Tim Te Maro and the Subterranean Heartsick Blues

by H. S. Valley

  Despite Elliott’s suggestion that we might be married, we focus on different sorts of platonic bonds. We also consider the fact we might be cursed. Maybe Noah didn’t handle rejection quite as well as we thought. Both of us ignore the fact that it looks like we accidentally signed up for a magically enhanced commitment in a relationship that, by its very definition, was meant to be the avoidance of commitment.

  Once we finally think to actually get in touch with Noah, he and Dave are already on their way to the airport to fly home. They don’t have contact details for anyone else who was there last night, and neither of them remember anything about us swapping rings. They’re useless, but at least it probably wasn’t either of them who did this to us.

  I have a horrible suspicion it was me who suggested whatever it is we’ve done. Because despite the shit situation – despite the stress and awkwardness and physical pain – a tiny part of me kind of loves it. The idea of having someone by my side forever. Of having someone who likes me enough to be tied to me by magic, not just by habit and history. Or maybe I’m just chickenshit and I’d rather this than ever having to build up the courage to tell Elliott I like him. He can’t reject me if it’s not my fault that we can never break up.

  We spend the afternoon ‘studying’ Magical History in the lounge, seeing if there’s anything in our textbooks that might give us some insight into how to fix this without needing to tell anyone about it. We sit there for almost two hours and, while there are a few mentions of things that have taken on new meaning now that we’ve learnt about them in class, nothing goes into enough depth to be of any use. That said, I’ll probably do really well in the exam.

  We wander down to dinner together and sit at my usual table, with the usual people. Manaia’s already there when we arrive, sitting between Silvia and Ana, so I guess she’s becoming usual as well. I wonder if Elliott’s told her anything about the nature of our friendship – or the new nature of our rings. She doesn’t show anything on her face, so who knows.

  Across the room, Blake and Liz are at the Minders’ table, Agatha the egg sitting on Liz’s knee while Blake laughs and jokes and stokes the fires of my own private hell. I hate him knowing something I haven’t even talked to my friends about; it feels like a violation. At least he doesn’t seem to have told anyone.

  Judging by Silvia’s expression, though, other people are perfectly capable of figuring it out on their own.

  ‘You going to tell me about your new jewellery?’ she whispers from beside me. ‘And your new boyfriend, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Later,’ I tell her, and tug my sleeve down to cover my fingers before adding ‘we’re not going out,’ just in case my heart starts to get ideas.

  Ana looks up from the other side of the table, but she doesn’t say anything so I have no idea if she heard that or not. Or if Elliott did. He has his head down while he eats, his left arm tucked around Meggan, fingers hidden by the blanket. I doubt Silvia’s noticed he’s wearing Dad’s ring yet – I don’t even think she noticed when I was wearing it – but I don’t know how long that’ll last.

  I nudge Elliott with my knee and he looks up at me. He’s so gorgeous it hurts and it’s a wonder I never noticed before this year. Maybe it’s the fact he has a greater range of expressions nowadays: more than just rolling his eyes at me, or sneering, or that little judgemental curl of his lip that used to make me want to punch him.

  His lips don’t do that anymore. They have a whole variety of other occupations when it comes to me. One of which seems to have been saying ‘I do’ and making this whole thing infinitely more complicated.

  ‘Where are you guys going tonight?’ I ask Sam, hoping an unrelated conversation might ease my nerves.

  ‘Out to the clearing for a picnic,’ he says.

  ‘For dessert,’ Silvia adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

  Sam sighs and adds, ‘Actual dessert. I got permission from Carol in the kitchen and I made tiramisu. We’re going to eat the entire thing and sit in the woods looking up at the stars in absolute egg-free silence.’

  ‘Tiramisu and silence go quite well with a nice whiskey,’ Elliott says.

  ‘Oh?’ Sam asks.

  ‘Yes, if you’re up for it, I have some I can donate to the cause. Since we were late getting home, it seems only fair to compensate you.’ Elliott smiles and I’m surprised by his generosity. ‘It’s under Tim’s bed – you still have a key, apparently. Feel free to grab it on your way out.’ Oh, there’s salt attached to it.

