Fin & Rye & Fireflies

by Harry Cook

“You don’t need to apologise for him.”

  “No, I do. He never will, so I definitely should.”

  “It’s . . . Honestly, it’s not your apology to make. It’s cool,” I say, though I feel bad that he thinks he even has to. I don’t get why guys as awesome as Rye would ever go for guys as awful as Eric. He’s buff, sure, but still it baffles me.

  “Well, just for the record, I think it was awesome how comfortable you were with saying you’re gay during that cringe-fest at the diner.”

  I laugh. “Are you serious? I was terrified.”

  “In that case then, you’re a great actor.”

  “I’m not. I think I just went into shock.”

  Rye giggles.

  “I’m more impressed at how you don’t give a toss what anyone thinks of you,” I say. “I wish I had a sprinkle of that.”

  “Oh no. Nope. It’s all an illusion. Deep down I’m a hot mess.”

  “I highly doubt it. Well, not the hot part,” I say. I’m feeling a surge of adrenaline that is a mixture of nerves and a pinch of anger. I hate that Eric assumes he can get away with being a dick and Rye is such a decent person that he feels he needs to make amends on Eric’s behalf. It’s gross.

  Rye is quiet again.

  “Sorry. I was just being dumb,” I say.

  “No, it’s not. I was just . . . Never mind.”

  “No, go on,” I say, holding my breath a little.

  “You’re sweet, Fin.”

  My cheeks blaze and I’m tipped back to my extremely shy self.

  “Thanks,” Rye says. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “Anytime,” I say.

  We both hang up and I stare blankly at my screen for a while.

  I turn over and plug my phone in next to my bed and when I turn back around Dad is staring at me through the loft hatch.

  “Who was that?” he asks.

  He has no discernible expression on his face and I can’t help but be unnerved by the monotone way he’s speaking.

  “Poppy,” I say, fully aware that my best attempt at sounding nonchalant is failing miserably.

  He clearly doesn’t buy it. We stare at each other for what feels like an hour.

  “Why do you do this, Fin?”

  I start to object, but he holds his hand up to silence me and shakes his head.

  “If we find out you are back to your old ways, we will have no choice but to find someone who can help you with this destructive and unhealthy phase you’re going through. This is not a life you want, Fin,” he says, looking strangely furious and concerned all at once.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, my heart thumping through my T-shirt.

  “You know exactly what it means,” Dad says, making his way back down the ladder.

  I lie staring at the ceiling for a while. I’m trying not to let my thoughts overwhelm me when my phone buzzes and the blue light from the screen illuminates the room.

  Rye: Goodnight Fin x

  The x might as well be bold, italicised, underlined and drawn in actual exploding fireworks because it’s all I’m looking at. Goodnight kiss. Even though we’d only just said goodnight less than ten minutes ago he wanted to message me again. My stomach is buzzing like a lunatic and I text back.

  Me: Night Rye x

  13

  Rye

  It’s a relief to make it to the end of the week. It’s Saturday morning and I leave Thelma snoring on her bed in my room and head to the kitchen. Mum is making cinnamon porridge and berries. It smells delicious and I practically inhale my bowl and immediately go for a second helping.

  “How you feeling, hun?” Mum asks as she pours us both some coffee.

  “Meh,” I say.

  “It’s Saturday, which means that is not allowed.”

  “Meh is always allowed. Like coffee.”

  “Coffee and meh should never be used in the same sentence,” Mum says, adding a spoon of sugar to mine and some almond milk to hers. “How’s Eric?” She hasn’t asked me about him for a couple of days – obviously giving me space – and her tone is carefully casual.

  I shrug.

  “I thought I heard you talking to the other night?”

  “Mum, were you eavesdropping?”

  “Me? Dropping of eaves? How very dare you.”

  “Well, no. It was . . . someone else.”

  Mum’s eyes light up like she’s just hit the jackpot on the slots.

  “Nope. No, Mum. Don’t go there,” I say, standing to leave. Mum grabs my arm and wheels me back to my seat.

  “Spill.”

