Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday

What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds.

K. Mansfield,Letter

Igroan when he wakes me up, and he laughs when I slap him away murmuring for more sleep. This is the best I’ve slept in ages; I’d like to dwell in this sated feeling. The sheets are a little crusted where I spilled last night, but it scratches my thigh lightly and I smile at the reminder.

Maybe . . . maybe there’s a chance we can do that again.

“Get up, sleepyhead. Cress and Ford arrived. They’re in the dining room waiting for you to say hello.”

I lurch upright and swipe the sleep from my eyes. “They’re here already?”

“It’s past ten.”

I eye Ethan; he’s fully dressed and it looks like he even shaved. “When did you get up?”

His dimple pops. “I’ve been swimming and made cheese scones.”

That’d explain the streaks of flour. “You, in the kitchen? Should I be scared?”

He snickers. “Cress seems to like them.”

The way he says her name feels like a challenge to me and I’m out of bed, yanking on fresh clothes. My hair is even worse than last night; it yanks at my scalp when I attack it with a brush. Ethan leans against the wall and from the corner of my eye I see him check me out.

I try to catch him in the act. He snaps his head away.

I’m doused with the icy water of reality. At night, dreams are allowed. During the day, nothing has changed.

We jog downstairs, Ethan with more bounce, like he’s excited to get back to our guests. I frown at his back, morphing it into a smile the moment we enter the dining room.

At a table piled with scones, spreads, and coffee, Cress and Ford are sitting next to each other in front of glaring windows, looking very twin-like. Their dark hair is the exact same shade, along with those crazy green eyes, and they’re both wearing black t-shirts and jeans. Ford is broader and heavier jawed to Cress’s delicate features, but there’s no mistaking their relation.

Cress jumps to her feet when she spots me and meets me halfway. Her hug is cheerful, like her hello, and she whispers in my ear. “You let him in the kitchen?”

I squeeze her back. “How bad?”

“The cheese is off.” She pulls back, glancing at Ethan. “Thanks guys, for letting us live with you. It’ll be the best.”

Ford sips coffee and hums. “It’ll certainly be something. What does one do in such a small place? Our taxi drove through town, and I swear it wasn’t more than four streets. Where are the bars? The clubs? The galleries? Theatres?”

“Ford!” Cress chastises, resuming her seat. “This isn’t London.”

Ford smiles roguishly. “You’re right. I’ll find something fun to do.” His green eyes hit mine, curiously. “Will we be seeing your friends again? Maria and . . . whatever-his-name-is?”

Ethan and I sit at the table.

“Rush? Sure. We can see them later this week if you’re up for it.”

Ford flashes his teeth. “I’m having fun already.”

Mrs Norris patters across the windowsill, jumps down, and then leaps onto Cress’s lap.

“Oh!” Cress pats her, delighted. “I love cats.”

Ethan grins. “She rarely jumps on anyone’s lap. She must like you.”

Mrs Norris looks smugly at me over the table and we have a stare-off.

Coffee lands in my cup, a scone on my plate. “Thanks, Eth,” I say and grimace at the giant scone before me.

If Cress can eat it with a smile, so will I.

Mrs Norris purrs like she’s laughing.

“What will you do for the whole summer?” Ford asks us, genuinely puzzled.

“We’re doing a summer semester course,” Ethan says. “Scripting and acting a play. I have some work for Dad too. Other than that . . . hang out at the river, go to the beach, take walks through the bush, go to the market. That kind of thing.”

“How quaint.”

You don’t have to join us, I want to say. I stuff a bit of scone into my mouth instead. It’s okay for a few moments, and then the unique and special taste of mould hits my tongue.

I gag and spit it onto the plate. “I can’t swallow, even for you, Ethan.”

His eyes flicker with a wild panic at my choice of words, and I immediately regret them.

Cress and Ford don’t seem to have heard, busy in their own silent conversation of nods and face pinches.

I quickly add, “The kitchen is off limits to you this summer.”

Cress turns to us. “Or perhaps,” she says, smiling dreamily at Ethan as she pats his cat. “I could teach you few things?”

“What do you think, Finley?”

I open my eyes and take in the golden sunset glimmering over Mansfield’s pear trees. Cress and Ford have retired early to fight their jetlag, and it’s the first time all day I’ve properly been able to breathe.

“What do I think about Cress and Ford?”

“Are they like you remembered them from London?”

