Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday

And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her.

K. Mansfield, “The Garden Party”

The weekend before Ethan leaves, he’s invited to a mask party.

All the seventh-formers are going. A big farewell thing. It might be the last they see each other as a group until reunion.

Ethan insists I come along.

I’m not sure I can handle it. Not without crying my guts out at some point.

“Rush and Maria will be there too,” Ethan says, like this will make it all better.

“It’s at Rush’s holiday house. He has to be there. And third wheel? No thanks.”

I’m sitting on the edge of Ethan’s bed, rubbing my palms over the textured quilt. Cat fur sticks to my fingers and I pick it off.

I wonder if the next time I vacuum our floor, Ethan will already be gone.

His hiking pack sags on his armchair, waiting to be filled for his next adventure. I wish I were small enough to stow away inside it, like Mrs Norris is doing. Her purr is loud between us.

Ethan finally decides on a button-down shirt and shuts his wardrobe. He lays the crisp cotton on my lap, grabs the hem of his black tee and draws it off over his head. His words muffle. “You won’t be third wheel. I’m there, remember.”

“You’re there to hang with your class. We both know I won’t see you half of the night.”

His toned, tapered stomach ripples, and the scar at his hip from his fall down the cliffy bank shines under the light.

Instinctively, I touch the scar.

He jolts; my fingers skim over his hip and catch on the waist of his jeans. “Does it ever hurt?”

“The scar? No.”

Ethan’s warm scent washes over me as he bends down and electricity sizzles through my body. It always feels this intense when he’s close. I’ve gotten used to ignoring it mostly, but it’s harder tonight, on the cusp of him leaving. I’m not entirely in control of myself.

He plucks the shirt from my lap. The gentle weight sliding over my hardening groin makes me gasp.

Oblivious, Ethan pulls his shirt on and I bolt to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I grip myself, shoulder braced on the tiled wall. Another thing I’ve gotten good at: silently jerking off.

He knocks as the last rope spills into my hand. My heart races and I flush quickly and wash up. “Yeah?” I call out innocently.

“You’re not locking yourself in the bathroom like you did on your birthday. If you don’t want to go, I’ll stay here with you.”

I throw open the door and he’s standing there in his buttoned shirt, grinning. That stupid dimple I’ll miss so much pops.

“You have to go. It’s, like, a rite of passage or something.”

“Then come. Please. Pretty please? Pretty please with a pear on top?”

I snicker and shove past him to my room. “I don’t have a mask.”

“You think I’d buy myself one and not get one for you?” From behind his back, he reveals two Venetian masks dangling from thin satin ribbons. Intricate metal filigree studded with black stones. They’re beautiful, ornate. I love them.

I move past him and into my room.

“I’m warning you,” I tell him as I yank on a clean shirt, “I may get very, very drunk.”

Ethan scoffs and sets the masks on my desk. “Not on my watch.”

“Fine. I may get very drunk.”

“Try again.”

“I may get drunk?”

“Tipsy. I’ll allow that.”

“I want the whole world to become tipsy turvy.”

He laughs. “We’ll crash in one of the bedrooms there. I don’t want either of us driving.”

I grin. “Does this mean, for once, you plan to drink?”

“As you said, it’s like a rite of passage or something. And . . .” Ethan falls back, spread-eagled, onto my bed.

I crawl onto the covers beside him. “And?”

“There’s someone I want to kiss. I don’t know how, though.”

I’m frozen on the bed. A soft smile tips his lips, and I frown at it. Ethan has never been interested in anyone before—at least, no one he’s mentioned. And now suddenly there’s someone he wants to kiss?

My belly curdles. I definitely can’t go to this party now.

I have to.

“Who?”

He opens his eyes and looks at me. His brows crunch together and he licks his lips.

Then he glances toward the windows. “Just a girl from my class.”

“Who?” I insist, voice cracking.

“Um . . . Laura Turner.”

“You want to kiss her?”

“The point is, I don’t know how.”

Not the bloody point if you ask me. I spring off the bed and stand at the window, hoping the sting in my throat doesn’t come through in my voice. “How long have you liked her?”

A few long breaths pass. “At first sight.”

It hurts.

It shouldn’t, dammit. This is natural. This is life. He’s bound to fall for someone eventually.

I wrap my arms around my chest and nod and nod.

“I fucked this up,” Ethan murmurs.

I shrug. “No, it’s fine. I’m just surprised I’m only hearing about her now.”

“Let’s just drop this.”

I swivel around. “No. Let’s not. You like a girl and you want to kiss her. So why don’t you then?”

Ethan swings his legs off the bed and grips the mattress either side of him, frowning at his knees. Uncertainty crackles around him.

I hate it.

He’s shared something special with me. His brother. His best friend. He deserves more.

“I don’t want it to be bad, Fin.”

He’s never kissed anyone before.

Everything aches, but there’s something so vulnerable in this admission and I yearn to make him feel better. “It won’t be bad,” I say. With Ethan, that would be impossible.

He glances at me and away again. His voice comes out a shaky whisper. “Is it stupid that I wanted to ask you to teach me?”

“Me?” I whisper back.

“Yes.”

“Because I’m experienced?”

“Because I trust you.”

I’m warm and giddy. I’m drowning in unshed tears.

