‘Don’t ask me. Everything feels hard.’
‘This doesn’t.’
‘This?’ I gesture at the poky laundry, his dirty jeans, the glass of water. ‘This feels good to you?’
He laughs. ‘Nah. Just this.’ He edges closer to me. ‘You smell like an island.’
I try not to smile. I hate how he makes me smile, especially when he shouldn’t.
‘So what happened with you two?’ I ask. ‘I know the distance blows, but I thought it was going okay?’
Milo shakes his head.
‘Come on, you don’t know it’s over for sure. Anything’s possible.’
‘Nah.’
I tilt his chin up so we’re eye to eye. ‘You might forget this by tomorrow, but I’m going to tell you anyway. You are making your life suck right now by sitting around freaking out about how your life sucks.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. Anyway … that’s enough tough love. Drink more water. Please.’
‘Stop saying stuff like you know what’s going on with me.’
I clench my fists to stop myself from shaking him.
‘I do know what’s going on, Milo Dark, which is why I know you’re horrible with change, but the sooner you realise things change whether you want them to or not, the better.’ I pause, fighting the tightness building in my body, running higher up my chest and around my neck, into my throat, down my arms. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to harden up and get on with it. Move on.’
I’m not sure if I’m even still talking about Milo.
Then he does something I’m not expecting. He laughs.
‘Damn, you’re right. I hate that you’re right. So … so do you think we should be broken up?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You said the thing about getting on with it … and moving on. You said those words.’ He licks his top lip, so I press the water to his mouth. He takes the glass. ‘Why do you like him, Lay?’
‘Huh?’
‘Or love him? I dunno. I forget his name.’ Milo’s voice is barely a murmur now. ‘Your boyfriend. You never talk about him. You never bring him up.’
My jaw tightens. ‘Maybe you should go, sleep this off. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, okay. You know … you’re the best, Lay, you are. I’d be going crazy in Durnan without you here.’
‘Crazier than this?’
He inches closer and folds his hand against mine. My hand with its chipped nail polish and fingernails chewed down to the quick; his, pale and bigger, rougher than I’d imagined, though his touch is still gentle.
The room is so cloaked in night that I question if this is even real. Has my brain short-circuited and I’m playing out what shouldn’t happen? What can’t happen. What I think I want to happen.
I wonder if Milo is taking in everything I’m taking in — the smoothness of the back of my hand, my quickening breath, the sudden silence deafening the space between us.
I turn to face him. ‘MD …’
His fingers trace my jawline. He’s still gentle, cautious … it’s like being brushed over with a feather.
It’s my turn to whisper. ‘What are you doing? And don’t say “I don’t know”. You know.’
‘I don’t know.’
He wraps an arm around me, pulling me towards him like he did on the side of the highway. I hesitate before giving in and resting my head on his chest. His fingertips run up and down my arm, drawing invisible zigzags and loop-the-loops. I’m suddenly aware of every millimetre of my uncovered skin; every curve and arch and freckle. Yet my body is relaxed into his. He feels warm, like home. I nuzzle closer as he strokes my skin and holds me tight.
Damp hair tumbling onto my shoulders, I dare to look up. He’s already looking down at me. My lips are centimetres from his chin. I’m frozen, imagining what might happen if I lean just that little bit further. I picture him outlining my mouth with his thumb, then dragging me in closer, our bodies surging against each other. His hands on my body, my hands on his, skin on skin, warm flesh pressing against the cold tiles.
He’s slid closer.
Or I have.
Everything has slowed down.
I can feel his heart pounding through his chest. I wonder if he can feel mine.
I push myself up.
Our lips graze and I taste him.
I’m not sure who pulls away first but the kiss is over in seconds. Maybe we broke apart together. We don’t say a word but we’re still charged, like there’s electricity pulsating between us.
‘What was that?’ he murmurs.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, stealing his line.
‘I’ve thought about kissing you for so long.’
I stay quiet, too scared of every thought pumping through my head right now. Especially the one that says I’m not ready for it to be over.
