by Anna Kyss
Comfortable is not how I’d describe it. My body’s hypersensitive, and my mind’s a mess. One half fights not to run away, and the other itches to get even closer.
“Look!” He points to the sky. A dark shape swoops out of the closest tree and glides through the air.
“Bats?” Another swoops down, then a third. Their huge black shadows contrast with the rosy-hued sky. Hundreds more hang upside down from the trees all around, releasing themselves one by one into the approaching night.
Sage nods, but these can’t be normal fruit bats. They’re enormous, far larger than the bats at the Cleveland Zoo. The bats fly away en masse as the sky darkens to lavender. Only one species fits the size and the location. “They must be flying foxes.”
Sage takes his gaze off the bats for a moment and turns to me. “See, I knew you must have read at least one guidebook.”
I shake my head. “I was a wildlife biology major when I was in school.”
“Was?” he asks.
“I dropped out before coming here.”
“Why?” Sage hesitates, as if speaking will break the spell and cause my barriers to come barreling back up.
Bats soar through the air. He couldn’t have known this would be the perfect way to end our day in Sydney. I’m afraid to ruin the moment by bringing up ghosts from my past. “Let’s just watch.”
He turns back to the sky. A moment later, his fingers intertwine with mine. The warmth drives away the last of the memories, until only Sage, the world’s largest bats, and the fragrant smells of the garden remain.
BY THE time we get ready to leave, the sky has darkened and the bats have departed. So have all the other visitors. “Where did everyone go?”
“The park closes after the bat’s performance. We’d better head out.” Sage leads us along the deserted paths. With the sun gone, the night air takes on a slight chill. While it’s probably still warm to most, I’ve always run colder than others. As we near the water, a breeze blows just enough to make me shiver.
Sage begins to wrap his arm around me, but he hesitates. His unspoken question becomes clear: Is this okay?
Instead of responding in words, I nestle closer to him. I’m not ready to admit that his touch is more than okay. It’s freeing.
Not to mention confusing. I don’t want to waste our trip thinking too much about Sage or Robbie. When we return to Susan’s, I’ll sort through my feelings.
Silently, we make our way back toward the Opera House. The city lights reflect off the harbor waters, illuminating the boats with their glow. The entire day has been so wonderful, I want to sigh in disappointment that it’s come to an end. “We better head to the ferries before they stop for the night.”
“Actually.” Sage stops. “I was hoping to do one more thing, if that’s okay with you. We can catch one of the late-night ferries.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Watch that.” Sage points to the Opera House.
Its white, sail-like top has transformed into a series of screens. While the building maintains its same shape, images project onto the sails. A conductor stands in front of a full orchestra. He waves his wand, and sound pours from giant speakers.
“Can we stay?” Sage places his palms together. “Please, please, please!”
How can I resist?
People crowd the lawn around the Opera House. Sage searches for a blanket-sized space then spreads his handy blanket out once more. As soon as I’m sitting, he wraps his arm around me again. I let myself relax into his side, my head resting on his shoulder, as music surrounds us.
“They’re projecting the orchestra that’s playing inside,” he whispers.
“Do you like classical music?”
He shrugs. “It sounds pretty, but I have no idea who’s playing or what song it is. I love the idea of watching anything on an actual building. Whoever thought of that was genius!”
The music does sound pretty. Slow and sad at first, then building to an energetic, vibrant end.
“I’ll be right back. I want to grab something,” Sage says.
Before I can ask where he is going, Sage has taken off. He joins a line for concessions, and the screens draw my attention back. A light show replaces the orchestra. Colorful shapes and lines move to the beat of the music.
Is this what going on a real date feels like? While Sage hasn’t called it that, he’s been extra attentive to my needs and free with his affection. I can’t help but compare today to moments with Robbie, where everything centered on his needs. I love not having the burden of worry. To be free to just enjoy. To be taken care of, instead of always being the caretaker.
Guilt begins to rise, but just as I unzip my backpack for a piece of stationery, Sage sits down. “Just amazing how they put the images to the music so perfectly. Reminds me of that kid’s show I used to watch when I was little. You know, the one with the broomsticks?”
I glance at Sage then zip the pocket. I want tonight to play out without interruptions, guilt, or obligation. “What do you have?”
He hands me a plastic glass filled with a red liquid. When I sniff, the contents become obvious. “Wine?”
“Their house red. I hope it’s okay. Only one thing could top listening to music outside the Sydney Opera House.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Drinking a glass of good wine, next to a beautiful girl, while listening to music outside the Opera House.” He grins at me then holds his glass out.
I hesitate. “I’m not twenty-one. It’s not like I’ve never had a drink, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
He smiles even wider. “You’ve been legal for nearly a year in Australia. Cheers!”
Sage holds his glass out, so I pick mine up and gently bump his before sipping the fragrant red. Sage moves behind me, and I rest against him. His heart thrums beneath my left cheek. Sage plays with a lock of my hair, wrapping it around his finger again and again. The music’s intoxicating, and Sage’s touch has an even bigger effect on me.
After finishing my wine, I’m warm, tingly, and sensitive to every one of Sage’s touches. I cannot stop thinking about the way he kissed me atop the bridge… or how I responded.
