by H. S. Valley
‘You want to stay married because you’re afraid I don’t like you?’
‘It sounds stupid when you say it like that.’
‘It sounded stupid when you said it, too. Could we not just actually go out, so I can get this bloody nightmare thing off my finger?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s giving me anxiety, Tim. What if something happens and I lose it and I have to spend the rest of my life crippled by sadness because you were an idiot and thought I didn’t like you?’
‘No, I mean – you wanna go out with me?’
‘How is that not painfully obvious?’ he says. ‘I thought you didn’t like me.’
‘But you –’ I’m so confused. ‘If you liked me, why would you suggest – why give it an end date?’
‘Because when I asked you to kiss me, you looked at me like I was mould,’ he says, and for a second I don’t know what he’s talking about. ‘And then you came back to me the next day and you were like, yeah, let’s fool around, so I told you, sure, wh–’ he stops suddenly and shoots a quick look at my dad like he’s just remembered he’s here.
Oh.
‘Whatever you want?’ I say, and he nods.
‘What the hell did you think I meant?’
I had assumed that had been more about the physical aspect. That I was only good for one thing. That he was offering me his body and not his heart. I still thought it up until a second ago – even after days of affection, and care, and ending up married to him.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I say, because now it doesn’t. Hopefully. Because if he wanted me back then … ‘Does it still stand?’
‘You’re such an idiot.’ He sighs. ‘Yes, Tim. Please be my boyfriend.’
‘And not your husband?’
‘Yes.’
A smile bubbles out of me as the weight of blame lifts off my shoulders. ‘OK.’ It’s the opposite of taking off the ring – my heart is light and skittering and I feel happy for the first time in a while. Loved. Like the world is mine. ‘Boyfriend.’
The moment doesn’t last. ‘Are you two done? I’m too old to be standing out in the cold like this.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, mindful that if ever Dad needs something more to tease me about, this’ll probably last until I’m fifty.
‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘Henry.’
‘Sorry, Henry.’
‘You have to say the words now,’ he reminds us.
‘I don’t want to be married to you,’ Elliott says, and squeezes my hand, pulling me a fraction closer.
‘I don’t want to be married to you,’ I say. And I mean it. I do, because this is better. Way better, even if it had to happen in front of my dad.
He continues his recitation and I tune him out, lost in the idea that I get to keep Elliott, that he likes me, and that he likes me enough to think I’m an idiot for asking. That seems like a good sign. His hand stays clamped around mine, keeping me close, his eyes fixed on me for the most part, until the final incantation. Our fingers tingle slightly under the rings, the magic leaving them as they were before. Then he leans in and kisses me.
Dad clears his throat. ‘Unconventional for a divorce, but OK. I’ll wait by the car.’
I barely hear him.
The ride home is weird. It’s really, really good, but that in itself is weird after so many months of things being notquite-right with Dad gone, and worse without Lizzie, and then a bit shit with Elliott slowly breaking my heart on top of it all. Except he wasn’t. And I’m an idiot.
He’s holding my hand in the back of the car as I finish up our ‘feast’ of Whittaker’s chocolate and a box of raisins, his thumb tracing lazy lines across my knuckles. He has his head back, eyes closed, knee pulled up on the seat to press against my thigh. He looks amazing, even at this hideous hour of the night. I squeeze his hand and he lifts an eyebrow at me, peering out from under his eyelashes.
‘Tired?’ I ask.
‘Mmm. This is officially the most exhausting relationship I’ve even been in.’
That word again, falling so easily from his lips. I don’t get time to think about it; we’re back too quickly and Dad is gesturing at us to get out so he can put the car away, telling us to get some sleep and to not wake our roommates. I decide this is no time to admit we are roommates, at least for tonight.
‘You still going to be here tomorrow?’ I ask him through the car window, and he looks devastated that I need to ask, which pretty accurately sums up how I feel about it too.
‘Yes, of course. We’ll talk tomorrow – about everything, promise.’
