Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday

The whole world shall be ours because of our love.

K. Mansfield,Letter

It’s impossible to concentrate. I go for a jog, shower, attempt to write, give up reading, miss half of my current audiobook narration, eat lunch, clean up, change my sheets, avoid Cress.

In the afternoon, I hear a lot of rumbling and grunting and follow the sounds to Tom’s office. “What on earth?”

Ford looks up from where he’s shoved Tom’s desk to the side of the room. “Hey, Finley. Give me a hand?”

Startled, I enter. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing for our taped rehearsal, of course.”

“I thought we’d do it in the living room.”

“It doesn’t have the right structure. This room is perfect. Look at it. Those double doors open onto the billiard room. The archway would frame this room and make it look like a stage.”

“Um, but . . .” I gesture to all the furniture that’s been shifted to clear space.

He waves my concern away. “We’ll put it all back when we’re done. Now if you’ll lift the other end of this cabinet . . .”

I help him move it and once we’re done and the doors are thrown open and Ford has shuffled a few other things around, he nods. Satisfied, he leans against the bookshelf and eyes me.

His teeth flash. It’s the smirkiest I’ve seen him yet.

“What?”

His smirk grows. “Did you have a good night last night?”

My hands freeze around a throw pillow that’d fallen off the chaise. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just thinking you might have . . . slept really well. Eventually.”

I swallow and lower my voice. “How do you know?”

He laughs and circles me. “Cress said she mentioned my pseudonym. Then voila! Last night, two sales . . .”

“Could have been anyone!”

“It’s an old release. I sell a few copies a month, sure. But two on one day?” He whispers in my ear. “Don’t tell me you believe in coincidences?”

I stammer and he laughs before settling back into that smirk. “I bet you had fun. Which one did you read? Kraken tentacle love? Were all your holes juiced up? Or was it—”

“Stop,” I squeak.

“Made you come though. Pretty good like that.”

I roll my eyes and toss the throw pillow onto the chaise. “Kāore te kumara e kōrero mō tōna ake reka.”

His eyebrow arches. “Ohh, what does that mean?”

“The kumara—”

“Kumara?”

“Sweet potato.”

“Are you calling me sweet?”

I throw my hands up. He’s impossible. “The kumara doesn’t boast about how sweet he is. It means stop being such a cocky ass.”

Ford flashes his pearly whites. “I am well-endowed in the cocky ass area.”

In mild exasperation, I put my hands on his chest and push him out of my way.

He laughs as I go, and I shake my head. The guy is something else.

My fingers are a flutter over my keyboard when I hear Ethan arriving home. I’ve half-heartedly been writing back to Bennet. I want to look busy when he comes in, like I haven’t been waiting pathetically all day.

A tap-tap comes to my door and I call out, “Come in.”

The handle turns and disappointment worms to my toes. Not Ethan. Cress.

She closes the door behind her and leans against it. She’s wearing a school uniform, the skirt too small for her. “Maria lend you that?”

She nods. “I swapped out the blazer. Didn’t want it too recognizable in case it gets anyone in trouble.”

I nod. “So . . . you need something?”

Her eyes brighten with a small, nervous smile. “We’re doing our first run through in half an hour, but I’m still stuck on one of the end scenes.”

I lean back in my chair and stare at my laptop screen. “Which scene?” I know damn well which scene.

She tells me, and I briefly shut my eyes. “The point of the scene is that you’re meant to be nervous. Angry, even, to begin with. You want change, you want him to finally tell you the truth—that he loves you back—and you’re goading it out of him, but . . . even though you know it, hearing it . . . it’s more than you ever expected it to be. It’s like flying. It’s heaven. When you kiss him, there’s no anger, no frustration anymore. It’s just joy, and when you say those final words . . .”

She says them.

“You mean them like no one can possibly have ever meant them before.”

“Wow.” She hesitates. “Would you practice with me?”

I freeze.

No.

I do not want to run through these lines when I don’t mean them. I do not want to weaken their potency before I go through with Ethan. “I’m sure you’ll have it now.”

“Please? It’ll give me the confidence I need.”

“Maybe later? I really have to finish a few things first.”

“This is a taped performance! We have to send it in to the professor.”

Excuses, excuses. Where are they? “Um . . .”

She cocks her head. “You don’t want to go through with me.”

I say nothing.

“I thought we got on okay, Fin. But you don’t like me, do you?”

No, I don’t. You get to have Ethan for real.

She’ll know.

“It’s not that,” I quickly say. “It’s just . . . I’m afraid you’ll see how much of a bad actor I am. It’d be embarrassing.”

She lets out a relieved breath. “Is that all? Come on. Stand opposite me.” She pulls out a rolled-up copy of the script from the inner pocket of her blazer. “Second to last page. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

I blink at the papers.

