14
On Saturday afternoon, I laid out several outfit combinations on my bed. From what I gathered, the house party would be full of alternative types, and I didn’t want my knitted jumpers to look uncool. I’d wear ripped jeans if I owned any, but from a young age, I’d internalised Mum’s opinion that paying to look homeless was silly, and there was no point buying pants that wouldn’t protect me from the cold.
In the end, I chose a pair of dark blue corduroy pants and a colourful striped jumper, with the black collar of the shirt I was wearing underneath peeking out. I styled my hair, then promptly un-styled it so it looked dishevelled in a cool, effortless way, and grabbed my things before heading to Leo’s for dinner. I rang the intercom, and he let me up. When he opened his studio door, he wrapped me in a big hug before quickly letting go and rushing back to his kitchenette.
“I’m still cooking, so you’ll have to wait a bit,” he said, sounding frazzled as he stirred the contents of his pan. “I hope you’re not hungry. I didn’t think cooking would take this long. When I cook for myself, it doesn’t, but I didn’t want to feed you garbage.”
“What are you making?” I asked, looking over his shoulder.
His pan was overflowing with chicken, beans and capsicum slices, swimming in a light-brown sauce. “Stir-fry,” he said, then gestured at the only other spot on the induction cooker, which was occupied with a saucepan. “And that’s the rice.”
I stared at it, seeing not rice but a bunch of white frothy bubbles. Right. Not everyone had been given a rice cooker as a moving-out present like I had.
“It looks good,” I told him. “Thanks for cooking.” I pressed a kiss against his shoulder, and his body relaxed.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a couch,” he said. “But feel free to sit at the desk. Or on the bed.”
I chose the desk, spinning the chair around to watch him.
“How was your day?” he asked as he adjusted the heat of the stove.
I chatted mindlessly, not really paying attention to what I was saying but instead looking at him. He reached above him for a cupboard and pulled out two bowls. He served the rice first, placing half in the first bowl. As he scraped the saucepan to fill up the second bowl, he winced as he scooped up crunchy rice. It was all stuck together, hanging stiffly off his fork.
He shuffled to the side as if to hide it from me. A second later, he brought the two bowls over and sat beside me. He’d given me the fluffy top half of the rice, which made my heart warm.
Halfway through the meal, I asked, “So tell me about this party. How do you know these people?”
“From all kinds of places.”
I waited for him to elaborate.
“Some at the uni gym, others in class. I played social basketball with a few last year. Where else…” he went quiet for a moment as he thought. “I met Gailey while she was walking her dog, and I met Nick in the supermarket, and I met Tommy when I sat next to him in a lecture…”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Leo made friends in the most random of places.
Later, after we both finished our meals, I insisted I’d wash up and took the bowls and cutlery to the sink. I had just filled it up with hot water and washing liquid, and pulled on the neon-green gloves that were slightly too big for my hands, which secretly delighted me when Leo wrapped his hands around my waist.
I stiffened. Not because I didn’t like it, but because this was something I’d seen in romantic movies. This, right now, with Leo resting his head against the back of my neck, his warm embrace around me, was what you’d find if you searched “romance” in a stock photo directory.
“What’s up?” I asked, picking up the sponge and washing one of the bowls, trying not to move my shoulders too much so I didn’t inadvertently shrug him off.
“You’re warm,” he murmured, the words tickling the sensitive skin at the back of my neck. He raised his head, nudging my hair, and inhaled. “Your hair smells nice,” he said.
“I use shampoo,” I told him.
He laughed. “What kind?”
“Are you going to copy me?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t,” I told him. “I like how you smell.”
He remained there, a heavy but warm presence at my back, as I finished washing everything and placed it on a spare bit of bench to dry.
“What time is it?” I asked.
He hummed in an I’m-thinking way as he looked out the window. “Almost seven?”
“Should we head off to this party, then?”
“We still have time. Knowing my friends, they’ll all be late.”
“Alright. Do you want to play Minecraft then? We still have our house to work on.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” He didn’t move.
“Leo,” I said. “You’re trapping me here.”
He squeezed me once, pulling me close to him. “You’re so cute,” he said, before letting go and hurrying over to the TV. He quickly set up the Xbox, then patted the spot beside him, and I sat down wearing a big stupid grin.
I was building a library, and Leo was creating a staircase when his phone started to ring. I assumed it would be his friends, but he took one glance at the screen before setting it down.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“My dad.” He was frowning.
