Finley Embraces Heart and Home by Anyta Sunday

The pleasure of all reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.

K. Mansfield,Letter

“Come on, Fin. No one will care.”

“What if I drive us into a fence!”

Ethan snorts and throws me the keys over the roof of his car. “Good excuse to fix ’em, finally.”

“Good excuse for Tom to ground me forever, you mean.”

It’s been almost one year since Mum and I first moved in, and the pear trees are in bloom. Petals are tossed by the breeze into this large grassy paddock, where I’m climbing into Ethan’s car, about to drive for real for the first time.

He’s not supposed to teach me, since he’s only just got his full license, but he’s also right. We’re not on the streets; no one will care.

“He wouldn’t ground you.”

“What about winter break?”

“Oh, that.”

“It was two weeks without a phone. I never should’ve agreed to that guardianship thing.”

“It was the kind thing to do,” Ethan murmurs, but his frown catches in the reflection in his window.

“Um, yeah.” It had made Mum so happy.

“Besides, your mum was even more pissed than Dad . . . staying out all night with Maria without telling anyone where you were almost gave them both heart attacks.”

I wince. There’d been some crazy commotion with her boyfriend and I got caught in the middle—a shoulder to cry on until they figured it out. But . . . I should have called.

“Fine. How do I drive this thing?”

Ethan directs me step by step until we’re bumping over lumpy grass, and I’m muttering on horrified repeat that I’m about to kill us both.

I steer well away from the fences and make big loops. In a fit of laughter, Ethan loses his cap and searches for it at his feet. I freak out when I see he’s not watching what I’m doing and I jump on the brakes.

“Oof.” Ethan comes up shaking his head. “It’s a work in progress. Another round? Shall we try reversing?”

“You want more?”

Ethan laughs warmly and places his hand over mine on the gear shift. Shivers warp through my body as he guides me into reverse. “Six months, and you’ll have your restricted.”

“I’ll need, uh” —I glance at our hands and quickly out the windshield, and my voice gets wispy— “a lot of practice.”

His hand lingers atop mine, then drags away slowly. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Over the summerand following autumn, Tom takes up hiking on Sundays. He always asks Ethan and me to join him. And I always say no.

Ethan is kinder. He goes every other weekend, comes back saying his dad wished I’d been there too. I roll the comment off, and he drops it.

Not today.

“Come next week, yeah?” We’re on the rooftop terrace, Ethan fresh from his after-hike shower, his hair damp at the edges of his cap and his t-shirt wet at the shoulders. He rests his arms against the rail and looks out over our backyard, the Dashwoods’ backyard, toward the distant hill where he and Tom had been today. “There’s this huge hazelnut grove in the woods. I want to show you.”

“You want to show me, or your dad wants me to see it?”

“Stop it, Fin.”

He sounds tired, and a little annoyed, and I flounder for a response. Heat scalds my cheeks and I frown, for the first time wishing I hadn’t been so curt when Tom asked this morning.

“I just . . . I mean . . .”

He looks at me, eyes gentling. “I get it, just . . . He sometimes gets it wrong, but he’ll never get it right without trying.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ll never get it right without trying, either.”

I stammer, searching hard for something to defend my actions, but there’s nothing. I turn and head for the turret door.

Ethan grabs my elbow, halting me. “You don’t have to run away.”

“I’m not running.”

He raises a disbelieving brow.

My throat hurts as I swallow. I hate that I disappointed him, hate more that he’ll forgive me right away. “I’m walking. Slowly.”

“You’ll let me come with you then?”

No! I feel like a dick right now. “Uh, if you have to.”

He laughs. “You are running away!”

“Fine,” I admit, pulling out of his hold and poking out my tongue. “But you’ll let me.”

“Will I?”

I open the door and duck through. “I’ll come with you next week.”

The hazelnut groveis kinda awesome, which kinda sucks because Tom and Ethan are both giving me Told You So looks.

So I temper my amazement with affected boredom. “What’s next?”

Ethan shakes his head at me. He saw how eagerly I picked up the spiky hazelnut casings and pried a few nuts free. He sees how I’m rolling them like good luck charms between my fingers. “There’s a lookout not far. I’ll show you. Dad, we’ll be back in ten.”

Tom, taking a breather on a bench at the base of a tree, hesitates. Ultimately, he sinks more comfortably onto the bench and waves us on. “Show Finley what he’s been missing.”