‘Night, Dad.’ I reach in and squeeze his shoulder and he puts his hand over mine, holding it there for a moment before letting me go.
‘You two OK?’ Elliott asks as the Camry pulls away.
‘We will be.’
‘And are we OK?’ He smirks, and I’m guessing he knows we are but wants to hear me say it.
‘Yeah.’ I try to hold my smile in but I can’t, and it would be embarrassing but Elliott looks just as sappy about it.
He laces his fingers with mine and pulls me towards our room. It all seems a bit surreal. Half an hour ago I was married and everything was terrible. Now it’s all fine and I have an actual, legit boyfriend.
We get back to the senior lounge and he closes the door behind us before I crowd him against it, one hand on his chest, and kiss him. He pulls me closer, hands spreading slowly across my lower back. There’s a new hesitance in it, something that wasn’t there before. A vulnerability. We used to do this because it felt good and we wanted to, all our feelings safely tucked away out of sight. Now, they’re right here, out in the open. He’s holding me close because he likes me; I’m kissing him because he’s pretty and I want to and he’s letting me. The heat in my belly is growing because I’m stupidly in love with him and he’s OK with that, and he said whatever you want so I can just –
‘Maybe not in the lounge,’ he says, pulling back. ‘We do have a bed.’
It’s weird how much weight that word holds now. Bed. There’s another layer of something on top of the knowledge that we’ve done everything already and it was awesome and now there’s no time limit, no near-future cut-off point. The enormity of possibility is laid out before us. There’s something else, though, too – a second chance to start something real. It seems to come with a strong sense of not wanting to rush in and screw it up.
‘Shall we go, then?’ I ask. I step back out of his grip and take his hand.
It’s a short walk that takes us longer than it should. I can’t keep my hands off him, and he’s the same with me. We take turns pinning each other to anything solid: the sideboard, the wall, another wall, and eventually our own door. We could be making out in the safety and comfort of our room, but somehow this seems right. That new beginning, baby steps. A play at innocence before things get … less innocent.
Once we’re in our room it sort of stops, and we fall into our domestic routines and end up pyjamaed and socked and cuddled up in the middle of the bed, talking and dropping chaste kisses on anything we can reach. It’s comfortable and sweet, and so quiet without Meggan’s soft snores. It’s amazing to think of all the things that’ve happened just today, let alone over the previous weeks.
‘I can’t believe this all happened so fast.’
‘For you maybe.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Manaia didn’t give me away?’ His eyes dart up to mine and away again.
‘What?’
‘She messaged to apologise earlier for maybe going a bit too far with what she said to you. Said she might’ve been less than helpful.’
‘That’s what she was saying? That you liked me?’
‘Yeah. And … that I might’ve done for a while.’
‘But you and I never even talked to each other.’
‘You do have qualities other than your scintillating conversation skills.’
‘We spent no time together, though,’ I frown. ‘How
could you like me?’
‘You’re not invisible, Tim. I could still see you. And I liked the look of you lately.’
‘You liked the miserable fatherless bastard look?’
‘Not lately lately, just … lately. The last couple of years you kind of …’ He blushes, and it gives his words a whole new depth. ‘I don’t know.’
‘The last couple of years?’
‘Shut up,’ he says and pokes me in the chest. ‘Honestly, I don’t see how it’s worse than you thinking you love me after only four weeks of us actually spending time together.’
I cringe a little on the inside, but he’s being honest and so should I. ‘Three weeks.’
‘What?’
‘It was after three weeks of hanging out with you. I realised the night we got married.’ I reach out and touch the gold ring that’s still on his finger. We haven’t swapped back yet. Now that the rings can’t hurt us the impetus is gone, and honestly, I kind of like wearing something of his. ‘It’s one of the only things I remember from that whole night: lying there and realising I loved you, and then realising how utterly buggered I was.’
