Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday
I am treating you as my friend, asking you to share my present minuses in the hope that I can ask you to share my future plusses.
K. Mansfield,Letter
Half a year rolls by.
It’s my birthday. There are gifts and cards and a big shared meal—I invited Maria and Rush along, too. They’re sleeping over, but of course first we freak ourselves out watching a horror film.
At one point, Ethan freaks out so much he deposits Mrs Norris on the floor in favour of pulling me onto his lap, like I can shield him from the fucked-up shit on the telly.
Maria and Rush are busy making out on the other sofa. They’re not taking any notice of us. Besides, it’s dark.
And it’s not like we’re doing anything. I’m just sitting on Ethan’s warm thighs, feeling his muscles under me, cataloguing every flex of his stomach against my back. He buries his face in my shoulder when the music makes him anxious.
Every time, it tickles and I laugh.
It’s over too soon. I show Maria and Rush to their separate rooms downstairs.
When I come back up, all the lights are on and Ethan is wagging his finger crossly at Mrs Norris. It’s so adorable, I grin. Seriously, I couldn’t ask for a better birthday.
Ethan sees me and grimaces.
“What?”
“Mrs Norris was very naughty.”
I look at the black cat quizzically. “How naughty?”
“She peed on your pillow, naughty.”
“She what?” I storm into my room; the pungent smell hits me first and I back out in a hurry. “Oh God, that’s disgusting. What do I do?”
Ethan looks similarly undecided. He takes the soiled pillow and disappears to the laundry. “I put it in the wash, but . . . we might need to buy you another pillow.”
Grumpily, I head back into my room. It still stinks. “Well I can’t sleep in here.”
“Yeah.” Ethan opens the windows, tugs me out of the room, and shuts the door. He doesn’t look too unhappy about all this. In fact, he looks pretty relieved. “Guess you’ll have to sleep in my room.”
We strip to our boxers and slide into his cool, neatly-made cotton sheets. The lights are off but Ethan insists on the curtains being open for natural light, at least. He shudders and jumps at sounds, moving shadows. The movie did a number on him.
But I get it. It freaked me out too.
“Do you think ghosts are real?” he says, aiming for nonchalant, but really . . .
I turn on my side. “The spirits of our ancestors, yes.”
He shifts his head, looking toward the picture of his mum on the wall. She’s mostly shades of black and grey, but I’ve spent many moments before admiring how beautiful she was. How much of Ethan I see in her.
“They’re the good spirits,” I tell him. “They protect us.”
He nods and curls toward me. “Thank you for letting me freak out without making me feel less.”
I find his hand under the sheet and hold it. My fingers start to slide between his but I withdraw them. This is supposed to be platonic.
The tingles stretching through my body say otherwise.
I shake off the thought and lightly squeeze our clammy palms together. “I’m okay with everything. The good and the painful.”
He squeezes back. “Me too.”
My gaze is drawn over him to his mum’s picture again. “Do you miss her?”
“Every time I look in the mirror.”
The bond that has been growing between us from day one solidifies, and I know it’ll be permanent. Forever.