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46
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
BRYN
Avery slipsoff her sandals and steps onto the warm sand, holding my hand as we head along the beach back to the house. The late afternoon breeze takes the edge off the unusual winter heat and I wrap an arm across her shoulders as we walk along the shore of the Indian Ocean, warm water lapping our toes.
“How was Connor today?” she asks.
“Pretty good. He's doing okay at school now, settling down.”
“That's good to hear.” She rubs the side of my head. “Is his hair growing back too?”
“Curlier than mine!”
Laughing, Avery lifts my hand up and kisses my fingers. “Aww! Poor Bryn! I'm sure your lovely locks will be back soon.”
“Yeah, don't think I'll cut my hair again in a hurry.” I slosh the water and run a hand through the regrown curls.
“Good,” she says with a smile.
“I knew you didn’t like my new style!”
“I love the reason you cut your hair, Bryn. But you’re right, I prefer when I can pull your hair.” Avery digs her hands into my curls and tugs with a giggle.
“Careful,” I say and raise an eyebrow.
A month alone with Avery following weeks of separation, and I face losing her again. The last few months, I’ve lived in Perth and she’s worked in London until the English summer school holidays gave her a chance to stay with me in Australia.
I bought my own place drawing a dividing line between my duty to Connor and my relationship with Avery. The trust has returned. I’ve learned not to slip into guilt-induced obligation and put the person who means the most first. Myself. And by doing that, the person I love, who’s a part of who I am, comes first too. Avery.
“School starts again formein a week,” she says cautiously.
“Yeah, I know.”
She stops. “And?”
“And what?”
“Are you staying here or coming back to England?”
Avery’s hair obscures her face, blown by the breeze and I push strands away. “I'm coming home with you.”
Home. Once over, the word meant little. I had places I stayed, went back to my parents sometimes, own several houses, but was never home. These days, home means anywhere Avery is. I’ve spread myself between Australia and the UK for the last nine months, unsettling for most people but natural to me. The months away from Avery are tough and I don’t want to be apart from her too long.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Thank you? No reason to thank me. I love you and want to be with you.”
Resting her head against my arm, Avery curls her small hand in mine and we continue along the beach—home.
My new place in Perth isn’t beachfront but private and close by, the balcony allowing spectacular views of the sunset, which we’ve sat and watched almost every evening. Stepping through the double doors into the expansive hallway, onto the cool tiles, we drop our sandy shoes on the floor. Avery pads into the kitchen and heads to the fridge for water.
“I’ll miss this place,” she says, pouring two glasses.
“We’ll come back.”
“You’re definitely not staying here?”
