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The dreaminess of her smile makes me shiver. Like the first breeze of fall.
Paris, April
Fin,
Elliot just called me about a house freeing up next to his mum’s. Said it could make a great flat. It’s all happening. We’re growing up. Next we’ll be engaged, marrying, finding names for our children, meeting at Mansfield only on long weekends and holidays.
I know I should jump in with both feet. But I can’t bring myself to say yes. Mansfield’s home, and I want to live there while I study. While I can.
I’m picturing myself, a year from now, sleeping at home while you read this. I know I’m dreaming of you.
Please eat cannelés atop the steps of Sacré-Cœur and send me pictures.
Hugs,
Ethan
Berlin, July
Fin,
I know I’m calling less and less. It’s just . . . every time I call, I want to come back home. But this year is important for me, as it will be for you.
Think of this letter as all my hugs in one.
Miss you,
Ethan
Madrid, October
Fin,
I haven’t always been honest with you.
It’s too hard. But.
I need to tell you one thing. Just this.
I never wanted to kiss Laura Turner.
Ethan
I’d love to tearfully absorb you in every way and I’d love to play with your hair, read your eyes, feel disarmed in your presence. I’d love to experience a seizure of full-silenced tenderness with you
K. Mansfield, Letter
This time when we rush toward each other and embrace, it’s different. It’s more than joy, and bliss, and relief, it’s something deeper. A need, an anxiety.
It’s breathing oxygen again.
It’s all our memories colliding, trying to speak all the things that have gone unsaid between us.
It’s hope. It’s fear.
It’s wild and all-encompassing, and I cannot let him go.
He drives me home and rushes me upstairs. We’re home before Mum and Tom, who have some important appointment or other. I don’t care. We’re laughing. He tells me to get in the shower and wash the plane off me already.
He grabs my hand on the way down to see the rest of the family. He squeezes. I know later, we’ll awkwardly spill out every feeling we’ve ever had. I know he’ll let me sleep off the jetlag. He doesn’t know I’ll kiss him first.
There’s Mum and Tom and I have no idea how we’ll do this, but there’s no ground under my feet. I’m falling. We’ll just . . .
We’ll run away if we have to.
He lets my hand go at the last stair and adjusts his cap. Then adopts a careless swagger as he enters the dining room.
Mum and Tom are sitting on the bench in an alcove near the open windows. They’re talking quietly together; Tom has a hand on Mum’s thigh and rubs it. Warm breezes glide around the room, and yet, I can’t shake a shiver.
They see me and spring from the bench. Welcome home, Mum says in Maori. Tom steps forward and hugs me, like he’s missed me too. It might be—it is—the first time we’ve ever hugged.
I feel awkward returning it and quickly step away.
Mum’s arms take the place of his. She clings to me for a long time, studies my face and tells me I’ve grown to be a really handsome man.
Ethan hangs back, watching. There’s cake on the table and Tom ushers us to sit. Have a slice.
They’re being nice. Too nice.
Halfway through my piece of carrot cake, Tom clears his throat. “There’s something we’d like to share with you.”
That prickly shiver is back.
“We’ve been waiting,” Mum says. “To tell you both at the same time.”
Ominous.
Ethan has stiffened beside me too.
Tom beams at us.
“Kua hapu ahau,” Mum whispers. I feel it pulling Ethan away from me.
“Your mum is pregnant.”
Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change. So suffering must become Love. That is the mystery.
K. Mansfield, Journal
Six months later, our sister Julia Bertram-Price is born.
The pregnancy has been high risk.
Mum is in bed recovering.
Ethan and I stand over her bassinette. Our eyes lock as she grabs our fingers, one in each hand, connecting us.
Mum and Julia need us.
And we’ll be here. We’re family. Whanau.
Ethan gets a girlfriend.
I get a boyfriend.
Loving Mansfield
I have faded into the habit of secretly existing under your skin. It is unbelievably dark under there; I am happy.
K. Mansfield, Letter
The morning before the last English Lit exam of my third year, I get dumped. I’m too focused on Ethan, Daniel says.
I laugh, because it doesn’t feel true. Ethan and I are nothing like we were. We don’t share the same bed. We’re careful not to touch. Our gazes never lock and linger.
We spend most of our time with Julia between us, a constant reminder of what we’re meant to be. What we are.
Daniel helps me pack my satchel. A spare t-shirt. Deodorant. I tell him the toothbrush can go in the bin. He laughingly slaps my arse out the door and wishes me well for my exam. He’s sad, though, I feel it. I’ve hurt him. He wanted more than sex.
