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He tightens his hold on my nape and pulls me on top of him. I fold onto his lap, straddling him as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. It takes everything I have to suppress a moan.
You’re perfect at this. A natural. You kiss like you were born for it.
I should tell him, but why make him think he doesn’t need the practice? I want. Just. A. Little. More.
My heart and ears pound. It echoes lower too; I shift so he won’t notice.
I slide my tongue along the side of his, and he shivers under me. He tastes like all my dreams coming true at once. He tastes so good, I’m surely gonna wake up any minute and realise it’s not happening.
His arm at my back presses me so tightly, I’ll feel the imprint of him there even when he’s gone.
It ends too quickly.
Before I know it, Ethan’s driven us to Rush’s holiday house on the peninsula side of Port Ratapu.
I love our masks—so delicate and pretty his dad would think they were for women—and he’s wearing his so boldly, but I hate that it’s just for tonight. I hate that tomorrow, his cap will be back on. Misery is a giant ball in my gut, but for once I don’t keep my feelings on my sleeve. Ethan keeps looking at me, like he’s not quite buying it.
As we move through the large, music-pounding house, I busy myself with things: plucking invisible lint from my shirt, checking my pockets for my keys, waving at made-up friends across the crowds dominating Rush’s deck.
I readjust my mask. “Look all right?”
The quality of Ethan’s look changes, lightens. He smiles. “Prepare yourself for half the people here checking you out.”
I flush and I’m relieved when Maria finds us, her face concealed by a mass of feathers.
“This house is ah-may-zing. It has a bazillion rooms and Rush gets to use it whenever he likes. Do you know what his parents promised him for finishing school next year? His own apartment. Like, can you believe it?”
She leans against me, head pressed against my shoulder, feathers tickling my temple, and stares at Rush who has removed his leather mask to dive-bomb into the pool.
Ethan and I exchange looks. We share an opinion of Rush. In Ethan’s words, if he wasn’t so rich, Maria would realise she’s moon-eying the school clown.
Rush emerges from the water, cradling a bloodied lip, laughing through it. Maria squeals off, draggling Ethan with her to help him. Like I couldn’t manage or something?
I start after them and stop. Too many people.
The party continues to go strong without its host. Probably most people didn’t even see it happen. Behind me, I hear Elliot Anneston humming under his breath. “I meant what I said in the library, Laura. No touching.”
A few guys out on the deck lift their beers and start chanting. Speech. Speech. Speech.
At Laura’s creamy laugh, my insides lock. “You’re the head boy, Elliot. A debate champion. You love saying your piece. You give the speech.”
Elliot speaks tightly. “I will.”
He jogs past me and climbs onto the picnic table. His mask is covered in green sequins, shimmering against his dark hair in the house spotlights. He raises his beer bottle and has everyone under his command as his boyfriend emerges from inside.
Wentworth’s eyes, sparkling behind a simple strip of cloth, are glued on Elliot. He whistles and calls “There’s m’bumblebee,” in his heavy Scottish accent.
Elliot’s smile lifts like a rocket ship to the moon. He scours his peers. “In the wise and slightly adapted words of the immortal Dr Seuss: Oh, the places we’ll go.”
Everyone laughs and drinks, and Wentworth splays his arms wide. “Let me tell you about the places we’ll go. Jump, I’ll catch ya.” Elliot barely hesitates and Wentworth laughs as he buckles under the reality of romance. “Oof, gained a few, love?”
I turn at a tap on my shoulder and my grin dies. Laura, in a slinky black dress. Darkened lashes, ruby velvet mask, matching red-painted lips. Lips that might not be so perfectly red, later.
“Have you seen Ethan?”
I stammer.
And send her off in the opposite direction.
I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars.
K. Mansfield, Letter
Ethan goes to Europe.
I write a play like he wished I would. I print it, proud, and then stuff it inside my desk drawer.
I long for his calls.
They get less and less frequent.
Could we change our attitude, we should not only see life differently, but life itself would come to be different. Life would undergo a change of appearance because we ourselves had undergone a change of attitude.
A.R Orage talks with Katherine Mansfield
My feet are burning the turret roof as I pace and pace. I glance toward the road again. He’ll be back any minute now.
