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I haven’t stopped chanting oh God and oh shit and oh fuck and so sorry. My hands shake as I press hard. Blood is seeping through my shirt. Is it . . . not enough pressure? “H-hold this, Ethan.”
Ethan holds while I take off my belt and cinch it around his hips. My shaky, bloody fingers drift up his torso, down his legs, checking I haven’t overlooked any other injuries.
“Fin? Fin.” His hand presses against mine, settling it. “Hey, look at me.”
My gaze whips to his face. There’s a line at the edge of his mouth like he’s sucking back the pain.
A sob rattles out of me.
His fingers stroke mine. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Stupid nuts!”
Ethan starts laughing then stops, hissing. “Don’t make me laugh. That really hurts.”
“How is your mind in the gutter right now?”
His eyes twinkle and then darken with pain.
“Boys?” Tom’s shout is deep and urgent.
I’ve never been so relieved to hear it. I call back.
As he pounds through the foliage towards us, I slowly lift my hands from Ethan. I find his cap lying a few feet away and wear it for safe keeping, and so Tom won’t see the tears in my eyes.
“Let’s go for a drive around the peninsula,” Ethan suggests. “Check out the penguins.”
“Don’t you have exams to study for?”
I’ve a year and a bit of school to go. Ethan’s almost done. After his exams next week, that’s pretty much it. Christmas will come and go, and he’ll be off for his Overseas Experience.
I’ll be alone at Mansfield.
I grip the wheel hard, staring glumly toward the street as I drive us home from school.
I hate how quickly time is ticking away. How every second another wall of an empty home weighs on my chest.
“Nope, I’m shattered, my brain is leaking. No studying for me tonight. I just want to do something with you. Enjoy our time before I leave.”
I whimper. “Do you have to go?”
“Fin.”
“I know. I just. I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“My bed will feel weird without you farting in it every other night.”
“Oh my God. You’re one to speak.”
We snicker.
Ethan sighs. “I wish you could come with me.”
I wish it too. “At least I get Mrs Norris to cuddle up to.”
“When have you two ever cuddled?”
“I’m thinking we might bond over the pangs of your absence.”
Ethan laughs. “Two years, and we’ll be together again.”
“Two?”
Ethan frowns. “Yeah, I mean, when I get back you’ll be going overseas.”
“I will not.”
“Sure you will, Fin. The world is waiting for you. And your stories.”
Heat chokes me. “No one wants my stories.”
“I do.” He reaches over and tugs my hair. It’s wild at the moment. Not long, but heading there. “Hey, maybe you’ll get so famous, we’ll rename our house after you.”
“Shut up.” I punch his arm, but we’re both grinning.
“Ka whakapono ahau i a koe,” he says. I believe in you.
The hiccup I’ve been holding back for months rises. I grab hold of his hand at his thigh. Neither of us looks at the other. But Ethan squeezes, the slide of my knuckles over his jeans comforting. He’s still here.
“What about your exams?” Ethan asks, narrowing his eyes at me. “English is next Monday.”
“Figures you know my examination timetable.”
“I know everything about you, Fin. Now penguins, and then we’ll go home and study.”
“I promise you, referencing Katherine Mansfield will get you extra points.”
“Really?”
Ethan stops pacing behind my desk and clamps a hand on my shoulder, peering over at Bliss and Other Stories. “Well, it’s worth a shot. Let’s read one together. ‘Bliss’?”
“The euphoria of discovering your sexuality and the crushing reality those feelings aren’t returned? Yay.”
He laughs at my sarcasm but there’s something tight about it, a tension I feel through the press of his hand. “‘Prelude’?”
“That one’s more interesting.”
“You think?”
I flip the pages. “Yeah. It kind of, I don’t know . . . asks a quiet question about gender roles.”
His fingers drift over my nape and disappear. Like he reads through those lines. Like he knows I’m asking a quiet question about gender roles too.
“The bit with the boy playing with dolls,” I continue. “Adoring them. How it’s called shameful. It makes me . . . feel deeply. Angry and frustrated and sad, especially because . . .”
I see his reflection in my dresser mirror. He’s sitting on my bed, head bowed. “Because?” Ethan says softly.
I clear my throat. “This was written a hundred years ago, and still we have such a big ‘man’s man’ culture. Just being yourself is a fight.”
“Dad isn’t that macho.”
“He expects you to be. Who cares if we want to dress up as princesses sometimes? Who cares if we want to express our nurturing side? Who cares if we want to love someone of the same gender? Except, people do care. Just like in this book. People still care, even when it doesn’t affect them at all.”