  ‘Thanks. What are you two planning tonight?’ Sam asks, ignoring the dig.

  ‘Sleeping sounds good,’ I say, only half-meaning something else.

  ‘Research into dealing with our new predicament might be slightly more pressing,’ Elliott says quietly, and his gaze flicks over to where his ring sits on my finger. A tiny part of me twinges at the implication he might not wholeheartedly want to remain stuck with me forever.

  ‘What new predicament?’ Silvia interrupts. Ana looks up again.

  Shit.

  I catch Elliott’s eye and he looks like I feel – sprung.

  ‘You didn’t …?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Of course I didn’t tell them. When would I have?’

  ‘Well,’ Elliott says, still keeping his voice low. ‘Blake saw Tim wearing my ring and thinks we’re together, which is a bit of an issue, since he might randomly decide to tell everyone and make a scandal out of nothing.’

  ‘When in fact Tim’s wearing your ring for some other reason?’ Silvia asks.

  Elliott hesitates for only a second. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that reason requires research?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has it got anything to do with the fact you’re wearing Tim’s ring as well?’ Sam says, and I curse inwardly. ‘Seems odd you wouldn’t just take them off.’

  ‘We tried. We can’t,’ I say.

  ‘Is this to do with where you were last night?’ Silvia asks.

  ‘Technically, yes.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell us?’ She looks more confused than hurt, thank goodness.

  ‘I will tomorrow.’ I say. ‘Talk about something else. We’re one person’s magically enhanced hearing away from being in a heap of shit.’

  Ana looks thoughtful but keeps those thoughts to herself, bless her. Sam and Silvia just look at us with matching expressions of suspicion and I’d put twenty bucks on them spending the rest of the evening trying to figure out what’s going on. They drop it, though, and we discuss the merits of tiramisu while we finish dinner. Elliott lets me take Meggan out of his arms after a while, so he can eat in peace. Soon after, Silvia and Sam get up to leave. Leda is handed to Elliott. He looks slightly taken aback at the honour, but Silvia simply rattles off their egg-daughter’s usual bedtime routine as Sam tries to tug her away, their jackets thrown over his arm and a carefully packaged tiramisu hanging from his elbow. The servery switches to dessert, people eat and leave, and eventually we’re alone – two egg-babies instead of one, two bowls of trifle on the table, and an elephant between us.

  ‘Don’t tell Sam what was on for dessert,’ I say. ‘He’ll never go out on a date again.’

  ‘Is that what they’re doing – a date?’

  ‘Well, yeah. They’re together, so isn’t it automatically a date?’

  He shrugs, his expression dry. ‘Was last night a date?’

  ‘If you’d wanted it to be, I’d imagine you wouldn’t have suggested the arrangement we actually have.’

  ‘Would you have acquiesced if I’d asked you out instead?’

  ‘Of course not, we’d barely spoken to each other before. Plus, we kinda used to hate each other with our entire souls.’ Now, though, of course I would.

  ‘Who else would you have ended up with?’ he scoffs. ‘None of the other guys in our year are remotely queer except Blake.’

  ‘I’m bi, I could’ve gone out with anyone.’

  ‘Oh, you could?’ He sounds unflatteringly dubious.

  ‘
You know what I mean.’

  ‘That you’re arrogant?’

  ‘No.’ I let my anger slide away; I have no room for it at the moment. ‘I probably wouldn’t have dated anyone.’

  ‘The whole rest of the year? Wouldn’t you have been insane with frustration?’

  ‘Probably,’ I say. ‘But I also wouldn’t have ended up accidentally possibly married to someone who asks a lot of questions, so the pay-off might just have been worth it.’

  ‘You’d be lonely without me,’ he says to his dessert, and his voice has lost its edge.

  ‘I certainly would tonight,’ I say and bump my ankle against his. It’s almost a lie, because I’ll probably miss him for the rest of my life when this is over, but I’m hardly going to vomit all my new feelings on him now. Or, like, ever.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ he asks, mashing sponge into his custard.