‘Well. In a way you utterly were, but not on that couch.’ His hand slides down to my hip, tugging me closer to him. ‘We haven’t done that in a while.’
‘Romantic, thanks. I tell you I love you and you complain about the lack of sex.’
‘It’s been ages.’
‘Well, stop talking then.’
The awkwardness dissolves as he nudges me onto my back and covers my mouth with his. I’ve missed it, being this close to him, and my entire body tingles with anticipation, knowing we don’t have to hold back anymore. Time falls away. He’s a bit different, maybe, or I am. Both of us. Knowing we’re in this together. Holding each other tighter, and closer, and I don’t want to take my lips off him for even a second. He keeps muttering things in my ear and half of them make my face heat even if we’re in the middle of doing them already. I keep waiting to get tired, to want to stop and sleep, but all I need is more of him.
We’re awake until it’s properly morning, the alarm on his phone going off just as I am. He pulls me close and whispers in my ear, his lips brushing over my skin, ‘Good morning, darling.’
EPILOGUE
SOMETHING GOOD
‘Tim, what is this?’
‘It’s a present.’
‘Why isn’t it wrapped properly? You can’t gift someone something in an old cardboard box.’
‘Elliott,’ I say. ‘Open the damn thing.’
He steps closer to Sam’s bed, which is still usually empty, even though we’ve technically all moved back to our old rooms. He pokes the carton and it makes a sound.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
‘It’s a present. I’m not telling you what it is, you have to open it.’
He glares a little and I smile and he gives up and turns back to the box.
‘Will it hurt me?’
‘I guess it might. Maybe initially by accident, but eventually …’ I think back to the last thing we took care of together and I can’t bring myself to lie to him. ‘Yeah. It’ll hurt. But hopefully not for about sixteen years or so.’
‘What have you done?’
‘Open the box.’
He does. Lifts the flaps one at a time and stands back, waiting. There’s a small scratching sound and a pathetic mewl.
He leans forward and peeks inside and I watch his face change. His dubious expression softens, and his mouth opens slightly. He looks over at me, sitting on our bed.
‘You bought me a kitten.’
‘I bought us a kitten.’
‘Is it safe to pick it up?’
‘Of course. She’s twelve weeks old, she’s litter-trained, and she likes people. Scared of butterflies, though.’
Elliott reaches into the box and pulls out a fluffy black explosion of fur and toes and panic. He pulls her close and bundles her against his chest and she clings to him, eyes wide. ‘She’s so fluffy,’ he breathes. ‘Where did she come from?’
‘There was a, um, night-time visitation at the cattery up in Greymouth. A rather determined tomcat got into things he shouldn’t have. So she’s half-Siamese and half-Norwegian Forest cat, and an embarrassment to her pedigree parents. She’ll be pretty big and very chatty.’
She chirps as if to prove her worth, and Elliott beams at her. ‘Is that where you went with your dad this weekend? Greymouth? Is that where we’re working next year?’
‘Near there. The place is hidden, obviously, so I don’t know exactly where it is. Dad was obliged to blindfold me since you and I haven’t been officially sworn in. From the inside it’s just another underground compound with a bunch of surveillance equipment.’
‘So what happens to the cat when we go off to work with him next year?’ Elliott says, his brow furrowed in worry. It’s ridiculous that it took me so long to realise what we had – have – when he falls in love so obviously. ‘We can’t just have her for a few months and then leave her behind.’
‘Norwegian Forest cat. She comes with us. Dad said a lot of what we’ll be doing is remote surveillance work – apparently once the cameras and mics are installed it’s mostly sitting around watching them and hoping nothing happens. Dad figured it’d be nice for you and I to have a little friend to keep us company,’ I say, and he seems to like that, knowing the three of us won’t be separated after school ends. ‘Though obviously we need to train her to ignore birds.’
‘Of course.’ He smiles. ‘I don’t think we can be part of a conservation team like that if our cat is part of the problem.’ ‘I think there are more threatening things in the forest than a cat, Elliott. That’s kind of the point of the team existing.’
