles, then search my toiletry bag for the earrings I threw in just before leaving home. I put them on, then unclip my hair and let it fall down my back and over my shoulders. I had plans to straighten my hair into a smooth, sleek version of itself this morning, but after staring at the ‘Add Friend’ button for so long, I ran out of time. So
I’m going with the naturally wavy look. Again, probably not what Matt had in mind for me when he said ‘smart,’ but I think I look fine. I stand, smooth my hands over my dress, and head downstairs.
The lawn in front of the farmhouse looks like a page out of a wedding magazine. Fairy lights are strung from the trees, and jars with candles in them hang here and there. Numerous round tables are covered in white cloths, flower arrangements, and silver photo frames—which I know, from having seen them lined up at Matt’s house, each contain a different photo of Grandpa with family members and friends. The whole area is outlined by a collection of shepherd’s crooks, each with a jar of flowers hanging from it, and overhead, strings of pale blue and white bunting criss-cross from the highest tree branches to the windows of some of the upstairs bedrooms.
My first thought is that if I end up marrying Matt, I’ll be happy to let his mother take full control of the decor. My second thought is that the idea of marrying Matt makes me feel anxious instead of excited. And my third thought is that there are far more people out here than I’m comfortable with. I’m about to back away into the house when Matt comes to my rescue. He jogs up the two steps onto the veranda and comes to my side.
“Shall I get you a drink?” he asks. Before waiting for my answer, he squeezes between people to the other end of the veranda where a long table is covered with rows of glasses. He speaks to the guy standing behind the table, then returns and hands me a champagne glass with peach-coloured liquid and floating bits of fruit.
I take a sip while Matt starts chatting to an old man standing next to us. Matt knows I have a tendency to go blank in front of strangers, so he doesn’t expect me to do much more than smile sweetly and answer any questions that might come my way. As their conversation turns to sport—something Matt has never expected me to comment on—I look around and attempt to organise Matt’s extended family in my head. Grandpa is Matt’s mother’s father, so everyone here will be from her side of the family. There’s Uncle Number One, who married an Afrikaans girl and produced Elize and Simone, my roommates for the weekends; Uncle Number Two, who married later in life and has an adorable two-year-old who’s currently toddling around on the grass entertaining a small audience; and an aunt I’ve never met who may or may not be here. Then there are various cousins of Matt’s mother’s generation—Grandpa’s nieces and nephews—and some of their offspring, but that’s where I start getting completely lost. And since I don’t plan on speaking to most of them, it doesn’t really matter.
“Sarah was actually just over there,” Matt says, nudging my arm to get my attention.
“Oh really?” The-man-whose-name-I-don’t-know looks at me. “Dreadful weather they’re having over there at the moment. I heard they might have to close Heathrow.”
“Oh?” I try to look interested. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“That would certainly be—oh, Sarah, you haven’t met my Aunt Hannah yet, have you?” Matt nods a goodbye to the old man, then steers me towards a woman who looks like a lighter-haired version of his mother. “Aunt Hannah, this is my girlfriend, Sarah. Sarah, this is the aunt who’s been dreadful enough not to visit us since I was about five years old.” Matt laughs, and Aunt Hannah laughs, and I add in a chuckle even though right now all I want to do is hide in the kitchen with Josephine and Zukie. “And she brought my cousins with as well,” Matt adds. He looks around, then points to a girl sitting at one of the round tables on the grass talking to Grandpa—Grandpa! Whom I haven’t greeted or wished happy birthday to yet! “That’s Emily. And … oh, here he is.” Matt steps aside. “This is my other overseas cousin, Aiden.”
My hand clenches around my champagne glass. I look up.
Tall. Dark, somewhat messy hair. Blue-green eyes.
Smash!
“Oh!” I step back automatically as my glass hits the stone tiles of the veranda. “I—I’m so sorry.”
“Sarah,” Matt groans.
“I’m so sorry.” I take another step back, looking all around me, everywhere except at him. “I—I’ll get that cleaned up.” I duck behind Matt, squeeze past another group of people, and rush into the house. I run to the kitchen as fast as my wedges will carry me. I dart inside and press my back against the fridge.
No! What is Aiden doing here? WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?
“Sarah?” I look up and see Josephine with a jug of water in one hand and an empty plastic bottle in the other. “What’s wrong?”