I start to grumble and Ethan prods my back to get me moving. The touch must press a magic button or something, because I can feel the ghost of it as we walk, and I’m totally not grumbling anymore. In fact, holy shit. The view is everything, and why is this the first time I’ve seen it?

The hilly Port Rātapu peninsula sits snug in glittery blue waters. It’s like something out of a postcard.

“Don’t tell your dad, but it’s, like, the best view ever.”

Ethan looks around and takes my hazel-free hand, tugging me closer to the edge of a cliffy bank, ten feet of steep rocky turf down to a narrow, muddy path with a steeper drop below. It’s a long, long way down.

He positions me in front of him, his fingers dragging over my biceps as he stretches my arms wide. He speaks at my ear. “Doesn’t it feel like you’re on top of the world?”

I am on top of the world. The view, the whipping wind, Ethan close behind me.

Ethan laughing into the back of my hair.

Ethan . . . moving away.

I spin around quickly and the force has my hazels flicking out of my hand. My gaze flies from Ethan to the bank. “Dammit. I lost my nuts.”

Snickers follow.

I’m already down on my knees trying to reach the one that landed in a nest of weeds not too far down the slope. I roll my eyes at Ethan over my shoulder, grinning too.

Ethan drops next to me, bumping my arm with his. “Let me grab your nuts.”

“Ethan!” I hoot out in laughter, but it’s strained because, well. It’s not like I haven’t thought about . . . that before.

Ethan’s laughing as he reaches down, and then suddenly, he’s not laughing. He’s not beside me.

“Ethan!” My vision tunnels; his fall seems to go on forever and my body is locked in fright.

Ethan lands on the ledge below and groans. I don’t think, I scream for Tom, and I know he hears. The whole world has to hear me.

I roll onto my belly, legs first over the edge and scramble down the rocky turf, dirt sliding with me.

Ethan pushes up onto his elbows and winces; I scurry to his side, gaze flying to the dark stain blooming through his grey t-shirt.

“You shouldn’t have followed. You could have hurt—why are you stripping?”

I peel my t-shirt over my head, sunshine beaming hard onto my back.

“Oh fuck,” Ethan says.

He lifts his shirt, exposing a deep jagged cut at his hip. So much blood. I wad my t-shirt and hold it against the wound. Ethan hisses.

I haven’t stopped chanting oh God and oh shit and oh fuck and so sorry. My hands shake as I press hard. Blood is seeping through my shirt. Is it . . . not enough pressure? “H-hold this, Ethan.”

Ethan holds while I take off my belt and cinch it around his hips. My shaky, bloody fingers drift up his torso, down his legs, checking I haven’t overlooked any other injuries.

“Fin? Fin.” His hand presses against mine, settling it. “Hey, look at me.”

My gaze whips to his face. There’s a line at the edge of his mouth like he’s sucking back the pain.

A sob rattles out of me.

His fingers stroke mine. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Stupid nuts!”

Ethan starts laughing then stops, hissing. “Don’t make me laugh. That really hurts.”

“How is your mind in the gutter right now?”

His eyes twinkle and then darken with pain.

“Boys?” Tom’s shout is deep and urgent.

I’ve never been so relieved to hear it. I call back.

As he pounds through the foliage towards us, I slowly lift my hands from Ethan. I find his cap lying a few feet away and wear it for safe keeping, and so Tom won’t see the tears in my eyes.

“Let’sgo for a drive around the peninsula,” Ethan suggests. “Check out the penguins.”

“Don’t you have exams to study for?”

I’ve a year and a bit of school to go. Ethan’s almost done. After his exams next week, that’s pretty much it. Christmas will come and go, and he’ll be off for his Overseas Experience.

I’ll be alone at Mansfield.

I grip the wheel hard, staring glumly toward the street as I drive us home from school.

I hate how quickly time is ticking away. How every second another wall of an empty home weighs on my chest.

“Nope, I’m shattered, my brain is leaking. No studying for me tonight. I just want to do something with you. Enjoy our time before I leave.”

I whimper. “Do you have to go?”

“Fin.”

“I know. I just. I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“My bed will feel weird without you farting in it every other night.”

“Oh my God. You’re one to speak.”

We snicker.

Ethan sighs. “I wish you could come with me.”

I wish it too. “At least I get Mrs Norris to cuddle up to.”

“When have you two ever cuddled?”

“I’m thinking we might bond over the pangs of your absence.”