Sage remains fixated on the music, the magical show, and the colored lights reflecting off the harbor waters. When the concert finally ends, he helps me up. “Best day ever!”
I only wish he had said, “Best date ever.”
WHEN WE finally make our way off the ferry, I glance in the direction of the water taxis. “Do you think they run this late?”
Sage grabs my hand and tugs in the other direction. “They stopped running two hours ago.”
“What? You knew they closed so early?”
He turns to me, still holding my hand. “I checked with Susan yesterday. These little towns shut down after dark.”
I pull away from him. “How are we going to get back?”
“I hope you’re not mad, but I planned a surprise.”
“Surprise? What about—”
“Susan? She gave us the weekend off. She isn’t expecting us back until Monday.” Sage begins to walk. “Besides, she helped me with the surprise.”
He planned an entire weekend and didn’t even bother telling me. I would have never agreed to stay with Sage for the weekend, which is probably why they didn’t tell me. At least Susan insisted I pack clothes.
I should feel angry, but I’m so relieved our time isn’t going to end. I’m not quite ready to return to my world of loneliness and purple envelopes.
As we leave the blocks of stores behind, the streetlights’ dim glow fades until we’re walking in darkness. Sage pulls a flashlight from the side pocket of his backpack. The strong glow lights the path in front of us, which winds toward the water. “Abby, I hope you aren’t too mad. Seeing the Opera House at nighttime was one of the things on my list.”
“Your list? What list?”
Sage quiets. We hike in silence for the next few minutes. “Don’t you have a list of all the t
hings you want to do and see in the world? Maybe not an actual paper list, but ideas that flow through your head?”
My whole world centered on Robbie for so long, I never took the time to think about my dreams.
“Really?”
He must have seen me shake my head. I would have been more careful if I knew the darkness wouldn’t hide me.
“So coming here wasn’t fulfilling some lifelong dream?”
“No. I just needed to leave. The destination wasn’t important.” I breathe—long and deep—three times. We are treading dangerous waters here. I don’t want to sink.
“My little Wander.” He runs his hand through my hair. “Wandering away from her past.”
“Sage,” I whisper.
Sage switches the serious for the whimsical. “I had a wanderful time exploring Sydney with you.”
I can’t help but giggle. “Feeling corny, are we?”
As we round the corner, the path leads to a grassy knoll overlooking the water. The tree cover is sparse here, allowing the moonlight to shine down on the little clearing. Immediately in front of us is a fire pit, already filled with logs and kindling. Sage searches through his backpack then strikes a match to the kindling. He slowly breathes into the sparks until they grow into dancing flames. As the firelight illuminates the clearing, a tent becomes visible in the distance.
“We’re camping?” I have never camped before. My parents were more comfortable in fancy four-star hotels. My friends went on a few camping trips in high school, but I always stayed behind with Robbie. Since Robbie couldn’t camp, I chose not to.
He watches for my reaction. “Are you excited?”
“Surprised. How did you set this all up?”
“Susan lent me her tent and a few sleeping bags. She also drew a map of how to find this spot.”
I settle onto a fallen tree, which serves as a bench along the fire pit. “I’ve never been camping before.”
“Never?” Sage’s leg brushes mine as he sits next to me.
I shake my head.
“Never ever? And camping isn’t on your list?”
“We already talked about how I don’t have a list.” I’m not ready to get into the questions that are sure to follow. The moonlight shines upon the tiny waves that lap against the cliff. From this high up, it’s difficult to see the water clearly, but the waves gently churn. “It’s beautiful up here.”
“Sure is.” He traces one finger along my hairline, down my cheek, and under my chin. “Simply wanderous.”
I sigh with disappointment when his finger leaves my skin. I want him to touch me more. At the same time, I want to run back to the safety of my isolation. “If you keep using that nickname, I’ll have to come up with one of my own.”
He grins. “Try your worst.”
“Well, if I’m Wander, then you must be Roam. Roaming as far away as you can to avoid your future.”
Sage wraps his arm around me. Between the heat of the fire and his body, the summer night’s chill dissipates. “We make a fine team,” he whispers in my ear. “Wander and Roam.”
I try to ignore the tingle that runs from my ear down my neck. “It sounds like the type of song my grandparents listened to back in the day. An old sixties song.”
Sage grabs a long, skinny log from the woodpile and pretends to strum it. “Don’t wander away,” he sings. “I want you to stay.”
I find two long sticks and rhythmically pound them against a log.
“No matter where I roam,” he calls, “you feel like home.”
We sing and make silly jokes until the logs have burnt to ashes. The lower the flames grow, the more nervously I look at the tent. I wonder what Sage is expecting tonight.
“Are you ready to lie down? We have a busy day tomorrow.” Sage picks up a bucket of dirt. Before he can dump it on the smoldering embers, I grab his arm.
“Sage, I’m not sure…” I glance at the tent. “I’m not quite ready to…”
“What?” His eyes widen after a moment. “Oh, I didn’t mean for you to think... We can sleep on completely opposite sides, if you want.”
“Maybe not that far away.” I can’t even meet his gaze.
