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“Then I hope you also like walking.”
“It’s Fin’s car that broke. If this is your way of punishing me, don’t take it out on him.”
“I think you’ll feel the impact more this way.”
Ethan walks quietly out of the room and shuts the door. He pauses at my side, not looking at me. His eyes close, the undersides dark and puffy. He’s more than tired, he’s exhausted. He’s been exhausted the last three years. It’s always yes, Dad. Okay, Dad. I understand, Dad.
He fought for me.
For the first time since learning Mum was pregnant, I take his hand and knot our fingers together. Kia ora. Thank you.
His breath hitches in the small space between us and my heart pounds. I’ll feel the slide of his thumb over the back of my hand for weeks.
Tom is behind the door, Mum is cooking something delicious in the kitchen, cartoons sound from the TV in the living room, and we’re a foot apart, secretly holding hands, telling ourselves not to look into one another’s eyes.
His quiet sigh combs my chin, our fingers grow clammy, my jeans tighten. The balls of my socked feet bore against the hard floor, then slip. A half-inch closer.
“Fin,” he whispers, a warning.
“Peepee! Peepee!” Julia cries, hurtling out of the living room.
We jump apart, avoiding direct eye contact, and Ethan hurries to help Julia to the bathroom. We go to the beach as planned.
That Sunday at lunch, we’re all busy. Ethan takes turns with Mum cutting up Julia’s food and cleaning up the juice she spills from her cup. I have the laptop on the table, going through the summer semester options, and Tom is wrapping up a business call in the foyer.
“Anything look good?” Ethan asks me.
“Theatre 306. Write and preform your own script. Group work. Should be fun and easy.”
Julia throws herself at Ethan and he hoists her onto his lap. “My program doesn’t begin until late Feb. Maybe I can take the class with you?”
I snap my head up. “You’ve got enough points to graduate.”
“I was thinking more for fun? Time to hang out?”
“You hang out all the time,” Mum says, laughing.
“As friends,” Ethan says quietly, and bounces his knee at Julia’s demand.
“Ah.” Mum nods. “You boys have been such wonderful brothers.”
I’m still staring him. I have to clear the frog in my throat. “Enrolment deadline’s January eleventh.”
“There’s something else . . .”
I eye him quizzically.
“I got an email from Cress this morning. She and Ford applied to do their Master’s degrees here. They’re arriving on the second of January. They’ve booked a hostel until they figure out where to stay.” Ethan grins. “What do you think about them staying with us?”
All living together under the same roof?
“Will she have her harp?”
Ethan laughs. “Probably not.”
I stare at my laptop. “Three weeks’ notice? Seems weird to organise such a big trip and not email us earlier.”
“Well, she has emailed a few times. Nothing was really finalised though. The university messed up the paperwork and everything got done in a rush over the last week.”
I frown. I got on okay with Cress, but she never emails me. Ethan’s kept this quiet.
“What do you think?” he says hesitantly, like he’s unsure how to read me. “If it’s okay with Maata and Dad.”
Tom strides into the room as Ethan says this. “There’s more than enough room.” He’s in a sprightly mood. “I just got offered a month-long contract in Melbourne, starting January. Maata, what do you say, shall you, me and Julia make a trip of it?”
Christmas comes and goes, and the start of January is a whirlwind.
Mum, Tom and Julia leave for Melbourne the first Monday afternoon.
Almost as soon as their taxi disappears around the bend, Ethan wraps a scarf around my eyes and steers me out of the house.
“What are you doing?”
“I have a little something for you.”
“You know Christmas was like, ten days ago, right?”
He chuckles. “This one took a little longer to organise.” Pollen tickles my nose and the sun beams down on us. We stop.
“Can I open my eyes now?”
He holds my shoulders from behind and positions me. The heat of his chest hovers close to my back as he unwinds the scarf. The soft material falls around my neck.
I blink, taking in the neighbouring grassy paddock and two old cars at the fence, parked side by side. One is a faded blue, the other a worn-out green with a dent in the back door.
“Our new rides,” he says.
“Our? You have a car. A nice car.”
“Well . . . we both need a car, Fin.”
I whisk around; he’s smiling nervously. “Did you . . . sell your car?”
“You can take your pick. They’re both under my name for now, though. We can change that.”
“You sold your Mercedes for me?” The graduation gift from his dad?
He looks at me, baffled, like this shouldn’t be such a surprise. But it is. Yes, I’d sell anything for him, too. But knowing that, and experiencing the bubbly light-headedness of having it happen . . .