  I take a deep breath. “Fin. New friend at school. Just moved here from Pittford.”

  “And you and him are . . . close? I take it?”

  “Um . . . No. I’ve known him for, like, five days. We’re friends and I was bored so I gave him a friendly call and we had a friendly chat,” I say.

  Mum gives me this sarcastic look that says, Oh right I totally believe you, and then she lets me tidy up the kitchen.

  The sun seems to be trying to make an appearance outside and, apart from a few grey clouds and a chilly wind, it looks like a pretty nice day. I check my phone and realise I have three missed calls from Eric. I call him back and head to the front porch where Thelma is curled in a chunky ball at the top of the steps.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, I’ve been calling you.”

  “Sorry, I was just with Mum,” I say, taking a seat at the top of the steps and letting Thelma rest her head on my lap. I don’t have the energy to point out that he hasn’t called me or replied to my messages for days. I know it’s pathetic, but I’m so happy to hear from him.

  “Look, Rye, I’m sorry about our anniversary night.”

  “It’s okay. We can do something some other –”

  “No, it’s not okay. I’m a dick for bailing out on you last minute like that. The whole two-month-anniversary thing was my idea to begin with –”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  We’re quiet for a moment. I don’t really know what to say, I’m all out of energy.

  “My friend Dan is having a party tonight. Will you go with me?”

  He sounds sweet and genuine and I want more than anything for him to show me how much I mean to him.

  “Um . . . Yeah,” I start, taking a moment to be sure. “No, yeah, that sounds fun.”

  “Great,” he says. “You’re the best, Rye.”

  “Nah, not even close,” I say, but it doesn’t take much for my heart to flutter erratically when it comes to Eric.

  “I’ll pick you up at six, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, smiling as I end the call.

  I turn and head back inside. I don’t even realise I’m smiling until Mum gives me a funny look.

  “That your friend Fin?”

  “What?” I ask, baffled. “Oh . . . I – No, it was Eric. He, um . . . He’s taking me out tonight to make up for the anniversary non-dinner,” I say, speaking quickly to get the conversation over and done with.

  Mum just nods before turning back to the kitchen counter and putting the kettle on.

  *

  By mid-morning the clouds are nearly all gone, so I grab my fishing rod, saddle Thelma up in her leash and head for the wharf.

  My pride and joy, the S.S. Buoyancé, is my tiny tin boat with oars. One of Mum’s friends she gives tarot readings to was going to sell it for scrap metal last Christmas, but Mum offered to buy it off of him in exchange for free readings for three months. It is by far the greatest gift I have ever received and one I’ll never stop being grateful for.

  Thelma wiggles and gets comfy on the bed I’ve made her underneath the bow and I push off from the wharf and start rowing.

  The mist on the surface of the water reminds me of those old black and white horror movies and when I cast my line out I half imagine that I’m about to pull in the creature from the black lagoon.

  I sit and watch my line bob up and down in the water and Thelma starts snoring. I swear tha
t dog could sleep and dribble her way through the apocalypse.

  I’m trying as hard as I can not to overthink everything with Eric and simply be grateful that he’s making it up to me tonight, but the harder I try the more my mind buzzes. I guess I just feel like I’m chasing someone who doesn’t particularly want to be chased. I’m a massive sucker for a love story and I can’t help but feel like I’m more of a booty call than a happy-ever-after for Eric. I dunno. Maybe tonight he’ll change my mind. Then again, maybe Thelma will learn to play bass and we will start a band. Both scenarios seem highly unlikely.

  The line goes tight and I reel it in. A clump of seaweed dangles from the end of the rod and I untangle it.

  “Maybe I’m just being way too sensitive,” I suggest to Thelma, who rolls over onto her back and lets the soft sun that’s starting to appear warm her belly.

  As usual I catch absolutely zero fish and after an hour or so I head back in. It’s the intention that counts – that’s what Mum says.

  Thelma wakes up from her nap and waddles off the boat and up the wharf towards home. When we walk through the front door Mum is sitting on Carl’s lap and they’re giggling like school kids.

