I clenched my jaw, resisting throwing the phone at the wall. Sounded satisfying, but paying for a new one wouldn’t be, so I took two breaths, deciding whether to bother replying or not. So much baggage lurked in that text I didn’t even have any idea how to unpack it all.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Are you serious? If sexual positions are the only thing that matter to you, you could have asked. Oh, that’s right. That would take having a grown-up conversation. And since when is anal the only important fucking part of a fucking relationship? I guess you were right about not being compatible. If you aren’t here forever, why not just tell me? I don’t know where your issues with relationships come from, but don’t put that shit on me. I would like to be in a relationship with an actual adult, capable of conversation, you uptight pommy dickwad. duck you!
There, that showed him. I was still glaring at my phone, and I reread what I had sent. Duck you?
Duck you, autocorrect.
Seconds later, my phone rang. And like the mature adult I was, I hit ignore. I put the phone back on the bedside table and rolled over to go back to sleep. After fifteen minutes of staring at the same damn shadow on the wall, I turned back over and listened to the voicemail message. Damn his honey-smooth voice. Like that accent wasn’t enough on its own. And fuck him for sounding even more adorable with a slight slur from the alcohol.
“I’m sorry. And you’re right. Relationships are perhaps not one of my strengths. Not that I mean this is a relationship. I mean, it is something, but I… But I would like… I mean perhaps… Please just call me back. Oh, and the man on the phone at the airport was my best friend, not my… whatever you obviously thought he was. Please call me.”
I didn’t call. I wanted to. That voice could have told me to do anything, and I would have done it. And I hated being told what to do. So I didn’t call.
My phone beeping with a new text message woke me the next morning. I ignored it and wandered to the kitchen to make tea. I intended to go for a run this morning before the festival, but it was already 11:00. I never slept this late. Not that I had really slept much at all anyway. After my tea and a piece of toast, I had a quick shower. As I towelled off, I grabbed my phone to check my earlier message. There were two. One was Tim, telling me they were on their way, and one was from Nick. I hesitated before opening it.
Please call me. I want to come to the festival. I want to see you. I think we need to talk. Please.
While I was reading, another message came in.
I really am sorry about last night. I tend to overthink things. Except texting when drinking apparently. Then I don’t think at all.
And then another.
If I don’t hear back, I will see you there.
I sighed and put the phone down. I needed to think, but my brain was going around like a whirlpool.
Okay, the black shirt looked better on, but it’s what I wear to the club, and I wanted something different. Maybe the blue button-down. No, too dressy. Going back to the wardrobe yet again, I rummaged through hangers. Maybe if I wore the lighter jeans, I could wear that new light blue shirt Mum got me. Fuck, I knew I was overthinking things. I needed another shower—I sweat less in full gear in training scenarios. Finally happy, I looked in the mirror for a minute. Did I need to shave after all? I ended up deciding just to neaten myself up so I didn’t look like I didn’t care. Then I hopped back in the shower for a quick rinse before Mum and Tim got there.
I was pulling the T-shirt over my head when I heard the buzzer. I grabbed the overshirt and threw it on, then hurried over to the intercom. Buzzing Mum and Tim in, I told them I was running a few minutes late. I left the door ajar before running back to throw my towel in the basket, finish making my bed, and throw the discarded shirts on top of my drawers to put away later.
I ran my hands through my hair one last time, hearing a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out, glancing up at the door. Mum and Tim wandered in, holding hands. After quick hugs, I washed the breakfast dishes, tossed the milk away in the fridge. and grabbed my keys. We headed down the road to the ferry wharf, right on time for the next ferry. The fresh air on the ferry was exactly what I needed to clear my head.
Tim had already asked me what was wrong on the walk down, and I had claimed ignorance, but when Mum asked too, I glanced at them holding hands, still as much in love as they were when they met sixteen years ago. “How do you guys make it all look so easy?”
When Mum looked confused, I waved in the general direction of their hands and said, “That. Love. Relationships. Whatever. Men fucking suck.”
Mum looked at me with concern and said softly, “Use your words.” She said the same thing to me as a toddler if I was frustrated and for some reason had continued the saying as a way of telling me talking about it was better than bottling it up.
I was lucky. I had always been able to talk to Mum and Tim about anything. Well, almost anything. I had only ever kept one secret from them. So I did. Well, okay, it was an edited version. No graphic details, only the highlights package, ending in showing them the texts. I could tell when they get to the end because Tim laughed and Mum rolled her eyes at me. Tim was still chuckling when I snatched the phone back.
“Fuck you, Tim.”
“Duck you too, Ky. Come on. How is that not funny? You were having a tantrum and finished on such a high note.”
I hung my head. Ugghh. Damn him for always being right.
When we got to the festival, we decided to divide and conquer. Mum headed off to grab food, Tim went to see if there was still a spot along the trees, and I ran across the road and grabbed drinks. After a surprisingly short wait, I had beers for Tim and me and wine coolers for Mum. I was wandering along the tree line when I heard Tim call out to me. I laughed. That right there was why he always chose where we sit. He was up the damn tree with his blanket folded over the branch, softening the seat. I passed him the drinks, and he hung the bag from a branch behind him while I climbed up.
We both had a drink in our hands, and he was still ribbing me about those bloody text messages, sitting beside me with his arm draped around my shoulder. Then he cleared his throat.
“Just out of curiosity, would your ‘hardly compatible’ boyfriend happen to be beautiful, slim, blond hair?”
I turned my head to face him. “Um, yeah, how do you know?”
“Because there is a guy fitting that description staring daggers at me, over by the bike path.”
I spotted him almost immediately and breathed in sharply. I had seen him in his club clothes, I had seen him in a suit, and I had even seen him naked, so seeing him in casual jeans snugly fitting his thighs and a pumpkin-coloured shirt screaming out to be touched shouldn’t have been quite that sexy. The effect he had on me shouldn’t have gotten stronger every time.
He only hesitated for a moment before he strode over to our tree weaving his way through the crowd, while I was stuck staring. If it was possible, his eyes looked even bluer than they did before. That couldn’t have been natural.
“Do you wear contacts?” I blurted out.
He smiled. “Well, hello to you too. Am I interrupting?” His voice seemed casual, but there was a little edge to it.
“Not at all,” Tim piped in.
“Sorry,” I stammered. Jesus. Nerves don’t usually affect me. Why is it I have zero control around him? “I was just trying to work out if you wear coloured contacts.”