She passed him a plate, now dripping with wet suds, as he cast her a sidelong glance. It was strange, having him here. She knew him well enough to feel comfortable, yet an electricity skittered over her spine. They’d never really had much to talk about before – but they weren’t the same people they used to be. He was chattier than she remembered, less burdened by his grief, and she probably the opposite. With their one reason for connection, Martha, not here to ground them, she kept waiting for the awkward silence or stiff small talk.
Yet it didn’t come.
‘How’s your tongue?’
‘Pardon me?’ She whirled on him with blazing cheeks, soap dripping all over the kitchen tiles.
‘From the peppercorn,’ he clarified with a hint of amusement.
Oh. She’d already forgotten about that. She tried to compose herself, scouring her sponge over the ceramics with more force now. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Let me know if you need first aid.’
‘I think I’ll survive, thank you.’ She couldn’t decide if he was flirting or deadly serious. His sense of humour had always been unpredictable.
‘So… Sydney. Opera house. Bondi Beach. Barbecues. Kangaroos,’ Struan said with what she supposed was meant to be an Australian accent.
‘Are you just listing off things found in Australia now?’
‘Little bit. I’m giving you an opening to talk about yourself. It looked very fancy, where you worked. Not somewhere I’d ever be able to afford.’
Rae paused. ‘Did Dad show you pictures or something?’
‘I followed you on Instagram. Not that you’d know, since you never followed me back. Cold, Little Rae. Very cold.’
She snorted. She rarely opened her social media apps, and when she did, she would post and then log off. Appearing as a guest judge on the showSuperCooklast year had earned her some extra followers, and the notifications could become easily overwhelming. ‘Deepest apologies.’
‘Naw, I get it. You and Martha got too cool for the likes of us boring Joes.’ She frowned at the hint of gravel in his tone, but didn’t have time to dissect it when he asked, ‘Which cupboard for the plates?’
‘The top one on your left. And the phrase is “Average Joe”.’
‘Is it?’ He reached for the handle, T-shirt riding up, and Rae’s lungs stilled without permission. A fair strip of hair accentuated the jut of his lower belly, narrowing to a line that crept beneath the waistband of his shorts. Dark beauty spots were peppered like constellations on the side of his hip. She really, really could have done without seeing those after already struggling to accept his sudden glow up.
Martha’s brother, she thought, turning her back to him quickly.Martha, Martha, Martha. She would absolutely not be okay with the way Rae’s stomach somersaulted. She would be extra not okay with the heat between her legs, far more surprising than anything Struan had said tonight. She didn’t often feel…that. Mostly because she was too busy, but also because she’d never really known what she wanted. She’d found solace in the label of pansexual during uni, when dating men had been unpleasant and uninspiring, and she’d realised for the first time, with Martha’s queer expertise, that maybe getting flustered whenever her lesbian roommate came home wasn’t just a ‘girl crush’, but anactualcrush. WatchingJennifer’s Bodyhad helped.
‘I was wondering,’ Struan was saying, ‘if you’d maybe want to get a drink at the tavern sometime. Might be nice to catch up properly, y’know, without Audrey’s dry commentary.’
‘Martha!’ Rae said. Out loud. She wasn’t sure why.
‘No. I know we look quite similar, but I’m Struan, her brother.’
‘Martha…’ Rae grappled desperately for something, anything, to make her look less like a stammering fool. ‘She usually comes home over summer, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh.’ The dent between Struan’s brows deepened, and he looked around like he no longer knew why he was still here. Rae tried to tell herself it was a good thing. He’d outstayed his welcome, and she needed a long bath and to not feel whatever she currently did. ‘She hasn’t made plans yet, but I’m sure she will once she knows you’re back.’
‘That will be nice.’
Struan nodded slowly as he dried off the last of the cutlery. ‘Okay.’
She hoped she wasn’t as pink as she felt, but since she was warm, nervous, and prone to rosacea, she doubted she was that lucky. At school, she’d forever been teased, especially when acne had left her more pockmarked than a berry. Little Rae was a pleasant nickname in comparison to the other she’d earned:Strawb.
Anxiously, she poured the water down the drain and scrubbed at the surrounding areas of the sink, though they weren’t particularly dirty. When Struan left his dish towel on the counter, she was quick to refold it and place it in its usual spot over the oven handle. He watched her carefully, like she was something to be studied. While she was used to such scrutiny in a kitchen, she didn’t particularly like it.
Thankfully, Roderick the cat appeared on the dining table to sip Rae’s unfinished wine.
‘Not for you, Rod!’ She dashed over to the grey cat to tear him away, earning an aggravated meow.
Struan was shifting awkwardly when she turned with the grey lump bundled in her arms.