“Is everything okay?” I asked hesitantly.
He glanced at me and pulled a smile, but it faded quickly. “Yeah. I’m not ignoring him on purpose. I mean, I am, but I know it’s nothing important. He already called earlier today to complain about the latest thing my Mum did. They’re divorced,” he explained.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “It happened a long time ago. I’m over it.”
“But…are things okay now?”
He held my gaze for a long time before forcibly relaxing his shoulders. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m being a downer.”
“No!” I insisted. “We don’t have to talk about it, but if you want to, I’ll listen.” I reached out for his hand to punctuate my point.
He looked down at our touching hands, then sighed, his chest raising with the movement. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just not very close with them. They’ve always had a lot going on — they both worked a lot when I was a kid and when they got divorced, it was a long process with a lot of drama and fights, so that took up even more of their time.”
“That sucks.”
He gave me an odd look. “It’s okay. You said yourself your parents aren’t that affectionate either.”
“Yeah,” I began, “but…”
It felt different, somehow. Then again, I couldn’t make assumptions about Leo’s family based on a few pieces of information he chose to share with me.
“I’m used to it. I know they love me and stuff, but they’ve always been wrapped up in their own lives.”
“The divorce must’ve been tough, though,” I said, even though I had no idea what it would be like. I couldn’t imagine my parents separating.
“It was all the way back in primary school.” Leo was staring into the distance, but suddenly, he mustered up a smile. “It’s kind of funny, though. They were both having an affair.”
My brows shot up. “Did you know about it at the time?”
“I put the pieces together. Mostly because I walked in on my dad.”
I stared.
Leo chuckled, but I could tell it was fake. “It was such a cliche. He was doing it with his co-worker, and I had no idea what I was looking at. I didn’t even know what sex was at that point. Then the lady started screaming, which was pretty scary. I liked her, actually, because every time I visited my dad’s work, she was always nice to me. Anyway, then my dad started yelling at me for walking in without knocking, which I thought was odd because I always walked into my parents’ bedroom.”
“That sounds horrible,” I said.
“Well, I knew he felt bad about it because he took me to get ice cream and bought me a bunch of toys.”
“Was he trying to…bribe you?”
“Maybe? It didn’t matter because my mum found out anyway. Which isn’t surprising because if a kid caught them, of course, my mum would find out.”
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“I can’t remember the details, but they fought a lot. I’m pretty sure that’s where I learned the word slut and whore and a whole bunch of other swear words, not that I knew what they meant, obviously. Then they divorced. The upside is that I got two bedrooms and two sets of Christmas and birthday presents. Looking back, both of them definitely spoiled me, probably to prove they were the better parent.” He smiled at me, but my heart broke.
“I’m sorry all that happened,” I said.
He looked startled. “Why? It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, but…I can’t imagine how I’d react if that happened to me.”
“It’s really not a big deal,” he said with a shrug. How many times had he said some variation of that sentence.
I reached out for his hand. “If you say it’s not a big deal, then I’ll believe you. But…you don’t have to pretend with me, okay? You don’t have to act like it’s some funny story when it’s not.”
Leo looked at my hand covering his. “It is a little bit funny,” he said.
“Maybe,” I conceded. “Maybe if it was a fictional story or if it happened to some stranger. But not you.”
In the end, Leo didn’t say anything but threaded his fingers with mine and squeezed my hand.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes. “We…” Leo began. “We should head off to the party.”
The double-story terrace house was located in one of Melbourne’s inner suburbs that used to be grungy and working class, but was now filled with young people who discussed climate change, sipped $8 oat milk lattes and bought expensive organic hand soaps.
The house was gorgeous, of course, though it was a little difficult to appreciate, with every room crowded with people. Leo led me down the corridor to the main room. On the way, I peeked into the open doors. There was a front sitting room filled with students who sat on the carpet, smoking a joint and listening to jazz music. There was a bedroom where a group of friends sat on the bed, ignoring that two people sitting in the circle were making out. In the kitchen, people stood around, dancing to pop music, drinking beer, mixing drinks, or holding wine glasses. A shirtless guy stood on the couch, swinging around his shirt. Behind him, hanging on the wall, was a painting of Karl Marx wearing neon-coloured glasses.