She frowns again. Reluctantly, I stand and take the sheets. I flick through a page at a time, procrastinating, wondering if I can get away with suddenly feeling sick? An urgent case of the trots?

“Be quicker to go from the back.”

“Right.” I flip to the back and open it to The Scene.

Cress starts bouncing on her toes as she gets into character, then she storms across the room and grabs hold of my shirt. “Look at me, Grey.”

I look at her.

“Really look at me. What do you see?”

My voice is shaky. I’ve never truly looked at the scene from Grey’s point of view. It’s always been a whirlwind of my own emotions, and having it thrown at me . . . Grey must be feeling overwhelmed. Is my hurt and outrage even fair? “I see . . . I see . . .”

My bedroom door opens and relief punches up my chest. Ethan!

He comes in, wearing his cap; his arms look a shade sun-burned. The side of his neck too. He eyes Cress and me and stalls.

“Cress came in. She really wanted help with the last bit.”

I hope he understands.

Ethan nods and his dimples pop, if shallowly. “Sure.”

“But now you’re here, Ethan,” she says, grinning. “You can act with me and Finley can direct us.”

No. He’s come to practice with me.

Ethan hesitates, but there’s nothing either of us can say. Of course to her it only makes sense they practice together.

Fuck.

All the giddiness that’s bubbled in me the whole day solidifies and drops to my knees, the soles of my feet. Nausea replaces it.

I screw the papers tight in my hand as Cress positions Ethan and begins again.

She glows as she delivers my lines; she renders them perfectly. Every word falls from her lips like they come from the soul.

Then she reaches the climax. My declaration.

I wish Ethan would break away from looking at her and find me, but he doesn’t. He cradles her in his arms and sweeps the hair off her face.

He’s about to deliver the words I’ve wished from him forever—

I don’t have it in me to sit through it, smiling and nodding. I leave the room.

Maria and Rushhave come over to help with the taping of our play and the music, and I busy myself with stage directions so neither Cress nor Ethan have a chance to pull me aside and ask what the hell happened up in my room.

The play is underway, just starting really, when I catch the faint hum of laughter coming from the foyer.

I silently slip out into the hall.

It’s Mum and Tom, dragging in suitcases, looking wrecked from travel, Julia full of energy begging mum for something to eat. She spots me and gleefully runs toward me with arms outstretched, her pigtails bouncing. Her little body wraps around mine and she plants a smacking kiss on my cheek. “I miss you.” She grabs my chin to make sure I’m looking at her. “Did you miss me?”

I laugh and spin her around. “Every day.” God, she’s so adorable. And she’s grown. I’m sure she has. “Āe rā, kua hoki mai koe!” You’re home now.

Mum wraps me in her arms next with a tired sigh against my neck. “Planes and little kids, not a match made in heaven.”

Tom laughs. “God, no.”

I kiss Mum’s cheek, and she takes Julia to the kitchen for some food.

Tom stacks their things to the side of the marble foyer and plants his hands on his hips. He looks broader than I remember; a little older too.

“How was Melbourne?”

“Work was more than I expected, but we made the best of it.” Voices trail from Tom’s study. “What’s going on here?”

My pulse pounds and guilt churns in my stomach. “Oh, um, it’s for my summer course. We’re recording a play.”

“What play?”

“An original.”

“Well, let’s have a look then!” He strides toward the sounds and enters the billiard room. His step stutters when he sees what we’ve done to his study, but I get nothing more than a reprimanding look.

Ethan is on stage; I cringe when I see the princess hat on his head. I know this scene inside out. So, maybe, does Tom.

“Is that it? The End?”

“Not nearly! This princess cares about more than saving only herself. She looks over the prince’s shoulder and notices a poor young woman, stuck in a tree. She’s calling out for someone to come to her.”

“Help!”

“Fall. I shall catch thee.”

His jaw hardens and I wish he’d leave. He’s taken a peek, time to go.

“I think Mum and Julia might want you,” I whisper to him.

He looks at me, gaze like steel, then sits on a stool.

I’m in agony as he watches the entire rest of the play. I’m burning with mortification. Once more, I leave before the end.

I sag against the wall outside and try to absorb all its stillness into the back of my head.

There’s no clapping when it’s done. I hear stools scraping over wood.

Tom comes out of the billiard room first. His gaze snags on me and he halts. His stare says everything, so cold, so hard.

I shake, waiting for words, for something.

He starts walking past me.

“What did you think?” I whisper. I have to know how much he hates me now.

He turns back, meets my eye. “I never want to talk about that play again.”

He walks away and I swivel in the opposite direction. I spot Ethan, at the doorway, in hearing distance. His eyes are shut and his face is pained. It’s what we always suspected, but it’s once more acknowledged. No more fairy-tale endings to fantasise about in our heads.

Ethan looks at me and away again.