Chapter 5 Kelp Forests #2
I wag a finger at him. He might think he has me cornered with all his smooth togetherness, but I know how to sink into the awkwardness, to double down on any joke. “You’re just in time to help.”
A beat.
He just looks at me, long and piercing.
Finally, he says simply, “Okay.”
My smile falters into a hitched breath. I don’t look at him. I just sink to my knees, grab handfuls of the flood and start cramming it back into the wardrobe.
A hand curls around the back of my collar, halting me with the kiss of cold knuckles. A shiver rolls up my spine. His fingers don’t tighten. They don’t pull me back. They just stay. There.
“If we do it your way, we’ll have to do it again next time.”
Next time. Said with the assurance there’d be a next time. I turn my head and look up at him. It’s my turn to nod, and I do so as I stand and dust off my shorts. “Go ahead. You’d be the best at making sure things stay in.”
Trent categorises everything and starts shifting it methodically away. I’m helpful. I find a crown made of a mosaic of pāua shell, and I put it away, right where it belongs, in its new spot.
Trent startles and feels the top of his head. He takes the crown off—
And puts it on again. “My colour and everything. Regal.”
“A total kelp king.”
“Yes.”
“That was an insult. Or a very apt description of how very tangled up all of this is.” I wave a hand between us, a gesture meaning him and me—Ika, me.
He pauses. “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“Your perception.”
“You’re not growing a tangled forest impossible to escape from?”
He hangs ribbon, and then meets me kneeling on the floor. I still have to look up to meet his calculating gaze, the gentle flash of light in it.
He tips his head down.
My palms clamp to the bits of visible floor.
His voice is soft, even, and just a bit teasing. “The keyword is growing. Regenerating. Giving them a new beginning.”
His face tilts closer. The air changes, a flicker of warmth skimming past my cheek. My breath stutters before I can stop it.
And then, as if it meant nothing at all, he bends to retrieve a mermaid’s tail.
A flicker of something, damn it, something, twists low in my stomach.
He glances at me sideways. A hint at the edge of his lips. A suggestion of a smirk trying to sneak through. “A total kelp king.”
A total lost cause.
Would be me. Scrambling to put things away in the correct order.
There are a lot of thoughts.
Mostly along the lines of: stop this foolishness. Stop it all.
And then, Holly laughs. From the next room.
A breath. A pause. A choice.
Fine.
I’ll keep this up.
But he’s supposed to be your sibling, Ika.
Older. Bigger.
Brother.
A shrill sound comes from my hands, and I look down at the rubber dolphin I’m throttling.
Trent glances over.
And I casually lift it and give it a solemn squeeze. Whhee-ee-ee-eee!
“That’s . . .” Trent ponders. “Vaguely threatening.”
Finally, bless the heavens, the practice room door swings open and a fleet of kids crosses between us. I search for my guiding star and find Moana patting the top of Holly’s head.
“Moana!” I cry.
She looks at me and Trent and the newly organised cupboard. She jabs a sharp finger in The Flooder’s direction. “He’s a keeper.”
I stare at her with beseeching eyes.
She snorts and waves the kids off. Then she smarts an eyebrow my way. “Clean up your own mess.”
“A drink! I owe you a drink. Today’s good. Now, even.”
Trent shifts on his heel, and I throw him a line. “Tell Grandpa Ika’s off checking out his friends for his big brother.”
He opens his mouth.
Whhee-ee-ee-eee.
He shuts his mouth. That’s the end of it.
Not quite the end of it according to Moana, of course.
We’re at the Sprig & Fern, and we’ve had a few while failing to figure out the Scrambled Word of The Day REDNOHCA, when casual chatting takes a turn for the serious.
“You’ve been running from things for as long as I’ve known you,” Moana says, planting down her wine glass and fixing me with a stare so level it makes me think her wine is water. “And you ran again tonight.”
Her arched brow lifts in silent question.
I’ve known Moana coming on ten years now. She’s a couple of decades older than me, infinitely wiser, and right now, I’m not liking that fact.
I take a sip of my whiskey and slouch nonchalantly into the seat. But my hand keeps twisting the dewy drink.
Fractured light spins across the table like shattered glass.
I pull my gaze away and shrug. “I’m just playing family with him.”
She blinks. She hadn’t quite expected this level of honesty. “Playing family?” She leans in hard. “With that gorgeous bloke? Why are you here with me!”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
“Why?”
I look over at her. “Because it’s . . . easy.”
Moana exhales deeply and hauls me off my chair onto her bench, an arm locked around my neck. She squeezes tight and peppers kisses over my hair. “You need to stop running, my friend.”
“It’s also, like . . . really complicated?”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe you just need to stay through it. Accept. See what happens.”
Just for a second, a couple, I fold into the warmth of her crushing hold and breathe in her soft motherly perfume.
And then the moment is over, and there’s stiffness in my neck and the trembling of muscles locked into this slightly awkward position too long.
I shift back, pulling a fifty-cent piece out from behind her ear with smile.
“Oh, hey. Are you holding a stall at the Newtown fair this year?”
Moana looks at me, but she doesn’t push it. “My bookclub friends are, we’re all donating clothes and jewellery. Proceeds to dyslexia charities.”
“Grandpa has a lot of vintage stuff that doesn’t look like it gets used. I’ll see if he’s okay passing it on.”
She dings her wine glass in my direction. “Go Gramps.” She finishes her drink and hands the glass over. “Your turn again.”
When I get back with fresh drinks, feeling a decent buzz as I schlepp across the humming place, Moana is stuffing away her phone. “That was Holly’s mum,” she says.
I put the glasses down carefully. “Yeah?” My voice is crackly. From drink.
“She’s just got a new job. She’ll be late picking Holly up after class. She asked if it was okay if she stays in the studio an extra twenty minutes.”
Something folds tight inside my chest. I nod. “Sure. Just tell Holly’s mum to beep when she arrives and I’ll send her down.”
“You got I need you to do it.”
I give her a thumbs up—no, make that a cheery double-thumbs up—and stare at the scrambled word as I take in a good mouthful of whiskey this time. REDNOHCA
Red. Like a siren.
What could the word be? I feel like I should get it. Like if I try hard enough, if I don’t give up, I will.
REDNOHCA . . .
. . .