If we held back before, things move fast now. Too fast to think. Without speaking, I climb onto his lap so we’re face to face. His mouth falls open, startled for a second, but then his hands quickly find my skin. I tighten my legs around his waist as I kiss him, slowly then deeper, then edge my hips up and push myself closer to him.
‘Jesus,’ he mutters, his voice low and rough, then he cups my face with his palms and kisses me hard.
It feels right, like we’ve been wasting time not doing this. When we pull apart, my toes still tingle, my skin is still hot.
Milo sits there, legs splayed, jaw slackened. Giddy.
‘Lay …’
Hearing him say my name jolts me back to reality. I’m alone on the laundry floor with my childhood friend. And I have a boyfriend. A complicated boyfriend, but one who’s been there for me in the past even if he’s forgetting how to be there for me now. Yet somehow, tonight in that moment, Milo Dark made me forget I have a boyfriend. I am the worst person in the world.
I slide back onto the tiles and shove a damp strand of hair behind my ear.
Milo hangs his head. ‘This is … I don’t know what this is.’
I nod.
‘Lay, that was …’ He shakes his head. ‘Shit. I don’t want things to be weird.’
‘Don’t be weird then,’ I say, trying to convince myself as I pull him to his feet.
I stumble forward and he catches me. We wobble together. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. I look up. My eyes linger at the sight of him chewing his bottom lip.
‘Fine, it’s already weird,’ I say. His hands are still wrapped around me, resting on my lower back. I reach behind, unlace them and let go. They hang loosely by his body. ‘It doesn’t have to be though. You were drinking, I was drinking, you were upset, I was upset, you were —’
‘Wait, you were upset? Why?’
Milo has no idea how much harder he’s making this.
‘MD, we’ve known each other forever, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And this was like five minutes of weird. Tops.’
‘Tops.’
‘And five minutes divided by eighteen years multiplied by one hundred equals …’ I pause. ‘I have no idea what it equals, but the point is — tonight is a minuscule amount of time in our otherwise long and boring lives together. I say we stop talking about this and we reboot. And we never tell anyone. Deal?’
‘Deal.’ His hand brushes mine, just hovering there until he pulls it away. ‘You have a boyfriend. Jesus. A boyfriend. I’m such an arsehole.’
‘No, I am. But me and Kurt are breaking up.’
‘What?’ Milo’s jaw drops. ‘’Cos of this?’
‘No. It doesn’t matter why — it’s just another thing I need to sort out … but I am. I’m ending it.’ My voice trails off. ‘Just focus for a sec, okay? You and me, right now. We’re friends above everything else. Friends. You’ve known me my whole life, and I don’t want to lose you, so promise me it won’t change. We’re mates.’
Milo’s lips are near mine. He could kiss me again but he just nods.
* * *
Layla: Get home safe?
<
br /> Layla: You okay?
Layla: Seriously nothing?
* * *
Layla: Dude!
Milo: Sorry, been busy. Yeah, got home. How are you?
Layla: Figured, it was days ago. What’s on this week?
Milo: Not much, work and stuff
Layla: Wanna hang sometime soon?
Milo: Sorry, can’t, still grounded
Layla: OK, let me know when you’re free
Milo
I trail behind Trent, who trails behind Dad, who powers ahead, calves hardening, on his mission through the hardware store. I catch a look at our reflections in a mirror for sale: a line of progressively dissatisfied Darks. A terrifying glimpse at my gene pool. My future.
No. Please, no.
I suggested waiting for them out the front, conveniently close to the sausage sizzle, but Dad insisted we stay together, turn off our phones and ‘enjoy the moment’, so Trent and I endure his search for the perfect pair of secateurs. It’s all part of my punishment that’ll probably last an eternity.
Dad proves his disappointment in me by expertly weaving snarky comments through his gardening jargon and self-help talk.
A dig at me for not considering Mum’s suggestion to study computer science.
A comment about how Bill Burton’s twins are getting high distinctions at uni.
An aside about how Jermaine Wright’s son — ‘who was in Trent’s year, remember, boys?’ — is close to making his first million in his start-up business.