Ethan laughs. “Two years, and we’ll be together again.”

“Two?”

Ethan frowns. “Yeah, I mean, when I get back you’ll be going overseas.”

“I will not.”

“Sure you will, Fin. The world is waiting for you. And your stories.”

Heat chokes me. “No one wants my stories.”

“I do.” He reaches over and tugs my hair. It’s wild at the moment. Not long, but heading there. “Hey, maybe you’ll get so famous, we’ll rename our house after you.”

“Shut up.” I punch his arm, but we’re both grinning.

“Ka whakapono ahau i a koe,” he says. I believe in you.

The hiccup I’ve been holding back for months rises. I grab hold of his hand at his thigh. Neither of us looks at the other. But Ethan squeezes, the slide of my knuckles over his jeans comforting. He’s still here.

“What about your exams?” Ethan asks, narrowing his eyes at me. “English is next Monday.”

“Figures you know my examination timetable.”

“I know everything about you, Fin. Now penguins, and then we’ll go home and study.”

“I promise you,referencing Katherine Mansfield will get you extra points.”

“Really?”

Ethan stops pacing behind my desk and clamps a hand on my shoulder, peering over at Bliss and Other Stories. “Well, it’s worth a shot. Let’s read one together. ‘Bliss’?”

“The euphoria of discovering your sexuality and the crushing reality those feelings aren’t returned? Yay.”

He laughs at my sarcasm but there’s something tight about it, a tension I feel through the press of his hand. “‘Prelude’?”

“That one’s more interesting.”

“You think?”

I flip the pages. “Yeah. It kind of, I don’t know . . . asks a quiet question about gender roles.”

His fingers drift over my nape and disappear. Like he reads through those lines. Like he knows I’m asking a quiet question about gender roles too.

“The bit with the boy playing with dolls,” I continue. “Adoring them. How it’s called shameful. It makes me . . . feel deeply. Angry and frustrated and sad, especially because . . .”

I see his reflection in my dresser mirror. He’s sitting on my bed, head bowed. “Because?” Ethan says softly.

I clear my throat. “This was written a hundred years ago, and still we have such a big ‘man’s man’ culture. Just being yourself is a fight.”

“Dad isn’t that macho.”

“He expects you to be. Who cares if we want to dress up as princesses sometimes? Who cares if we want to express our nurturing side? Who cares if we want to love someone of the same gender? Except, people do care. Just like in this book. People still care, even when it doesn’t affect them at all.”

“Fin . . .”

I lift my eyes to the reflection of that stupid cap he always wears. It’s a mask. It’s an easy way to keep Tom thinking he’s a typical bloke. I drop my gaze to his saddened eyes under it. “I accept you, Eth. Whatever you want to do, whoever you want to be.”

He looks away, grimacing. “Dad’s not perfect, Fin, but he does love me. He loves you too.”

“He tolerates me.”

“No. That’s not true. If you knew—” He cuts himself off.

I swing around. “If I knew what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me, Ethan.”

“The dickhead who bullied you end of second term?”

I want to shrink at the mere mention of it. My cheeks are blazing. “Kinda hard to forget.”

“Dad got him expelled.”

I’d wondered why he suddenly disappeared. I’d been so relieved at the time. “He did?”

“Yes. He might not show it how you’d like it best. But he has your back.”

“Okay. So why won’t you tell him you’d prefer early childhood education over economics?”

Ethan walks out of my room. One of the kitchenette cupboards slams.

I wince and stare at blurring words.

Later, I find him up on the turret, leaning against the parapet, searching the darkening skies.

“I’m sorry.”

His breath comes out in a foggy sigh. “You’re right, Fin. It’s just hard to hear. When I get back from Europe, I’ll tell him.”

The mention of Europe again has my stomach diving further toward my knees. I slouch against the turret wall next to him. “It’s just I know you’ve been babysitting the neighbours’ kids and lying to everyone about it.”

“I never lied to you.”

“I never asked, because I wouldn’t let you lie to me.”

“You’re too smart. You’re too . . .” He swallows. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Laughter jolts his body and suddenly I’m wrapped in his soft, rivery scent. “It’s getting cold out here. Let’s head inside. I need to read with you.”

I am a recluse at present & do nothing but write & read & read & write

K. Mansfield, Letter

We finish exams. School’s over.

I keep working on my reading and writing. Like it gives me the power to

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