‘Whatever. It’s my turn to choose the first name,’ he says.
‘OK. I’ve been calling her Mog, though. If you like that.’
‘Oh.’ He looks over at me and I can see him melting from the inside. ‘After the cat in the book.’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’d be nice to have something to remember our first daughter by,’ he says. ‘I’m happy with Mog. But I’m going to choose the middle name.’
‘Agreed.’
And that’s how our cat ends up being called Mog Maleficent Parker-Te Maro. She sleeps on our bed, and she follows Elliott around, and she squeaks every time we pick her up. She also wakes us up in the morning because she’s hungry and bored and sometimes we have to get up in the night because she’s tried to do something silly and got stuck somewhere. But she’s ours, and she’s real, and no-one can take her away.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The first shout-out goes to Luna, the editor of my dreams, who has been delightfully fun to work with, and my Beta Prime, Christina, who yells at my characters in the most gratifying way.
To my family, thank you for acting super smug when you told random strangers about this, that was also gratifying. My mother has told literally everyone in my home town and I’m so glad I finally gave her something new to be excited about. Thank you to James, my supportive, patient partner and Chief Male-Anatomy Consultant, who put up with several bouts of me not doing my share of the housework so I could write. Thanks also to Uncle Lawyer who helped with the contract, and Uncle Accountant who will hide my millions of author dollars from the IRD.
To all the baby gays out there (hello LC Skittles!), and all the Kiwi kids who’ve not seen themselves represented in a book before, and all the librarians and booksellers who cringed apologetically when I asked ‘do you have any NZ YA from the last five years’, this is for you.
To Emma, Sonia and Marie, thanks for being there when I got life-changing emails, love yous. Kia ora to Carol, Jenn and Frances, for the te reo help. To Tayyibah and Min, Kiara and Riya, and all my other favourite students, thank you for your earnest and ongoing enthusiasm. To my students in general, thanks for not throwing things at me every time I said, ‘As a published author …’
To my collection of writing people: The Pi
ngwings, The Pirates, The Tired Owls, Maggie, Sacha, and Kate – weird shit is possible, take heart, keep writing the good write.
A big, wide, emoji hug to Astolat, AO3, fandom in general, and all my Discord and Tumblr peeps. :ta-da:
One thousand kudos to Julia, who designed the cover and made me look cool (and my boys look hot). Thanks to Penny, who always brought good news, to Pat for the flawless typesetting, to Jane for the flawless contract, to Ella for proofing and loving Taylor Swift, to Lauren, who did a bunch of smart marketing stuff I probably only know a small fraction of, and to Kate, who made strangers look in my general direction and coerced me into filming myself, for which I will never forgive her :P To everyone else at HGCP whose name I don’t know, but who knows Tim’s name, thanks for your enthusiasm and hard work. Team Te Maro!
Many :sob: and :heart: emojis to the first ARC readers, especially Hannah, Tobias and Liz (who is drinking port somewhere while I write this).
And lastly, thanks to Marisa, the most enthusiastic publisher ever, whose pathological fear of missing out led me to put her thank you at the very end, just to mess with her. XX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
H.S. Valley grew up on the Waitematā Harbour in Auckland, at the foot of Takarunga. She was raised by her fabulous mum, her deeply Scottish grandmother, and her quietly Canadian stepdad. She met her father years later in a cafe and has been learning about her whakapapa through his endless stories ever since. Usually over coffee and cake that neither of them should be eating.
She now lives with her partner and an unreasonable number of plants, many of which haven’t died yet. She likes unicorns, rainbows, flannel shirts and her Subaru. No-one, other than herself, has ever been surprised to find out she’s bi.
This is the first original novel she’s finished, but it won’t be the last.
H.S. Valley’s debut novel, Tim Te Maro and the Subterranean Heartsick Blues, won the 2020 Ampersand Prize, the premier award in Australia and New Zealand for first-time authors.