Every time Dad says something, Trent shoots me a look, fighting back laughter while silently screaming with his eyes.
For Dad, flooding us with ‘kids done good’ examples is a group-bonding exercise equivalent to high-fiving each other as we stand on hot coals together at a motivational-speaking conference.
Right now, throwing myself on scorching ashes sounds preferable to listening to Dad asking the sales girl to explain the differences between the anvil, bypass and parrot-beak secateurs for the forty-seventh time.
‘The boys’ll be starting at Rizza’s without me,’ Trent mutters. ‘You being grounded is nothing compared to this nightmare.’
I pull out my phone to reread the texts from Layla, keeping one eye on Dad as he strides to the checkout. I haven’t seen her since the other night, and I’m still filled with enough guilt to flood the river — despite her letting slip about her supposed imminent break-up with Kurt. I’m not the guy who kisses girls with boyfriends. Yet that’s exactly who I am. Because when Layla pressed her lips against mine, I gave in to it — to her — within seconds and somehow managed to stifle the roaring of she’s taken in my brain. Not only that, she’s my oldest mate — the only real mate I have left in Durnan now everyone else has bailed. If I blow it any more, I’ll complete my gradual downward spiral into Nigel-No-Friends territory. She wants us to be friends, that’s it. Which should be easy ’cos it’s what we’ve always been. But friends don’t kiss each other the way we did … do they?
‘Oi,’ Trent whispers, trying to check out my phone. ‘Whose Insta photos are you creeping on?’
‘Piss off.’
Dad’s fake laugh interrupts us — the loud, bellowing chuckle he saves for impressing people — so I slide my phone back into my pocket for later. Ever since he got into the self-help stuff, we’ve heard that laugh so much I’m considering earplugs.
Secateurs in hand, Dad waves for us to follow him into the car park. He charges ahead, arms propelling him forward. This time, Trent and I trail behind together.
‘When did he get like this?’ I mutter, watching him wave at every second person like a cheesy salesman. His energy might be impressive if it wasn’t so annoying to be on the receiving end. ‘And all that stuff about other people’s kids — it’s like, we get it. We suck. It’s not like I don’t want to do anything. Yeah, it’s taking me a while to sort it out, but … damn.’
Trent scoffs. ‘He’s always been like this. You’re just not used to him seeing you like he sees me.’
‘Meaning?’
‘No big plans, no degree or career goals, no girlfriend to bring round for dinner, too much mucking up — you’re a no-hoper in his eyes now. Dad wants kids he can brag about.’
He notices my steely look.
‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, bro, thought you knew.’ He shrugs. ‘It ain’t too bad once you get used to it. He learns to expect less, then you’re free to float along.’
No-hoper. Expect less. Float along. The Trent Dark way. I mull over Trent’s words on the walk back to the car. We’ve always been different, everyone says it: Mum and Dad, teachers, friends, even Sal noticed. Yet somehow, despite going down different paths, we’ve ended up at the same destination: Loserville.
Trent claims the back seat so I’m forced to sit up front.
Dad buckles his seatbelt and readjusts the rear-view mirror. ‘That went well, don’t you think?’
Trent clears his throat. I try not to laugh.
‘Now, Milo,’ Dad goes on, ‘turns out the girl at the checkout is related to one of the sponsors I met at the races. She loves her job — loves it — and reckons she’d be able to get you in there if you were keen for a second casual job. Whaddya say?’
Trust Dad to turn an innocent trip to the hardware store into a chance to rescue his poor directionless son.
Trent chuckles from the back seat. Luckily Dad is concentrating on reversing out so he can’t see the corner of my mouth twitching. It’s all so ridiculous.
‘Milo, you hear me?’ he asks as we head out of the car park.
‘Ah, yeah, maybe.’
‘Bloody hell, Milo, I’m serving it up for you. You should say thank you.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ I stare out the windscreen. ‘I’ll have a think. I’m already working heaps.’