Pretty much, yes. “Have they changed for you?”

Ethan frowns slightly. “I mean, they’ve just had a very long trip. I’m sure everything will click better tomorrow.”

A sneaky tendril of hope snakes around my chest. “So . . . you didn’t click with Cress today?”

“I mean, it’s nice of her to want to teach me to cook.”

I want to bar them both from entering the kitchen. It is my domain. If anyone gets to teach . . . “So what made you feel less clicky?”

“I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like, she was very sweet to me, but to you . . .”

I shrug and reluctantly admit, “She’s nice enough.”

“It doesn’t feel genuine. It feels like . . . she’s particularly nice to you in front of me.”

A laugh lurches out of me. “Well, of course she is. She likes you, dumbass.”

Ethan’s brows shoot up. “Likes me.”

“Like-likes you. She’s nice to me because you like me and she wants to impress you.” I smile, but my teeth grit. “I’ve known since London that she wants in your pants.”

Ethan blinks, and his obliviousness is adorable. And frustrating.

“Really?”

“I thought you knew. Hell, I thought you might like her a little back. She plays the harp, for crying out loud. All those emails. Your eagerness to have them stay here.”

Ethan stares. Then he turns his frowning profile to me, and I hate myself for bringing the idea to his head. The possibilities.

Stupid!

“Do you want to head in?” I suggest, needing him to move on from this. “Watch a scary movie with me?”

“Probably not the best idea,” he says quietly, after a while. “I’ll end up in your bed again.”

Exactly the point. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.”

The simple answer hurts. My throat clogs up and I silently demand that he look at me. He can’t.

“It was just jerking off,” I whisper.

He looks at me sadly. “No, it wasn’t.”

No,it wasn’t.

I cry in bed as I touch myself, remembering every word he whispered to me.

His girlfriend had been more experienced. Had offered herself to him however he most wanted.

He wanted it in the dark. He wanted her from behind. He wanted the feel of a smooth back against his chest.

He’d closed his eyes too.

He’d worn socks, the ones with the pineapples on them. The ones I’d just given him for his birthday.

His imagination turned him inside out.

When his orgasm blasted through him, it lingered the longest at his curled toes.

Cress and Fordhave been here a week, and Ethan spends every possible minute in their company. I know what he’s doing; I get why he’s doing it; it hurts.

I catch him looking wistfully at me across their heads, but he always ducks away again.

We sit right next to each other. We make conversation. We smile.

Under it, I’m screaming.

At the weekend, we’re invited to Rush’s pool party.

We’ve hung out twice all together, one time at the river, where Maria’s bikini top ‘accidentally’ came off and Ford dived into the water to recover it for her. Another time for a hike up through the woods, where Maria—wearing ridiculously short shorts—got a splinter sitting on a log. Rush gave up trying to get it out for her, claiming his fingers were too thick, and in swept Ford, who hoisted her over his lap and played operation at the crease of her arse.

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.”

“How much is overqualified when it comes to giving kids the best start in life?”

“Ah, so you want to work in developing the system behind early childhood education?”

“No. I want to help them learn to use a spoon and knives and forks, and how to cut stars out of yellow paper, and pretend to be princesses who fly on dragons and hunt for treasure in the playground. I want to help them learn their ABCs and 123s and colour pictures and craft houses out of egg cartons.”

Cress hooks an arm around his. “You’re very sweet. You could have all of that when you have your own kids, you know. You should think about other ways you can help. Something that pays better, too.”

“Ethan doesn’t care about money,” I murmur.

She looks over her shoulder at me. “That’s because he has it. He’ll be glad he has a business degree when all the financial responsibilities of a family start flooding in.”

“You sound like his dad.”

Ethan’s frown has deepened. “I understand living and raising a family takes careful financing, but the assumption here is that it has to be me who’s the breadwinner and that I have to live lavishly. Perhaps I’d like to be a stay-at-home dad and have my partner bring in the money? Or we split things down the middle?”

“You’d like being a kept husband?” she asks, cocking her head. She seems intrigued by the idea.

Ethan bends down toward her. “I’d like being an early childhood teacher.”

Her laughter is sweet and Ethan smiles, and it’s official. I despise her.

A strange keening moan sounds around us and ahead, Rush trips over a rock and hops about hissing. Maria steers him to a nearby bench and kisses his cheek. “Let it rest a bit, you’ll be good.”

