Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday

I always felt that the great high privilege, relief and comfort of friendship, was that one had to explain nothing.

K. Mansfield, Letter

“Stop reading, Fin,” Ethan says gently.

Ten minutes into a study session and already I’m yawning and rubbing my eyes. “Sorry.” I dogear the page and snap the book shut. “Guess I didn’t sleep well.”

“Let’s try this differently. I’ll read it aloud, okay?”

I close my eyes and absorb his smooth voice; it’s full of delightful intonation as he breathes life into the text. I answer his questions; he asks more challenging ones, but they’re not so difficult either.

We debate the theme of the excerpt—he thinks it’s about awareness of one’s identity; I think it’s about the courage to live that identity—and he nods. I’m not sure it’s in agreement with my position. More like he’s suddenly realised something.

He stares at me for a long time, his grey gaze thoughtful.

He sets the book on my desk and asks me to come with him. It’s warm out, tempered by swirling breezes that rustle through the trees. Ethan catches Mum’s attention and cuffs my bicep, pulling me to her. She’s measuring the distance between pear trees. Something to do with the wedding, no doubt.

I feel every press of his fingers. I have a strange desire to shake him off so that Mum doesn’t see.

He lets go. “Maata?”

“How can I help you boys?”

“I think you need to try again, with Fin’s reading.”

“What?”

“He’s incredibly bright and has a firm grasp on reading comprehension when he’s given the chance.”

Mum looks at him, surprised. She encourages him to continue. “I know you’ve done tests before, but . . . I think you should get a second opinion.”

Within a week,Ethan’s suspicions are confirmed. Mum says she’d wondered, but . . . She spends an afternoon crying, wishing she’d tested again sooner.

This is a good thing, she says, hugging me. We can inform the school. Teachers will take it into account when it comes to testing. We can rethink the way I study.

A stack of books about learning disabilities appears, mysteriously, on Ethan’s desk. He comes up with a multisensory learning program, lets me take my time reading; when my studies aren’t reading-specific, like science, he reads aloud for me so I can work on answering the questions. The sound of his voice becomes part of me, an imprint in my brain.

Sometimes I get distracted.

But that has nothing to do with reading.

I sorta,accidentally on purpose, see Ethan naked.

It’s not my fault there are no towels in the bathroom.

I could have mentioned it, though.

“Shit,” I hear him curse, from outside the door where I’m waiting with a towel. “Fin?”

“Yo?” I’m fairly sure there’s a special place in everlasting torment for guys like me.

“I need a towel and a bathmat. Could you bring them in?”

I open the door and trundle gleefully toward the see-through shower box. Ethan has rubbed a circle through the steam. “That was quick.”

“Uh huh.”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“Let me have this laugh, Eth.”

He chuckles, shaking his wet head. “Fine.” Then he steps out of the shower box the second I’ve laid out the mat.

It’s all pretty shocking timing; I’m still on my knees.

My eyes shoot straight to his junk and stay there. He might have had a go in the shower because he’s not completely shrivelled down there. He’s . . . fairly plump.

“Fin? The towel?”

I scramble to my feet and jerkily toss the towel at his chest, flushing. Ethan pauses. “Are you . . . shy, seeing me naked?”

I flush harder and try to shrug it off. “No.” My laugh is strained. “Feel sorry for ya, is all.”

Ethan frowns and instead of covering himself up, stares at his dick.

He looks up at me. “Ahakoa he iti he pounamu.” It’s the Māori proverb I taught him last week, although perhaps the context isn’t exactly . . . appropriate. Although it is small, it is a treasure.

It’s the hardest I’ve ever laughed in my life. I have throbbing stitches from laughing this much.

Ethan is smiling too. His eyes glitter as he enjoys my unravelling.

The day before the wedding,the tables are turned.

I’m butt naked, checking myself out in my mirror, when he bursts into my room.

He comes to an abrupt halt. Then grins. “Oops?”

For an apology, it’s pretty lame. Especially when he throws himself on my bed and hooks his hands behind his head. He’s not looking at me anymore though.

“How’s your speech coming along?”

I whirl around. “We’re meant to give a speech?” My voice is as squeaky as my stomach is queasy.

“A toast. Doesn’t have to be long. A couple of lines should do it. Or a quote.”

Fuuuuuuck. “What are you saying?”

“The CliffsNotes? I wish you lifelong love and a happy home.”

I shove into a pair of boxers and grab the book of Katherine Mansfield’s short stories that Ethan has been reading to me.

I flip it open and blindly draw a finger down one page.

Ethan laughs. “Okay, what have you got?”

I open my eyes, read it quietly and then snap my gaze to his.

“What? What is it?” He tugs me onto the bed, and my greenstone swings as his arm folds around me. He tries to grab the book and see for himself.

I pinch it firmly.

“Go on,” he goads laughingly in my ear. “Tell me.”

Our eyes meet as the words tumble from me and my entire body turns to goosebumps. “‘I long to do wild, passionate things.’” His smile freezes, and I snort loudly. “Yeah, no. Not wishing Mum and Tom that.”

Ethan looks away and chuckles too. “Probably not the best idea, no.”

He takes the book from me and has a go himself. He lands on one that makes him smile, and that’s the toast I’m going to give.

Mum and Tom marry.Ethan and I sign guardianship papers.

After, when all the guests have gone and the backyard has heard its last joyous laugh, Ethan and I stand in the bird’s nest.

“Nice toast.”

“You too.”

We look at one another, and it conveys everything.

We’re stepbrothers now.