A few people standing in a circle near the dining table called Leo’s name and waved. Leo clutched my arm excitedly and led me towards them.
“Hey!” he said, exchanging hellos and hugs. He was back to being an overexcited puppy. “This is Winnie,” he announced to the group. “My friend.”
Just like that, my stomach plummeted. I distracted myself by replying to the chorus of greetings and niceties.
When there was a tiny lull in the conversation, I made myself speak. Usually, I’d drop the issue, but this was the year of getting what I wanted. “Friend?” I asked Leo.
He faltered for a millisecond before a wide smile spread across his face. “My best friend,” he said.
“Oi, I thought I was your best friend, ya bastard,” a man with a thick Aussie accent said.
Leo laughed as he was suddenly trapped in a headlock by the speaker, a tall guy with a moustache. I watched, feeling strangely distant like I was watching through a screen.
“Winnie?” a voice asked. It belonged to the woman standing beside me, who had a chunky fringe and arms covered in tattoos of flowers and birds.
“That’s not actually my name,” I explained. “It’s Edwin. Most people call me Eddie.”
“But Leo insists on annoying you by ignoring the pre-established nickname?”
I nodded.
“I get it. My name’s Abigail, and most people call me Abbey, but Leo, for some reason, insists on calling me Gailey.” She leaned in conspiratorially, but since she was much shorter than me, it meant she whispered into my armpit rather than my ear. “I think he has some secret need to feel unique.”
My throat felt tight and sore like I’d eaten a bowl of Weet-bix dry. “Here I was, thinking I was special.” It was supposed to be a joke, but Abbey must’ve heard something else in my voice because she frowned at me.
Shit.
“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” I told Leo. The moustache guy, who still had his arm around Leo’s neck, pointed down a hallway.
“First door on the right,” he told me.
“Thanks.”
When I found the bathroom, the door was locked. While I waited, I glanced at Leo and his friends. They were laughing while Abbey punched Leo’s arm.
Finally, the bathroom door opened, and a woman emerged. Before I could step into the room, though, the door suddenly shut and locked again. A minute later, a man with shoulder-length hair came out, adjusting his pants and looking extremely pleased with himself.
My irritation surged, and I stormed into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and leaning against it. After a minute, I made my way to the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
Get a hold of yourself.
I was being sensitive. Leo hadn’t done anything wrong. Technically, we’d never discussed and agreed on labelling whatever we were. I was being silly.
I left the bathroom, determined not to ruin the mood, but Leo and his friends had disappeared. I started looking for them, interrupted by someone passing me an unopened beer bottle. I gratefully accepted it.
Slowly, I searched through each room of the house. It was a slow process because I’d find myself pulled into conversations, and I unexpectedly ran into a classmate on the staircase. By the time I’d searched the entire house, an hour had passed. Either I’d missed them, or they were in the backyard. I took one step through the French doors that led into the backyard, which was dark, with the only source of light coming from the house, but the shock of cold made me retreat.
I was tired. I’d just sit somewhere, and Leo could find me. Maybe he was already looking for me, and I was making things more difficult by not remaining in one place.
I found a spare seat in the front room. It smelled faintly of weed, but thankfully, no one was actively smoking there. Well, apart from the guy sitting on the other end of the couch, who was vaping, the blooms of white clouds smelled like artificial strawberries.
“Are you meant to be vaping inside?” I asked.
He shrugged. “There’s ventilation.” He gestured to the open door.
Right. I stared at nothing before suddenly realising the most obvious thing I could do — use my phone. I pulled it out, and while Leo hadn’t messaged or called, I could call him. I tried. It went to voicemail.
I sent him a message. Hey, I lost you, sitting in the front room rn.
After I tucked my phone away, the vaping guy leaned over, a beer bottle hanging from between two of his fingers.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Beer.”
“I can see that.”
He smiled. “You looked kinda sad, so I thought I’d try to cheer you up.”
My shoulders relaxed. “Thanks,” I said, taking it. Drinking it would give me something to do.
How had I spent the majority of my nights last year in clubs and bars? Oh, that’s right — I’d been drunk and dancing and focused on pulling boys. But tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to dance or get drunk, and I didn’t want to pull. I just wanted Leo.
The vaping guy rested his elbow on the back of the couch and propped his head on his hand. “You wanna talk about it?”
“About what?” I asked.
“Whatever’s got you down.”