I walk over to him.

His eyes are bright, hesitant. Hopeful.

This is the worst decision of my life, but I know I’ll make it. How can I say no when it’s something I’ve been craving? At least this way, I get to know what it feels like.

Get to know what I’m missing. What I’ll never truly have.

My shadow stretches over him, the rest of the room glowing in the late evening sun. The spice of spray-on deodorant lingers in the air. I brush his cheek. It’s a little prickly, even though he shaved this morning. His nose taps the inside of my wrist and I feel the drag of air as he inhales.

“What kind of kiss do you want, Ethan?”

“A memorable one.”

“That’s a lot of expectation on a kiss.”

He shakes his head. “Not when it’s delivered by someone who has already stolen your heart.”

“And have you stolen hers?”

He hesitates. “I hope so.” Another pause. “I mean, I know we can never really be . . .”

Because he’s leaving for Europe. She’ll move on too.

“But I’d like . . .”

I can’t hear any more. My grip on his jaw tightens and I bend to him, mouth finding his in a shivery kiss. His lips are wet, like he’s been licking them over and over. Nervous.

His breath hitches between us and his hand tentatively cups my nape, catches on the cord of my greenstone, shifting it higher up my chest.

“This doesn’t feel wrong,” he murmurs. Surprised, perhaps.

I shake my head slowly, our lips brushing. How could this be wrong? Ever . . . “It’s just exploring. Practicing. I’m sure things like this happen between siblings all the time.”

He pulls back a bit, and I curse myself for speaking. For breaking the spell—

He tightens his hold on my nape and pulls me on top of him. I fold onto his lap, straddling him as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. It takes everything I have to suppress a moan.

You’re perfect at this. A natural. You kiss like you were born for it.

I should tell him, but why make him think he doesn’t need the practice? I want. Just. A. Little. More.

My heart and ears pound. It echoes lower too; I shift so he won’t notice.

I slide my tongue along the side of his, and he shivers under me. He tastes like all my dreams coming true at once. He tastes so good, I’m surely gonna wake up any minute and realise it’s not happening.

His arm at my back presses me so tightly, I’ll feel the imprint of him there even when he’s gone.

It ends too quickly.

Before I know it, Ethan’s driven us to Rush’s holiday house on the peninsula side of Port Rātapu.

I love our masks—so delicate and pretty his dad would think they were for women—and he’s wearing his so boldly, but I hate that it’s just for tonight. I hate that tomorrow, his cap will be back on. Misery is a giant ball in my gut, but for once I don’t keep my feelings on my sleeve. Ethan keeps looking at me, like he’s not quite buying it.

As we move through the large, music-pounding house, I busy myself with things: plucking invisible lint from my shirt, checking my pockets for my keys, waving at made-up friends across the crowds dominating Rush’s deck.

I readjust my mask. “Look all right?”

The quality of Ethan’s look changes, lightens. He smiles. “Prepare yourself for half the people here checking you out.”

I flush and I’m relieved when Maria finds us, her face concealed by a mass of feathers.

“This house is ah-may-zing. It has a bazillion rooms and Rush gets to use it whenever he likes. Do you know what his parents promised him for finishing school next year? His own apartment. Like, can you believe it?”

She leans against me, head pressed against my shoulder, feathers tickling my temple, and stares at Rush who has removed his leather mask to dive-bomb into the pool.

Ethan and I exchange looks. We share an opinion of Rush. In Ethan’s words, if he wasn’t so rich, Maria would realise she’s moon-eying the school clown.

Rush emerges from the water, cradling a bloodied lip, laughing through it. Maria squeals off, draggling Ethan with her to help him. Like I couldn’t manage or something?

I start after them and stop. Too many people.

The party continues to go strong without its host. Probably most people didn’t even see it happen. Behind me, I hear Elliot Anneston humming under his breath. “I meant what I said in the library, Laura. No touching.”

A few guys out on the deck lift their beers and start chanting. Speech. Speech. Speech.

At Laura’s creamy laugh, my insides lock. “You’re the head boy, Elliot. A debate champion. You love saying your piece. You give the speech.”

Elliot speaks tightly. “I will.”

He jogs past me and climbs onto the picnic table. His mask is covered in green sequins, shimmering against his dark hair in the house spotlights. He raises his beer bottle and has everyone under his command as his boyfriend emerges from inside.

Wentworth’s eyes, sparkling behind a simple strip of cloth, are glued on Elliot. He whistles and calls “There’s m’bumblebee,” in his heavy Scottish accent.

Elliot’s smile lifts like a rocket ship to the moon. He scours his peers. “In the wise and slightly adapted words of the immortal Dr Seuss: Oh, the places we’ll go.”

Everyone laughs and drinks, and Wentworth splays his arms wide. “Let me tell you about the places we’ll go. Jump, I’ll catch ya.” Elliot barely hesitates and Wentworth laughs as he buckles under the reality of romance. “Oof, gained a few, love?”

I turn at a tap on my shoulder and my grin dies. Laura, in a slinky black dress. Darkened lashes, ruby velvet mask, matching red-painted lips. Lips that might not be so perfectly red, later.

“Have you seen Ethan?”

I stammer.

And send her off in the opposite direction.