  “Gross,” I say, making a beeline for my bedroom and kicking off my sneakers.

  I get myself comfy on my bed and scroll through Tumblr on my laptop for a bit when a Skype call from June interrupts my reblogging of a screenshot of a young Rock Hudson in Pillow Talk.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey, whatcha doing?”

  “Just went fishing and now avoiding Mum and Carl who are fondling in the dining room by getting stuck down a Tumblr hole.”

  “Fun. Hey, so I have something I need to ask you.” June looks nervous, which is weird for her.

  “Shoot.”

  “Okay . . .” She just sits there.

  “Are you . . . going to say something?”

  “I’m working on it,” she says.

  I wait.

  “So . . . remember before Halloween when Poppy got all weird when you asked if her and me would ever get back together?”

  I nod. It was probably the most awkward fifteen seconds of my life. I only suggested it because I was feeling all upbeat and giggly at some party we were at (yes, some vodka was involved), and besides, I’ve always thought their on-again off-again relationship works out that way because they’re both too stubborn to ever admit they’re in the wrong. Poppy is openly pan and has confided multiple times to me that she truly believes June is the love of her life, but this past breakup has lasted six months and when I mentioned them getting back together Poppy just sort of sat there looking at me like I’d thrown my drink over her. She finally smiled and quickly changed the subject to something irrelevant and weird like how they get the chocolate to stay soft on the inside and hard on the outside of those Lindt chocolate balls.

  “Well, after her and Fin left my place on Halloween, I thought we were all good, so I sent her a message asking if she wanted to see a movie this weekend just the two of us – totally as friends – and she never replied. Then today she barely said a word to me. And yes, she’s seen the message.”

  “I’m sorry, June,” I say. I feel awful. Me and my big, dumb, stupid mouth.

  “Oh my god, NO. This wasn’t some kind of attack at you. It’s weird because she’s not being, like, weird enough for me to question anything. Surface level, she seems all good . . . I was just . . . I dunno, I was wondering if she’d mentioned anything to you?”

  She looks at me like I’m holding the Powerball numbers in my hand.

  “No, but I can talk to her if you want?”

  “You would?” June asks.

  “Of course.”

  She smiles.

  “We all know how tricky Poppy can be, but she’s got a great heart,” I say, distracted by attempting to pluck one of my nose hairs out – I know, gross, sorry.

  “How’s Eric?”

  “He’s good,” I say with my best cheesy grin.

  June sees right through it. “Rye,” she says and just gives me this look that makes me know there’s no judgement. That I can talk to her if I want.

  I swear, June is one of the best human beings I’ve ever known. Period. Her parents adopted her from India when she was a few weeks old and she knew who she was from as early as second grade. By fourth grade she’d chosen her name. From then on, we were to call her June, because it was her favourite month of the year. I can only imagine what it must be like to be trans and a person of colour in a world that is so full of people like Paisley and Bronwyn, a world so deliberately cruel and ignorant; yet June proves that regardless of the bin fire that society can be, she’s still an absolute badass legend. Her parents are amazing, they’re so on side with her, which obviously helps, but I’ve always been so floored at how strong she is. She genuinely takes no prisoners at all. Girl boss personified.

  “Okay, so the other night Eric bailed on me for our anniversary thing.”

  June rolls her eyes like she knew that was coming.

  “But I guess it’s only two months. I was making a big deal out of nothing and –”

  “No, Rye. You don’t get to do that. It wouldn’t matter if it were two days. You guys had plans and he ditched you last minute. That’s not cool.”

  “Yeah, but I am like crazy clingy and –”

  “Wait, hold up a second. Why is liking someone a bad thing? When did the honeymoon period become irrelevant? This is supposed to be the fun bit.”

  There’s no answer when she makes solid points like that.

  “I guess he’s taking me out tonight, so he’s trying to fix it.” I shrug.

  June smiles. “Well, just know that I’ll kick his ass if he hurts you, Rye-bread,” she says, still smiling, though I’m pretty sure she’s being deadly serious.

  “What would I do without you, June-bug?” I roll over and cuddle up with Thelma.

