Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday

Up till now it had been dark, silent, beautiful very often—oh yes—but mournful somehow.

K. Mansfield, “Her First Ball”

Istartle from my writing reverie at the sound of my cheerful ringtone. My pulse quickens and I curse as I try to find which pocket of my satchel it’s in. I almost break the zip to get to it in time.

Tom flashes on my screen, and I sink into my chair.

Of course it isn’t Ethan.

I hope my voice doesn’t carry my disappointment. “Hello.”

“Hi, Finley. I just wanted an update on how you’re doing?”

I blink. It’s not like Tom hasn’t asked how I’m doing a hundred times before, but he’s never gone out of his way to call. “You want to know if I’ve got a job yet, you mean?”

Tom’s quiet a moment. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Check if you needed any help. Of course, I’m happy to hear about anything job related, but that is not the reason I called.”

I frown. “I don’t have a job yet, but I have another three interviews lined up this week. Thirty-hour contracts.”

“Thirty hours?”

“Decent pay. Enough to cover food and rent and insurances and a bit extra. It would allow me to start publishing my stories, too.”

“I see.”

He says it quietly, but I sense he’s not entirely thrilled with the idea. Just as he’s not thrilled with Ethan wanting to teach pre-schoolers.

The line crackles. “Have I been too harsh on you and Ethan?”

A laugh jumps out of me and I hurriedly rein it in.

“Feel free to explain that to me, Finley,” Tom says. “I’m trying to understand where I’ve gone wrong that neither you nor Ethan has called once since leaving Mansfield. You call Maata, but never me.”

“Ethan hasn’t called you?”

“He’s been avoiding me, even. Only sees Julia when I’m not around. It’s noticeable. And . . . painful.”

Oh.

“So I want to take a hard look at where I might have overstepped. Where I might have screwed up my parenting.”

“And you’re asking me?”

“You’ve always been very honest about your feelings. I figured it would be easier for you to tell me exactly what you think of me.”

“Where do I start?”

“I see.”

I slam my eyes shut. “I mean, from my perspective it feels like you’ve always wanted Ethan to become a quote ‘real man.’ He’s not allowed to dress up and play princesses, he’s not allowed to weep or whine, he’s not allowed to want to become a teacher.”

Tom listens quietly as I go through specific examples and at the end he clears his throat. “I hear you.”

“It’s his dream to work with children.”

“It was never my intention to destroy his dreams. I only wanted you both to have an education that could support you. I only want you to be sure you know the consequences of every decision.”

I nod even though he doesn’t see it. “Ethan is smart and careful, Tom. He will shine in life.”

“So will you, Finley.”

I grip the phone hard. This is the last conversation I ever expected to have with Tom. I’m not sure how I feel about it. How to handle it.

“Um, so . . . I gotta go . . .”

“Right,” Tom says. “Have a good week. Maybe I’ll hear from you sometime.”

He hangs up, and I stare at my phone, blinking.

I type a message to Ethan: You’re avoiding your dad? Why?

The why feels like taking another leap.

I delete it.

“I’ve landed.I want to check out Te Papa, let’s meet there.”

I blink at my laptop screen and the words I’ve been working on all morning start swimming. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You sound breathless with surprise.” Ford’s voice grows husky down the line. “Have you missed me?”

“You have a stunning amount of confidence, Ford.”

“It’s part of my package.”

“I’m busy.”

“I can wait.”

“I hope you have somewhere to stay.”

“I’d hoped—”

“Ford!”

“It’s only one night.”

“It’s not my place.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that because your place is waiting for you to come back to Port Rātapu.” Before I can protest, he rushes on, “I’ll call Bennet. I want to invite him out for dinner to thank him for all his incredible edits.”

“Ford . . .”

“Fine. I’ll book myself a hotel room. No ulterior motives here, okay? I just want you to meet me at Te Papa, realise how much you’ve missed me, and tell me you’ll come back with me.”

I shake my head, but my belly is hopping too. I’m starved for real information. Ethan’s texts have gotten more and more vague, and the selfie of him and Cress (grinning) on Facebook has made it near impossible to sleep the last three nights. “Give me an hour.”

We meanderaround the museum exhibits, pretending to look and read, when we both want other answers.

“So. How’s your sister?” I ask nonchalantly, staring at an information screen.