‘These are important foundations I’m trying to lay down for your future. Me. Don’t forget that.’
Trent snickers. ‘Yes, Milo, don’t forget those important foundations.’
‘Watch it,’ Dad says, eyes narrowing in the rear-view mirror.
Trent apologises, fake as anything, but Dad buys it.
When Trent announces he wants to be dropped off to see his mates, I wait for Dad to tell him no, but he simply grunts. Trent flops back in his seat satisfied, like he’s proved his point. Maybe Dad has given up on him and I’m still a project with potential, at least while I haven’t completely stuffed it. I wonder if it’s possible to throw myself out of the car after Trent without Dad noticing.
We drive for a few blocks, listening to the sound of Trent tapping on his thighs.
‘Turn left here, Dad, Rizza’s place is above the pharmacy,’ he says. ‘Sweet, there’s a park there — yeah, right there!’
In front of Joe’s Charcoal Chicken Shop — Layla’s work.
As Dad eases into the car spot, I can see two girls behind the counter, neither of them her. Thank you, world.
Trent sniggers. ‘Hungry, Milo? You could get yourself some wings and chips. Hang on, you’re more of a breast man, right?’
Dick.
‘Actually,’ he adds, ‘you look kinda thirsty.’ He’s straining so hard to repress laughter that his face looks like it might split in half. He jumps out of the car, then looks back in so we’re eye to eye. ‘Pretty sure the chicken shop’s got something that’ll quench that thirst, bro. Catch yas.’ He throws me a little wave as he walks off.
Dad unbuckles his seatbelt. ‘Are you thirsty? I can grab you something.’
Jesus. ‘No. Not thirsty. Thanks, Dad.’
‘About your mum’s suggestion,’ he starts, then clears his throat. ‘Computer science could really be something for you. Emma Hui’s daughter does something with computers and now she runs her own business.’
Here we go again.
‘Yeah, I’ve looked at a few unis, Dad.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘And?’
‘It looks okay, I guess. You can start in semester two, but I don’t want to r
ush into —’
‘Semester two! There we go!’ He slaps the steering wheel as though it’s decided. ‘Brilliant. Computers! Whaddya say?’ Before I can answer, he looks over my shoulder, distracted by a young guy walking past in a suit. ‘Hey, look, is that Peter Newbins? I think they’ve brought him on to try to sell the Robinsons’ place. He’s a real goer.’
‘Dad, c’mon. Leave it alone.’
He thrusts a five-dollar note into my hand. ‘Go grab yourself a mineral water. Actually, grab me one too. I’m thirsty after all that computer talk.’
Thirsty. I’m going to kill Trent. And Dad. And then myself.
Dad gets out of the car, slicks down his hair and chases after Peter Newbins with the gracefulness of a giraffe. Hope Pete has earplugs stashed in his trouser pocket.
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I look into Joe’s from the passenger seat. Still no sign of Layla.
I get out of the car and cross the pavement until I’m close to the entrance. It’s simple: get in, get the drinks, get out. But, heart thumping, I panic and make a last-minute detour to the right and find myself staring into the window of the travel agency.
An agent spots me and stands up, gesturing for me to come inside. I mouth ‘Just looking’, as though this has always been my plan, and scope out the flights with such gusto anyone would think I’m being paid to do it. My brow even furrows in concentration as I pretend to take it all in.
Italy.
Bali.
London.
Fiji.
America.
I size up the prices under the agent’s enthusiastic stare. It’s strange to think a few thousand dollars is enough to change your life. To get you to the other side of the world. Away from everyone. Away from everything. Start fresh.
As I study the world map on the window, I’m reminded I haven’t got one stamp in my passport. It’s as crisp and clean as the day it arrived in the mail four years ago. Mum helped us organise them when Dad floated the idea of a holiday to Hawaii, but exchange rates blew out so we went to Queensland for the third time.
The travel agent gestures again, desperate for a sale. I mouth, ‘Ah, not today,’ and walk back towards Joe’s, coiling the five-buck note around my thumb.
Remind Me How This Ends Page 13