  ‘Eat too much trifle, get fat, waddle back to our room, put the babies to bed and fall asleep?’ I suggest. ‘Research, perhaps, if we’re feeling spritely.’

  ‘So much romance in this relationship, I’m overwhelmed.’

  ‘Shut up. Neither of us signed up for romance,’ I say, hoping he doesn’t see how genuinely sad I am about that. I scoop some trifle into my mouth, trying to drown the sadness in carbohydrates, but the gloomy thoughts are unstoppable.

  ‘We definitely did not.’

  He sounds disappointed and I want desperately to read into the fact that he’s dishing himself more dessert before he’s properly finished his first bit. Maybe we’re both sitting here thinking the same thing. In a perfect world, maybe he’d have the balls to tell me he’s changed his mind, and we’d be upstairs already, acting sappy and making plans for our future while staring into each other’s eyes. Maybe we’d cry and cuddle together instead of it just being me, crying alone in the dark.

  ‘Shall we pick up some books on our way home?’ I ask. ‘Library’s open.’

  ‘Sure. I suppose we should try to find out something actually useful,’ he says, then picks up his phone and proceeds to ignore me.

  I eat the rest of my trifle in silence.

  CHAPTER 23

  BUSINESS TIME

  We head from the dining hall to the library, Meggan and Leda burbling at each other but the two of us quiet. I kept thinking back to our conversation and wondering if I’d imagined the disappointment in Elliott’s tone. I want to try something reckless, see how he reacts. So I reach for his hand. He flinches slightly in surprise, but lets me thread our fingers together with nothing more than a weird look and a soft blush. There’s no-one around but, regardless, I loosen my grip and let our fingers slip free once we’re in sight of the carved wooden library doors, just in case.

  The librarian isn’t behind her desk. Instead, there’s a Year 12 student sitting there whose expression turns to interest as we walk in side by side, doubly laden with blanketed bundles. I get paranoid about Blake having blabbed, and I throw out the idea of asking her where we might find information on magical marriage and bonding rituals. No need to pour fuel on the fire.

  Elliott seems to know where he’s going anyway, steering me with a warm hand on my waist, and I wonder if that’s helping the situation. It takes all my self-control to not look back and see if she’s staring. I feel distinctly more comfortable once we’re behind the stacks.

  It’s rare for me to be in the library without the looming pressure of assignments, so it’s probably the first time I’ve appreciated just how nice it is. The lighting is warm and soothing, the air is dry but cool, and the silence is almost palpable. I feel like I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. When Elliott does, it’s in a whisper.

  ‘Can you hold on to both girls, or shall we put them on the floor?’

  ‘I think we’ve established I can’t even hold on to one girl.’ He gives me a tired smile and pushes Leda into my arms before walking back out of the aisle and off to the right. He reappears pushing a book trolley. I wonder just how much research he thinks we’re going to do.

  ‘I think it’ll be safe,’ he says. ‘I don’t want us to kill their baby – everyone will assume the lure of a free bowl of chips was overwhelming and we did it on purpose.’

  It takes a second, but I realise he intends the trolley for the eggs. He settles the girls in the top basket; they fit snuggly next to each other and the sides are high enough that they won’t fall out. We can fit books in the bottom basket if we want to. And apparently he does want to, because we end up at a table with seven hand-bound manuscripts and various other publications ranging from Bonding Ceremonies and Rituals Around the Globe to Enchanted Objects and Cursed Treasures of the Pacific. Apparently, we won’t be going anywhere near Love and Other Cultural Conflicts, which is actually a comfort. I feel like any more conflict might finish me off.

  ‘So we’re bypassing anything about marriage?’ I ask, trying to get my thoughts back on track.

  ‘I did that research already.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I Googled it. In New Zealand, after 1951, you need a marriage licence before you can be legitimately married, and that licence has to be lodged with the Births, Deaths and Marriages Office,’ he says, and I feel guilty for thinking he was ignoring me when he was on his phone before. ‘Do you remember doing any of that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither. So we aren’t technically, legally, married, according to New Zealand law.’

  ‘OK. So what are we looking at?’

