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I can only imagine what shenanigans will end up happening this evening.
Especially as alcohol is involved.
Rush offers me a jelly shot and I’m about to decline when Cress’s laughter catches my ear from across the pool.
Ethan has her in his arms; he’s threatening to drop her in, fully clothed.
I take two of the offered shots and slurp them back, one after the other.
I know a dozen or so people here—vaguely—from uni classes, but mostly I stick to chatting with Rush at the bar.
“Have you seen Maria anywhere?” he asks, surveying the deck.
I haven’t.
Neither have I seen Ford. But I don’t know how to bring that to his attention . . .
“Ah, there she is.”
Rush hands me a Long Island iced tea he’d just whipped up and heads to Maria, whose hair looks mussed.
Ford isn’t so far behind her.
I shudder and glance away.
Cress has stripped to her bikini and is daintily dipping her toe into the water. Ethan, already in the pool, his wet hair dripping onto his broad shoulders as he looks up at her, beckons her in.
I down the Long Island iced tea.
The empty glass hits the cocktail bar with a smack like an epiphany, and I start stripping to my speedos.
Three’s a crowd.
I jump in the pool.
Later, when I’m dressed again, I find Ethan and Cress on the couch inside. Cress squeezes a towel around her hair.
It’s tight, but I fit between them. I ignore Ethan’s little frown and throw my arms behind them both.
“What are we talking about?”
I was never this way with Abigail. I was smarter.
I avoided her. And, like me with Daniel, Ethan rarely brought her to Mansfield. Abigail existed theoretically. I never had to witness her reality.
Cress . . . I do.
She’s enormously pretty, as smart as him, witty. She plays the harp, she adores him, Tom would approve, she could have babies . . .
I really haven’t had enough to drink.
“We’re talking about Ethan’s business studies,” Cress says, beaming over me at Ethan. “I feel mine were a little more comprehensive.”
There’s something teasing in the way she says it and Ethan’s astonished laugh has my belly in knots.
I scrub Ethan’s hair playfully, fondly, until he rolls his eyes. “Just as well he’s going to be an early childhood educator.”
I’m proud of him, and it leaks through into my voice. Possibly the way I’m gazing at him. His silvery eyes meet mine, and they’re smiling too, though also looking a little worriedly at me—
“Kindergarten!” Cress says, cackling. After a few beats, she stops. “That wasn’t a joke?”
I stiffen. “Early childhood centre. And why would it be a joke?”
She catches herself quickly and dons a smile. “You never mentioned, Ethan . . . I wouldn’t have laughed if I’d known!” Ford calls for her and she leaps to her feet, as if happy for the reprieve. “Just a sec.”
As soon as she’s out of hearing distance, Ethan turns to me and searches my face. His palm comes to my forehead and suctions there. “Fin, you’re really warm. Not slurring yet, but . . . I think you’re drunk.”
I can’t deny it. But I try. “No, I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you. I know every expression you’ve ever had. This is the first time I’ve seen you like this.”
“So I’ve had a little to drink. It’s a party.”
“How much is a little?”
I shrug.
“What are you doing, Fin?” he whispers, fingers pushing my hair back before he catches himself and lets me go like I’ve burned him.
I swallow, and we stare at each other.
Rush interrupts, suggesting we break off and take a midnight stroll.
He grabs three flashlights, divvies them between us (the two girls and me), and leads us around his family property. Stately poplar-lined paths, wide paddocks, woods, all under a Milky Way sky. “Seven hundred acres and that doesn’t include the lake,” Rush boasts.
“I want to own something like this one day,” Cress murmurs.
My flashlight catches the back of Ethan’s head, but I imagine him frowning.
“Anyone for a drink?” Maria raises a bottle of bourbon over her head.
Ford takes it from her and has a good old suck. Not wanting to carry it, he turns and presses it to my chest. “You could do with a swig, pal.”
I clutch the neck and follow behind them, last.
My ears are pricked, listening.
“So you want to be a teacher?” Cress still sounds surprised.
“I do.”
“But you studied business. I thought you were working part time for your dad.”
“I did and I am. But it’s not what I want to do with my life.”
“Okay but . . . Why not a high school teacher or a professor at university? Something more . . .”
“More?”
“It’s just, won’t you get bored? Without intellectual stimulation?”
“Surely not as bored as I am working with numbers and spreadsheets all day.”
She laughs. “True. Only . . . you’re rather overqualified.”