I must be completely confusing him. Heck, I’m confusing myself. I want to run from his touch, but at the same time, I yearn for it. Tonight, I don’t want to sleep alone, but I’m not quite ready for more.
“Can we snuggle?” I ask.
Sage dumps the dirt then leads me into the tent. “I am the biggest snuggle-monster.”
He pulls our sleeping bags together, unzipping and re-zipping until they form a single bag. We climb into the cozy shell, my back to his front. Sage rests one hand on my belly and the other on my arm. His soft exhales blow onto my neck, sending tingles in their wake.
I drift into the warmest, safest sleep I have had. Not once does Robbie haunt my dreams.
WHEN I open my eyes, Sage is nowhere to be found. Maybe his absence is a blessing, because I have no idea how to treat him after yesterday. Groggily, I unzip the tent and stumble out into the already warm morning.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Sage hands me a tin cup full of steaming coffee. “Two sugars, no cream, if I remember right.”
He actually took the time to memorize my coffee likes. To hide my smile, I raise the cup and sip. The hot liquid nearly scalds my mouth.
“Careful, I plan on using those later.” He traces my lips with one finger. “Try not to burn them.”
I stare down into the swirling blackness. The memory of his touch lingers on my bottom lip. Sage’s bold words make me want to flee, but thoughts of yesterday stop me. For the first time in months, my loneliness disappeared for twenty-four straight hours. Instead of sitting around and pitying myself, focused entirely on the past, I took time to enjoy life in the present.
“Did you have fun yesterday?” Sage fiddles with a pan on top of the camp stove.
I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. “I… I did.”
“You sound surprised.”
“It’s been a long time since…” I don’t know how to finish. Thankfully, he’s still cooking so I have space while I figure out how much I want to share. “Since I let myself enjoy life.”
Something sizzles on the stove. He stirs the pan then sets down his spoon. “Abby, this is more serious than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not allowing yourself to relish life is a tragedy.” He resumes cooking. “I mean, each and every day should be cherished, but if that’s too hard, at least give yourself today.”
“What’s special about today?”
“We have the entire day to ourselves. One whole day to focus on enjoyment.” He winks.
While part of me is relieved the flirting will continue, I don’t know how to respond. Luckily, I don’t need to, because Sage sets a tin plate upon my lap. Thick slices of Susan’s bread lie slathered in dark pink jam. Something resembling scrambled eggs rests next to the bread.
“Is this our jam?” I ask.
“Susan packed a jar for us.”
I take a bite of the scrambled stuff. Ugh, definitely not eggs. I try to keep my face neutral, but my nose scrunches despite my efforts.
Sage laughs. “I made a tofu scramble. It’s filled with all sorts of garden veggies and herbs.”
“What makes it egg-colored?”
“A sprinkle of turmeric.”
I pick out the veggies I can identify. A slice of zucchini, a spinach leaf.
“Try it. It’s super rich in protein and nutrients, and you’ll need the energy on our hike today.”
“Our hike?” He must have the whole weekend planned. Since staying busy helped yesterday, I can’t get too upset. If I could keep thoughts of Robbie at bay the entire weekend, that would be a first.
Maybe I will give myself today. An entire day, without the burdens and binds of my past, sounds so tempting.
“Do you mind if we visit the beaches today?” Sage balances his plate upon his
knee while placing his hands together in a pleading motion. “Please, please, please.”
“Sure.” As I told him before, I planned nothing for this trip. I probably would’ve never even gone into downtown Sydney if it weren’t for Sage’s eagerness. “Do the beaches have something to do with your list?”
“Maybe.” He looks toward the ocean. “The beaches around here are supposed to be some of the best in the world.”
“If we’re going to the beach, why did you mention hiking?”
Sage’s eyes light up. “There’s this trail that runs along the ocean. You can stop at each of the beaches along the way.”
“So we’re going beach-hopping?” I’m so glad Susan suggested I pack my suit.
“You can be the first to change. I’ll clean up.” Sage gathers the dishes then throws dirt on the smoldering coals.
Inside the tent, I dig my bikini out of the bottom of my backpack. I can’t remember the last time I went swimming. Maybe my freshman year. My freshman year of high school, that is.
After changing, I pack what I’ll need for the day then sit by the still-warm ashes of the fire.
“I’ll just be a minute.” Sage disappears inside the tent.
He has done everything for our trip: made the arrangements, prepared the meals, set up the campsite. I open the cooler and fix our lunches, but the five-minute lunch prep isn’t nearly enough contribution. When Sage unzips the tent and steps back into the sunshine, I throw my arms around him. For a long, silent moment, I press myself to him, resting my forehead against his chest.
“What—?”
I raise one finger to his lips. “Thank you. For the camping, for the trip-planning, for everything.”
“No thanks for the scrambled tofu?” He winks before moving out of my embrace. Before he leaves my side, though, he entwines my fingers in his. “Let’s check out Bondi.”
Hours later, our fingers are still connected. As we float on our backs in the buoyant Bondi waters, we never separate.
Sage pulls me closer until we tread the water, face-to-face. He kisses each salty drop off my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, and my lips. I finally untangle our fingers only to wrap my arm around his neck.
