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Amanda downed the rest of her drink.
Rosie huffed out a laugh. “So free accommodation in the UK then when we visit?”
Amanda snorted. “Totally! You should come and join me, Rosie! It would be so awesome. We could backpack around Europe and see the world together!”
Rosie laughed, and they talked about different things and cities they wanted to see and what should be on a Europe bucket list.
I listened in silence, watching several party guests line dancing in front of the bonfire to a Faith Hill song. I’d never thought about our place having ghosts and I guess it was true. Sadness hung around the homestead like an additional family member. I’d gotten used to our home feeling like that. It was our ‘new normal’ since losing Dad. The school counsellor had used those words in a session I had with them at the beginning of the school year.
Mum was happy about the footy award, delighted and all smiles. But her smiles never reached her eyes. Stacey still wasn’t eating enough; her clothes were too big, and she was pale with dark circles under her eyes. But she was here at my party and that was a big something. She was making an effort, and not just for me; I think she wanted to be out more and doing more other than medical appointments in Brisbane.
Huh, she was letting Sam drag her up for line dancing. Stacey laughed, missing a step. One less ghost around Turner’s Creek.
We lived in the line of sight of the stumps of the farm worker’s house where Dad had taken his last breath. Grandad and I had re-fenced the yard. Gum saplings had taken seed and would soon hide what little remained of the fire-twisted roofing iron and concrete stumps. It had become a sacred place. We didn’t look at it; we visited rarely. And the anniversary was coming up six years since he died. I looked at his writing every day in the farm journals. And Ryan was turning into the spitting image of Dad every day. Sometimes, I’d thought it was Dad, like an apparition, who’d turned the corner in the house. Same gait, hair, height, build; it was freaky.
I sighed. Amanda had a point, even if she was drunk. But leaving for London sounded like abandoning us and running away. Things had been really bad since the fire when Dad died.
And this was my legacy if I took over operations for Turner’s Creek after uni studies.
“So, Rosie, we said we were going to get laid tonight. We’ve reached a crick—no, crit. Tic. Cal.” Amanda giggled. “Cri-ihal part of the night to get a root.”
Amanda surveyed the party crowd with the look of a predator. “So,” she yelled over the music. “It would be really great if I got laid tonight!”
Everyone laughed, and some of the guys yelled, “Pick me! Pick me!”
Amanda got to her feet and wobbled, checking out the volunteers.
I groaned. I was sex positive, no doubt. But no brother wanted to witness their drunken sister solicit for sex at his birthday.
Amanda had said that Rosie wanted to get laid too tonight.
“You gotta be a good root, though.” Amanda waggled her finger at a couple of the footy guys.
“Get a cowboy into ya, Mands!” someone yelled.
I winced. “Can we not talk about anyone putting their dick in my sister?” I called out. “On my birthday? Thank you!”
“I want to talk about someone putting their dick in me!” Amanda yelled back indignantly.
Everyone laughed, including Rosie. Hearing Rosie’s giggle made my dick thicken in response. Under the blanket, her hand enclosed over mine. I turned to her with a straight face and squeezed her hers back.
She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “I choose you, Tom.”
I inhaled sharply, my dick now painfully alert. Thank god the blanket covered up my reaction.
“Do you want me, too?” Rosie’s voice wavered slightly as if she was prepared for me to reject her.
“God, yes,” I breathed. “I want you.”
Amanda eventually returned to the house, with Stacey and Sam’s help, declaring that all the men at my party were dud roots. Rosie said she wanted to stick around at the bonfire a bit longer.
People were still huddled around the bonfire on their deck chairs, but the flames had gone down. The light was dim from the embers but still radiating heat. Rosie snuggled into me under the blanket, her head under my chin and hands stroking my thigh. It was heaven.
I skimmed my fingers over her palm, and she shifted slightly against me; my hand moved over her stomach, my fingertips skating under her bra.
Her dress—my dress.Too much fabric. Too many people. I was desperate to touch her. My dick was threatening to split the pantyhose. The friction was both torture and bliss.
Since Amanda’s departure, several couples were now making out. Small friendship groups were talking, drinking and listening to music.