“It’s nothing,” I snapped, then softened because he was only trying to be nice. “Just…boy problems.”
He widened his eyes dramatically. “Oh, trust me, I know all about boy problems. There are times I think about being straight, but, y’know, I like dick too much.”
That startled a laugh out of me.
“So,” the guy prompted. “Tell me about the boy. What is it? Won’t commit? Internalised homophobia? Sexual incompatibility? He claims that he’s straight?”
“He’s not straight,” I said.
He watched me, waiting.
“I’m the first guy he’s been with, and when we first met, he said he was straight. But he’s not straight, okay?”
“Good, because it’s impossible to date straight guys.”
I frowned. “Are you telling me that no gay guy has ever fucked a straight guy in the history of humanity?”
“There’s a difference between dating and fucking,” he said, and it was a good thing his tone of voice was pleasant because otherwise I would’ve gotten annoyed. “Straight boys will fuck you. They’ll let you give them head. They might, if they’re generous, even reciprocate.”
I tried very hard not to remember that Leo had never given me head. He’d kissed me and cuddled. That was the important part.
“But they won’t date you,” he finished.
“Good thing my guy isn’t straight,” I said.
He shrugged and took another puff of his vape.
“He isn’t,” I continued. “He likes me. He called me cute.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
I deflated. “Nothing. I’m just getting in my head because he called me a friend when I thought we were more than that. But I can’t fault him because we’ve never actually talked about it. Logically, I shouldn’t be so upset, but I keep thinking about how he was earlier tonight, when he was all touchy feeling, and…” I trailed off. “It’s annoying how feelings work, huh?”
“Where’s he now?” the guy asked.
I waved a hand. “Somewhere at this party.”
Vaping guy didn’t reply, but I could tell he was thinking something, and I didn’t want to ask what it was. We settled into silence.
Then, when the silence between us threatened to become awkward, Leo appeared. “Winnie!” he said, not exactly slurring, but close. He flopped onto the couch between me and the vaping guy and leaned his head against my shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“I was looking for you,” I told him. I touched his hand, which was ice-cold.
“Mm, you’re warm,” he said, curling his fingers with mine.
“And you’re freezing. Were you outside?”
He nodded. “Are you done? Do you wanna leave?”
To be honest, I’d wanted to leave pretty much since the moment we arrived. I managed a smile. “Sure. But first, you need to drink some water.”
“I’ve already drunk a lot of water,” he said. “Gailey made me.”
The nickname made me flinch.
“She made me drink a whole litre,” he continued. “Because apparently, I was ‘drunk.’” He made a clumsy attempt at air quotes, using three fingers on each hand instead of two.
“Alright, well, you’re going to drink some more.” I didn’t want to risk Leo stumbling down the street or being rowdy on the train.
Gently, I pulled him up and led him out of the room. Just before I left, I glanced over my shoulder. The vaping guy exhaled a plume of pale vapour, watching us with a shrewd expression.
In the kitchen, people were even louder than they had been the last time I was there. I found a litre water bottle lying on the drying rack and filled it up, watching carefully as Leo drank it. Some dribbled on his chin, and on any other night, I would’ve found it cute, but today I just felt impatient.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said, dropping the bottle into the sink with a clink.
Leo was quiet on the way home. After we stepped off the tram and walked down the street, he was walking in something pretty close to a straight line. He took out his keys with relative grace, and soon enough, we were back in his apartment.
“Do you want a shower?” he asked.
I shook my head. He went into the shower, and I waited for him, sitting on the edge of his bed. When he came out, he was wearing his passionfruit pyjamas and handed me the sun-themed ones I’d worn before.
“Thanks,” I said, placing them on my lap.
He flopped onto his head, eyes closed, and pulled me into his arms. I was stiff, and I wasn’t sure why. Actually, I did know. “Leo?” I asked, craning my neck so I could look up at him.
“Yeah?” He didn’t open his eyes.
“Am I just your friend?”
A line appeared between his brows. “Whaddaya mean?” He didn’t sound drunk anymore. Just…tired.
“When you introduced me to your friends, you called me your friend.”
“You are my friend,” he mumbled. “And I think I called you my best friend.”
He picked up my hand — his skin was warm from the shower — and I watched as he slipped it down the front of his pants. He was already half-aroused.
I inhaled sharply and slipped my hand out. “Leo,” I said. “Do you like sex, or do you like me?”