“I … um … nothing. I mean, yes, I dropped a glass and it broke.” I step away from the fridge and look wildly around. “Where … I just need a dustpan. If you could show me where—”
“I’ll do it, don’t worry.” Zukie steps away from the sink and dries her hands on the dish towel hanging over her shoulder.
“No, no, no. I’ll do it. I’m the one who made the mess. Just show me where—”
Zukie laughs and waves me out of her way. “Relax. They pay me to clean up, remember?” She removes a dustpan and brush from a cupboard and disappears.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Josephine asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I, uh, yes. I’ll just be … out there.” I point to the back door, then hurry through it. I squeeze past the cars to where the awning ends and lean my back against the wall. I stare up at the mountains. Okay, seriously? I say to God. You know I wanted to see him again, but why does he have to show up here? Why does he have to be Matt’s cousin? Is this some kind of punishment for obsessing over a guy who isn’t my boyfriend?
I wish the mountains would speak back to me, but I get nothing. Nothing but the assurance that I could fling my questions at them today, tomorrow, or in a hundred years, and they would still be there. Ever-present and never changing.
I head slowly back to the kitchen, wondering if anyone will miss me if I hide there until it’s time to sit down for dinner. I step through the doorway and see a white-haired figure bending over one of the platters on the counter and saying, “I’m sure no one will miss this particular pie. This plate is looking a little crowded anyway.”
“Go right ahead, sir,” Zukie says. “It’s your party, after all.”
“Grandpa!” I say. He turns around with the guilty expression of a child caught pinching cookies. I start laughing as I cross the kitchen. “Happy birthday, Grandpa.” I put my arms around him and squeeze, remembering the very first time I hugged him. I was so aware of how frail he seemed that I barely touched him at all. He said, ‘Now, that’s a sad excuse for a hug. You can do better than that.’
“Sarah, dear, how lovely of you to join us.” He returns the squeeze and pats my back.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask when I step back. “Aren’t there about a hundred people out there who want to speak to you?”
“More, probably,” Granpda says with a wink. “I was just catching a few minutes of quiet before moving onto the next family member.” He leans over and lifts a mini pie from the platter. “And grabbing a snack. No one will give me a minute to eat anything out there.” He takes a bite and chews.
“Any good?” I ask.
“Mmm.” He swallows. “Exceptional. Well, I suppose my break is over. I’ll find you again later so you can tell me what happens next in that exciting robot story of yours.” He pats my shoulder, then heads out of the kitchen.
I wait a few moments, then decide it’s time to face the two boys I can’t exactly hide from the whole weekend. After all, I’ve been wishing I could see Aiden again, and now here he is. Even if I’m too terrified to talk to him—because surely he knows by now that the guy who just introduced the two of us is my boyfriend—I can at least look at him. Or not. Because staring at my boyfriend’s hot cousin probably isn’t what I want to be caught doing at a family reunion. I can just imagine the rumours that would start flying around. Rumours that would no doubt reach Matt’s ears before dinner even begins.
I take slow steps out of the kitchen, down the passage, and across the lounge. Instead of going out onto the veranda, I stand
at the window and look out. My eyes skim across the groups of chatting people, but I don’t see Aiden anywhere. Perhaps he—
“Hiding in the bathroom again?”
I jump at the familiar voice behind me, and if I’d been holding another glass, I probably would have dropped it. I twist my head around and see Aiden walking towards me. “I, uh—”
“You seem to have a habit of doing that,” he says.
I look down at the floor. “No, I wasn’t, actually.”
I watch his feet as he moves to stand beside me, but when I raise my eyes, he’s staring resolutely out of the window. “Twenty hours,” he says. “Twenty hours talking about everything from parallel dimensions to how you feel mediocre compared to your sisters, and you didn’t once think to mention that you have a boyfriend?”
“I … I didn’t know …”
“You didn’t know what, Sarah? That you have a boyfriend?” He turns to face me then, waiting for me to say something, but I can’t squeeze a sound out. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Matt says the two of you have been dating for almost two years. How could you not know that that means you have a boyfriend?”
“I know that’s what it means,” I mumble. “It’s just that we—”
“I kissed you! I never would have done that if I’d known you were with someone.”
Why did you kiss me? I want to ask, but instead I stammer, “I … it’s complicated—”
“Oh, of course. Everything’s always complicated, isn’t it?” He shakes his head as he looks out the window once more.
“Can you just let me explain what I mean? You don’t understand—”
“I don’t think there’s much to understand other than the fact that you led me to believe something that isn’t true.”
The Trouble with Flying Page 7