The world is starting to sway a little, but I plonk the bourbon next to Rush and examine his foot. It’s definitely not broken. But some tape might be needed.

“Oh, Ford and I’ll rush back to the house and find some.”

Rush grimaces. “In the bathroom cupboard. It’s bright pink, you can’t miss it.”

Maria charges off and Ford practically skips after her, their whispering footsteps mixing with a loud, melancholic whistling.

“What is that sound?” Cress asks Rush.

“It used to terrify me when I was a kid. But it’s just the wind in the trees.” He points toward a gap in the poplars lining the path. A hill of trees shivers in the distance. “We call them the wailing woods.”

“That sounds delightful.” Cress grabs Ethan’s hand. “I’m checking them out. Come with me?”

Ethan isn’t so besotted he forgets his fear of the dark. “Is that . . . such a good idea?”

“It’ll be fun,” she says, tugging him.

I jump to my feet. “I’ll come with you.”

Cress doesn’t look so thrilled with that idea, but I don’t care because Ethan’s relieved grin washes through me, warmer than sunshine.

“And leave me here alone?” Rush says, his expression sad but accepting. Like he’s used to being left behind.

I grip my flashlight and re-grip it, then offer it to Ethan. “You’ll be fine together. I’m staying here with Rush.”

Ethan grabs the light, his fingers momentarily around mine, and he squeezes. “That’s really nice of you.”

When it’s just Rush and me, I bump his shoulder with mine. “Do you, like, notice Maria’s always hanging out with Ford?”

His shoulders slump. “I think she’s trying to make me jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“She asked about our relationship a few months ago. About where we were heading. I think I get what she’s trying to show me.”

That they’re growing apart? That it’s time to move on?

Rush sighs.

I lift the bottle. “Bourbon?”

We take turns with it.

I keep staring toward the wailing woods. “God they’re taking a long time.”

Rush looks away from the path leading to his house and takes an extra-long chug. “We’re waiting. We aren’t great judges of time. Ten seconds feels like a minute.”

I count to ten. Sure enough, it’s too bloody long.

Rush laughs and presses the bottle to my chest. “This has a way of speeding things up.”

He’s right.

By the time Ford and Maria arrive back, we’re singing our lungs out, giggling between verses. I’m standing on the bench, arms flung wide. Rush is hugging my leg like a cuddle toy.

“Pōkarekare ana—”

“Oh. My. God,” Maria says, shaking her head and all that red hair. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“The day what?” I snort.

She whips out her phone. “You’ll thank me for this one day. Continue.”

I take another swig and throw my arms out again, the liquid in the bottle sloshing about. I throw my head back and sing with everything I’ve got. The first verse and the chorus again, the second.

“Tuhituhi taku reta . . .” I have written my letter.

This is a love song that speaks to me.

I especially love the bit about love never being dried up by the sun. Mākūkū tonu i aku roimata e. It will always be wet with tears.

Ethan and Cress return during the last chorus. Cress slings an arm around her twin, and Ethan sidles right past Maria, lunging to steady me when I rock back on my heels too far.

His hands clasp on my hips and he says . . . something.

“What?”

The poplars down this lane seem to quadruple. I blink. “Did you bring the wailing woods back with you?”

I laugh toward the stars.

Suddenly the world tips and Ethan’s face is right there. Such soulful eyes. That quirk in his chin . . .

“I’ve got you, Fin.”

“Always have.” I throw my head back. “Pōkarekare ana—”

In the distance, like down a tunnel, “I need to take Fin home.”

By the timewe’ve walked back to the party, I’m feeling good again. I try to convince Ethan I’m fine, but he’s not having it. He makes me eat some toast and drink a bottle of water. Then he’s ready for us to leave.

“We’ll head back with you too,” Cress says. “Saves you picking us up in the morning. Right, Ford?”

Ford drags his gaze away from the half-naked orgy happening at the pool. “I thought there were lots of rooms here?”

“Ford.”

“Uh. Sure. Of course.”

We drive home with the windows open, and by the time I’m in my room, I’m serious. “I’m fine.”

Actually, I’m a little tipsy still.

But I do not need a bucket.

A shower though . . . that’s a good idea.

I throw myself into the bathroom, stripping with the door open. Naked, I stand at the vanity and brush my teeth. Then I go limp under hot water for fifteen long minutes, until Ethan knocks on the door. “You okay, Fin?”

