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Sometimes I get distracted.
But that has nothing to do with reading.
I sorta, accidentally on purpose, see Ethan naked.
It’s not my fault there are no towels in the bathroom.
I could have mentioned it, though.
“Shit,” I hear him curse, from outside the door where I’m waiting with a towel. “Fin?”
“Yo?” I’m fairly sure there’s a special place in everlasting torment for guys like me.
“I need a towel and a bathmat. Could you bring them in?”
I open the door and trundle gleefully toward the see-through shower box. Ethan has rubbed a circle through the steam. “That was quick.”
“Uh huh.”
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“Let me have this laugh, Eth.”
He chuckles, shaking his wet head. “Fine.” Then he steps out of the shower box the second I’ve laid out the mat.
It’s all pretty shocking timing; I’m still on my knees.
My eyes shoot straight to his junk and stay there. He might have had a go in the shower because he’s not completely shrivelled down there. He’s . . . fairly plump.
“Fin? The towel?”
I scramble to my feet and jerkily toss the towel at his chest, flushing. Ethan pauses. “Are you . . . shy, seeing me naked?”
I flush harder and try to shrug it off. “No.” My laugh is strained. “Feel sorry for ya, is all.”
Ethan frowns and instead of covering himself up, stares at his dick.
He looks up at me. “Ahakoa he iti he pounamu.” It’s the Maori proverb I taught him last week, although perhaps the context isn’t exactly . . . appropriate. Although it is small, it is a treasure.
It’s the hardest I’ve ever laughed in my life. I have throbbing stitches from laughing this much.
Ethan is smiling too. His eyes glitter as he enjoys my unravelling.
The day before the wedding, the tables are turned.
I’m butt naked, checking myself out in my mirror, when he bursts into my room.
He comes to an abrupt halt. Then grins. “Oops?”
For an apology, it’s pretty lame. Especially when he throws himself on my bed and hooks his hands behind his head. He’s not looking at me anymore though.
“How’s your speech coming along?”
I whirl around. “We’re meant to give a speech?” My voice is as squeaky as my stomach is queasy.
“A toast. Doesn’t have to be long. A couple of lines should do it. Or a quote.”
Fuuuuuuck. “What are you saying?”
“The CliffsNotes? I wish you lifelong love and a happy home.”
I shove into a pair of boxers and grab the book of Katherine Mansfield’s short stories that Ethan has been reading to me.
I flip it open and blindly draw a finger down one page.
Ethan laughs. “Okay, what have you got?”
I open my eyes, read it quietly and then snap my gaze to his.
“What? What is it?” He tugs me onto the bed, and my greenstone swings as his arm folds around me. He tries to grab the book and see for himself.
I pinch it firmly.
“Go on,” he goads laughingly in my ear. “Tell me.”
Our eyes meet as the words tumble from me and my entire body turns to goosebumps. “‘I long to do wild, passionate things.’” His smile freezes, and I snort loudly. “Yeah, no. Not wishing Mum and Tom that.”
Ethan looks away and chuckles too. “Probably not the best idea, no.”
He takes the book from me and has a go himself. He lands on one that makes him smile, and that’s the toast I’m going to give.
Mum and Tom marry. Ethan and I sign guardianship papers.
After, when all the guests have gone and the backyard has heard its last joyous laugh, Ethan and I stand in the bird’s nest.
“Nice toast.”
“You too.”
We look at one another, and it conveys everything.
We’re stepbrothers now.
I am treating you as my friend, asking you to share my present minuses in the hope that I can ask you to share my future plusses.
K. Mansfield, Letter
Half a year rolls by.
It’s my birthday. There are gifts and cards and a big shared meal—I invited Maria and Rush along, too. They’re sleeping over, but of course first we freak ourselves out watching a horror film.
At one point, Ethan freaks out so much he deposits Mrs Norris on the floor in favour of pulling me onto his lap, like I can shield him from the fucked-up shit on the telly.
Maria and Rush are busy making out on the other sofa. They’re not taking any notice of us. Besides, it’s dark.
And it’s not like we’re doing anything. I’m just sitting on Ethan’s warm thighs, feeling his muscles under me, cataloguing every flex of his stomach against my back. He buries his face in my shoulder when the music makes him anxious.
Every time, it tickles and I laugh.
It’s over too soon. I show Maria and Rush to their separate rooms downstairs.
When I come back up, all the lights are on and Ethan is wagging his finger crossly at Mrs Norris. It’s so adorable, I grin. Seriously, I couldn’t ask for a better birthday.
