Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday
Somebody who’d quite understand
K. Mansfield, “Fairy Tale”
When I wake, Ethan is there.
One of his legs is thrown over my hip; the pillow is wedged between our crotches. A relief. I’m as hard as an elephant’s backside. I think. I don’t actually know how hard an elephant’s backside is. Point is: embarrassingly hard.
Ethan rolls onto his back, taking his leg with him; my hip tingles as cooler air replaces the warm pressure. Dirty blond hair catches in a strip of sunlight that starts at his pillow and shoots up the wall, through the picture of Dad. It’s like, for a moment, they’re mystically connected. Like Dad might be wanting to feel Ethan out. See how he likes him.
Dad’s smile brightens.
I brace myself on an elbow and grin down at Ethan. “Sleep good?”
Groaning laughter. “The best.”
“I figured. Or you’d be lapping lengths in the river right now.”
“What’s the time?”
I turn and glimpse at my radio-clock. “Like, six-thirty.”
“Did you sleep good?”
“Yep.”
“I figured. Or you’d still be sleeping right now.” I roll my eyes and Ethan grins. His gaze keeps slipping down to my chest and finally I look down.
My greenstone has slipped out from behind my t-shirt. It’s the first time he’s seen it.
Ethan hesitates. “Can I ask a question?”
I nod.
“What does it mean?”
“Supposedly it gives me courage in hard times. The koru carved into it represent the family. Our bond, our love.” I fist the large rectangular stone against my heart, feeling the spiral outlines against my palm. “It was my dad’s.”
“It works, I think. You’re very courageous. Coming here. Living here. Putting up with Dad.”
The words are a warm hug. I tuck the stone away, take the pillow between us and bop him over the face, grinning.
He laughs and we stumble out of bed. I use the toilet first and he bolts in after me. We change into fresh clothes, and Ethan pulls me to the small door leading to the roof. I’ve only been up here a couple of times, and never with Ethan. It’s always felt like his space.
The stairs are narrow and dark; light blinds us when we emerge. Ethan leans against the balustrade, breathing in the dawn. I mirror him. Below the back yard two long aisles of pear trees stretch to the hills and the river. The sky is a dazzling yellow, throwing a gauze of soft light over the grass, the trees, the water.
“Now I want to move rooms even less.”
“This place is yours no matter where you move. You can always come up here. It’s a great place to think. To be inspired. Or, you know, to curse Dad.”
We share small smiles. “I kinda think of this as yours,” I say. “You’re always coming up here.”
“Ours, Fin—Finley.”
“No, don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“You can call me Fin.”
Ethan’s face brightens; his smile makes me wish I’d told him this the first day we met. “It’s ours, Fin.”
“Kia ora.”
His hand flies to his head as if he wants to adjust his cap, then realises he’s not wearing one. His swallow juts his throat. “I like when you speak te reo.”
“Yeah?”
“K-ka rata ahau i a koe.”He stammers. Reddens. I like you.
I’m grinning so hard. I like you too, I say back. I clasp his neck and draw his forehead to mine, noses touching. Don’t be shy to speak Māori, treasure every little word.
“What does that mean?”
I tell him.
“Will you teach me more?”
“Sure. I mean, I’m not good with spelling, but Mum’ll help you there.”
“Could I help you too? With spelling? Reading? Writing?”
“Like, tit for tat?”
“Like, because I want to?”
“Okay, yeah. As long as . . .”
“As long as what?”
“You don’t force me to read Katherine Mansfield.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No can do. Mansfield is a must.”
We absorbthe yellow for another half hour before heading downstairs. Mum is in the kitchen, singing “Te Kāinga Tupu”. Home Sweet Home.
I help her make pancakes, then grab spreads for setting the table. Tom and Ethan are seated at one end, Tom perusing a newspaper, Ethan patting Mrs Norris who’s curled up on his lap.
The cat lifts its head as I near, very smug indeed. Like it’s a competition between us, who gets Ethan’s attention. I roll my eyes.
Dry kibble only for you later, I return with equal smugness.
She bats her head against Ethan’s stomach and open-mouth purrs. There’s no beating that.
I snicker as I head back for more spreads. When I approach again, Ethan is chatting with his dad. At my name, I pause behind the doorway.
“Are you really planning on moving Finley to another room?”
Tom grunts.
“Because . . . downstairs, the only real options are the rooms either side of yours, and . . .” He lowers his voice. “Won’t that be uncomfortable? For you? Maata? For my soon-to-be brother?”
Tom makes another sound. “You have a point. I wouldn’t want . . . You’re okay with him upstairs with you?”
“Oh, you know. We’ll have our ups and downs like any siblings, but yeah. It’s cool.”
I hold my breath through Tom’s pause. “Good. Then there’s no reason to make any changes.”
The clatter I make as I enter the room and plant more spreads on the table isn’t all theatre. As I leave again, I catch Ethan’s eye.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He winks.