I turn off the water and step out.

Calmly, Ethan hands me a towel.

“Where’s Cress?” I hope it doesn’t come out as bitter as it sounds in my head.

“She and Ford have gone to bed.”

“Sorry for cutting your night short.”

I move to my room, the hairs on my nape prickling. I know Ethan is following. I want him to.

I switch off my light, let my towel fall to puddle on the floor, and dive under my cool covers.

Ethan picks up my towel and the wet material slaps against my desk chair. “Night, Fin.”

No, I need him to stay.

“Shouldn’t you keep an eye on me? In case I drown in my own vomit.”

“I thought you weren’t that drunk.”

I’m not that drunk. “Shouldn’t you stay to be sure?”

His voice cracks. “I’ll check on you later.”

I stare through hot tears at the dark ceiling and count all the times I hear his mattress creak as he twists and turns.

A few hours later,Ethan pads into my room and slips between my sheets.

I turn on my side and he buries his head against my shoulder and sighs. “Feeling okay, Fin?”

“Better now.”

He reaches around me, pulls me into a tight hug. His satiny boxers shift against my dick and I bite my lip against a surge of arousal. I ignore it.

I’m just happy he’s here. That’s all that matters. I clutch him close, my forehead against his, my greenstone pressed between our shoulders as I whisper in te reo. I like this.

He stammers. I like this too.

His words sound like there’s a ‘but’ coming and I want to hear them again without that unspoken condition.

I pull him closer, sliding a leg between his thighs, flexing my toes against his socked feet.

“Stay the rest of the night with me?”

His lips brush against my cheekbone. His exhale slithers down the side of my nose and catches on my lips. “Tell me a story? You’re so good at it.”

“What kind of story?”

“Something that will lull us to sleep.”

“A boring one, you mean? Is that why I’m so good at it?”

His quiet laugh shakes the bed and the places where half-inches exist between us momentarily vanish. Satin and cotton and hairy legs against my naked skin.

It makes me harder and my dick prods his thigh, unashamed. It’s impossible to ignore the charge this time.

“I know something else that will help us sleep,” I whisper, heart ramming against my ribcage.

“Fin,” he warns again, like the last time. But he wants this too. He’s in my bed. He’s as hard as I am. Our bodies are craving to be intimate. Not just emotionally.

Ethan keeps shifting; he’s vibrating against me. His skin burns against mine.

Would it really hurt to explore this?

“Just once?” I whisper, my nose combing under his jaw as I gently thrust my thickened length against his hip.

Ethan stiffens.

It makes me grit my teeth. Makes my eyes sting, but I’m restless. I crave, I need . . .

Again, I thrust, arching my upper body against his.

Even though it saddens me, repulses me even, it feels like the key to unlocking Ethan. I whisper it in his ear, “You can fall in love with Cress tomorrow. Give me tonight?”

“Oh, God, Fin—”

“Please. I need you.” I roll my hips against him, feeling just how engorged he is. He gasps. His fingers dig into my arm. “Just like this. Just this once.”

Tears bubble out of me, uncontrolled, and I shake. “Please?”

He scoops me close and rolls me on top of him. He’s all heat and muscle and murmurs that he’s here, he’s got me.

It feels like my body is trying to write across his skin all the stuff I’ve been holding in. Every jerky movement another word, another sentence. It feels so good to get it out.

Ethan’s crying too. His sobs puff against my cheek, my neck. He tightens his hold around me, spreads his legs, and lets me rub myself all over him.

I don’t want to stop.

I want this forever, just him and me and this moment where we’re finally touching.

My dick slips through the fly of his slippery boxers and the throbbing heat of him against me has my fingers clinging to his biceps, my toes scrabbling against the sheet under us.

His breath hitches too and he arches against me, more friction. It feels so good in his arms, so warm, so comforting, so safe, so us.

Why can’t we always have this?

Why do we have to care what the rest of the world thinks?

I slam watery eyes shut and my jaw clenches. My body scribbles furiously against him. I’m moaning, grunting; I’m whispering in his ear that I wish I could fuck him.

Ethan has a choking hold around me as we hump together. He wraps his legs around my waist, his heel banging on my bum like a tease, and he sobs again as he comes and comes and comes.

I slip and slide through his release, begging him to let me stay here forever, and come at his responding squeeze, the fingers knotting in my hair.

I collapse against him.

He doesn’t let go.