  ‘It seems fair to assume there’s magic involved, so I reckon we focus on any sort of bonding ceremonies with rings that make the wearer want to die when they try to take them off.’

  ‘We should get Sam’s take on this; he’s the Philosopher. He knows way more history than I do.’ Dad would be even more helpful, but apparently he had somewhere else to be.

  Elliott nods, much to my surprise. ‘We can, but those two deserve some time off and we can manage by ourselves for one night.’

  We manage a whole twenty minutes before the girls require cuddling, and even then, they’re fussing again by eight o’clock. Calling it, we check out the pile of reading material we’ve yet to touch and return the others. The Year 12 on duty looks at us with something akin to suspicion, but says nothing beyond ‘hello’ and ‘you have two weeks to return them’. She doesn’t mention the use of her trolley as an egg-pram.

  Settling both babies at once takes some effort, and we climb onto the bed with relief, even if it is with boring library books. Elliott has made us drinks and, much to my surprise, pulled reading glasses out of his leather bag. They’re kind of hot and I end up ogling him sitting with his mug of tea and his fancy silk pyjamas and a faint bruise on his neck from where I bit him last night. And my dad’s ring, of course, with those ominous words engraved in it, destined to live on his finger for eternity. Or as long as it takes us to find a way to fix it.

  We make our way through all the articles, bound theses, journals and books, taking notes where necessary, working until we’re both yawning. I shut the last book with a satisfying whump and collapse sideways on the bed. He huffs and glares at me from over the top of his glasses.

  I ignore him and decide Sam’s bed is the best place for all the stuff, because it’s appropriately respectful to the years of scholarship and dutiful research that went into publishing it. Also because my desk is covered in crap and I can’t be bothered tidying it. I pluck the last article out of Elliott’s hands and put it on the pile. He doesn’t bother to fight me on it.

  I strip and get into pyjamas, crawling under the covers and cuddling up to him, reading over his shoulder as he flicks through the notebook we’ve been using to record our findings. We last all of two minutes before the notebook is thrown aside and his glasses are placed carefully next to Meggan in her cot, and we descend into the hazy bubble of distraction our proximity offers. I can’t help but notice the weight of it now, the bare reality of what we’re doing. The fact we’re connected somehow by some sort of magic, and �
��

  ‘Elliott,’ I say, placing my hands on his shoulders. ‘Stop.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘One of the essays I read mentioned consummation. How in certain instances it can solidify a bond. Make it harder to break.’

  There’s a long pause, his face in shadow, and I wonder if he’s busy marvelling at how I didn’t think to mention it sooner.

  ‘Tim,’ he says, and leans back in to nip at my throat. ‘Allow me to apply logic to that.’ He licks the line of my jaw. ‘We presumably got bonded at the height of the festivities last night, which we don’t remember. And what we did on the couch happened after that, which I know because I do remember. Everyone else had gone to bed. So.’ He kisses me again. ‘Theoretically, even if we are married – and I don’t think we are – we can do everything up to and including what we did on the couch without endangering ourselves any further than we already have.’

  ‘But – neither of us know what bond this is, or what counts as consummation. What if it relies on time spent doing the thing, or what if you have to do it twice, or on a full moon? And I don’t remember which ring I was wearing when I got up for the loo, what if –’

  ‘OK, OK.’ He retreats. ‘We don’t have to do anything.’

  ‘I read –’ My mouth is suddenly host to his. His kiss is long and sweet and soft and his hand is curled around my jaw.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he whispers. ‘Don’t worry about it now. We can do some more research in the morning.’

  ‘What if – what if it is too late, and what we did on the couch last night … meant something?’

  ‘Then you’re stuck with me forever. You’ll cope. Relax.’

  I feel him shift, rolling away, but he reaches for my arm and tugs at me until I’m spooning him, and he brings my hand up to kiss my fingertips and I melt a little. Relax, he says, like it’s easy. Like I’ve ever been able to make sense of his rules and his contradictory level of affection. But I try it; I just … stop holding it all in for a second, and hug him tightly in the darkness instead, my blood thrumming through me.