Ford is quick to deliver the blow. “She’s been staying with me at this cute place I found. Ethan is dragging his feet organising things so she can move in.”

The hope is painful. “Really?”

“Hmmm, but I offered to pick up a bed with a trailer next weekend, so he’ll have no excuse.”

I’m quiet.

“They get on so well. Even better since you . . .” Ford stops himself.

Since I left.

“What about you?” he says quickly. “You’ve been here a month.”

I smile weakly. “Four weeks since I left Mansfield.”

A laugh. “So pretty much a month.”

When every day feels like five, it’s easy to understand the difference.

“I know you’re running away from certain people,” Ford says, “but Port Rātapu is big enough to avoid him.”

I look toward a gaggle of kids crowded around a giant greenstone, their small hands caressing it gently. I feel my own at my chest, the carving like a stamp against my heart.

It roars inside, how much I miss Mum and Julia.

I arch a brow at Ford. “Wasn’t it only a few months ago you didn’t know what to do with yourself in our small town?”

“The quaintness got to me.” He winks. “Or maybe it was the company?”

I chuckle.

He stops me, taking my hand. He pulls something out of his pocket and plants it on my palm. There’s a cold bite as he wraps my fingers round it. It’s smooth with jagged bits, easy to guess. A key.

“It’s the perfect place for us. Two bedrooms, so you don’t have to jump into my bed right away—though the offer is definitely there. Whenever you’re ready, you have a home to come to.”

I open my hand and blink at the key as he tells me about the views and the quirkiness of the place. Sometimes the front door sticks and it’s better to use the back one. “It’s also way across town, on the other side of the university. Far from . . . You’d rarely bang into one another. I can go see Cress on my own. Or have her come to us.”

I feel sick.

I don’t want to see Cress and know she’s living with Ethan.

But having another line of connection to Ethan other than Mum . . . to know how he’s doing even if it’s too hard to talk to him. To be doubly sure that he’s okay. That he’s happy . . .

Ford waits for me to respond, bright green eyes hopeful.

“If I took you up on the room, it wouldn’t mean we’re—”

He doesn’t wait for me to finish. He grabs my free hand and hauls me close, laughing. “Step one of my evil plan to steal your heart!”

He’s so happy, so joyous, it echoes in me too. It’s bright and sudden, and for the rest of the day, I can imagine what it might be like to be with him. So energetic and confident. For the rest of the day, I like the idea.

For the rest of the day, I think about it.

And, after dinner, when he’s padding into Bennet’s living room to camp on his couch, when he catches me by the hand and pulls me into him, when he asks if it’s okay to kiss me . . .

I say yes.

In the morning,I bury my head in my pillow and groan.

At the airport, my stomach is so tightly knotted I can’t stand it anymore. Before Ford heads to security, I buy him a coffee. We stand awkwardly sipping it near the counter. “About last night,” I blurt.

Ford’s smile eats up his face and it makes the nausea worse.

I shake my head. “It was wrong of me to do that.”

“It felt very right to me.”

I bow my head. “Ford, I need to be clear. You and I . . . we won’t ever happen.”

“Last night—”

“Last night I shut my eyes. It wasn’t you I was kissing.”

For the first time since I’ve known him, he has nothing to say. He rubs his nape and disappointment shrouds him, a cloud of grey. I never imagined he’d . . . care so much. His green eyes glimmer. It’s the way he schools his response that hits the most.

Guilt and shame burn my skin.

“I’m sorry, Ford. I hope . . . we can be friends.”

He nods, and nods.

A familiar voice shrieks our names, and we pivot toward Maria, who’s pulling a suitcase toward us. The sunshine coming through the large windows halos her red hair.

“Small country!” she laughs, and notes only Ford has a carry-on.

“What are you doing in Wellington?” I ask her.

“There’s a wedding dress designer here.” She looks at Ford. “You on the direct flight back? The one leaving in twenty minutes?”

Ford swears and ditches his coffee. “Gotta get going.” He looks at my shoulder as he says goodbye, and in a rush, they’re zigzagging through the crowd toward the line at security.

That night,sitting on the couch, Bennet pats my hand. “You learned something from his visit.”

“That I’m a horrible heartbreaker?”

“That you can’t ignore the call.” He smiles and shrugs at the inevitability. “Eventually you’ll go back.”