  Saturdays are for fishing, food and naps. Naps most importantly. I am the Mayor of Nap Town. The King of Nap Nation. I love naps so much and the weather today is perfect for one. I let Thelma snuggle up next to me and put a blanket half on my legs and half not and then we doze off together.

  When I wake up Thelma is drooling over my arm and snoring like she hasn’t slept in weeks. I wipe my eyes and check my phone: 5:03 p.m. Eric is picking me up in less than an hour, so I get showered, put some salt spray in my hair to give it that “I’m not bothered how I look, but secretly please like it” vibe and then throw on my super skinny jeans, a plain white tee and my denim jacket. I wipe the stale remnants of the sample Chanel on my neck and wrists. I feel pretty cool.

  “Rye, you look like a movie star,” Mum says as I grab the water pitcher from the fridge. Carl is gone so we can have a proper conversation without me worrying about interrupting the love birds in their love nest. “But one of those indie movie stars who wins all the awards.” She gives me a hug and I can’t help but reciprocate.

  “Thanks,” I say and take a swig of water. “How’s Carl?”

  “He’s good. He thinks you hate him.”

  I roll my eyes. Here we go.

  “Why would I hate Carl? I don’t really know the guy.”

  “That could have something to do with it.”

  “I would try to get to know him, but he doesn’t detach himself from your side long enough to have a conversation.” Mum starts to say something, but I go on. “And I’m not going to chat about the weather with him while you’re sitting on his lap. Sorry,” I say, putting my hands up.

  “Okay. Fair,” Mum says. “Less PDA. Understandable.”

  “Deal.”

  “So, where’s the party tonight?” Mum asks.

  “Over on Sweetzer. The big one.”

  “There is no big one on Sweetzer. They’re all mansions. The garage of number hundred and two is bigger than this entire house.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t have us living in there so I bet it’s a miserable hovel,” I say, smiling and giving her a cheesy hi
gh-five. “See you later.”

  “Back no later than midnight,” Mum calls out after me.

  “But what if I wanted to have an orgy? In a hot tub? It would be silly to come home at midnight and miss out on a hot tub orgy . . . I’d never be able to get to sleep,” I yell.

  “Not funny. Not one bit,” Mum calls back, but I can tell she’s giggling to herself.

  I check my phone. Eric hasn’t messaged to cancel so that’s a good sign so far. As I’m about to put my phone away it buzzes and a message appears.

  Poppy: A birdie told me you have plans – have fun tonight :)

  14

  Rye

  The sky is deep purple, the sun barely clinging to the horizon. I inhale a big gulp of briny air and stuff my hands in my pockets and sit on the porch steps.

  I’m glad Poppy texted; it feels like she’s being genuine and I appreciate it. Nothing worse than trying to juggle your friends and who you’re dating. I send her a GIF of Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids saying “I’m ready to partayyyy”.

  And then there’s the honk of a car horn from down the street.

  Eric pulls up and almost mounts the kerb in his dad’s Mercedes. The car looks like a transformer and I have the feeling it’s worth more than our house and all its contents put together.

  I wave sheepishly and he cocks his head for me to get in. I make my way over and open the door. I’m hit by that new car smell and everything looks like it’s been polished.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Eric says as he leans over and kisses me hard on the mouth.

  I smile awkwardly.

  “Ready?” he asks, and I give him a thumbs-up then feel dumb for doing it.

  We drive for fifteen minutes barely talking as the speakers blast his techno music; I’ve never heard of any of it. He’s wearing an extremely tight polo shirt, jeans and smells of some expensive cologne he probably has bottles of stashed away at home. Eric’s family is loaded, his dad the CEO of Albright Bank and his mum is some mining dynasty heiress. Weirdly enough, I don’t find it impressive at all. I liked Eric at first because he was so passionately into me. I’d never known what it was like to be adored and he wanted to constantly be with me. Perhaps he thought he was rescuing me from my un-glam life. When I didn’t want to go all the way he backed off entirely and now I don’t really know where we are or what our future together looks like. If there is a future, even.