Chapter 19 #2
“Dad's still pissed that his usual house sitter bailed so close to Christmas.”
“And this is the alarm code?” he confirms.
“Yeah, and don’t forget to press the hash button at the end. This key’s for the front door. And this one's for the truck. Not gonna need it while we're overseas. I'll text you the address this arvo.”
“Cheers, Damo.”
“We'll be back on the fifth, a day or two before Franko re-opens.”
“Got it. I'll give you a shout if I need anything.”
“You can try, but me and Ellie will be too busy skinny dipping in Phuket. Guess I better hang out with the folks occasionally too, since they're the ones paying.”
He and Damien gave each other one of those bro-slap handshakes.
The one with a pat on the back.
A blokey farewell that I’ve learned is the norm around here.
Nothing like the tender hugs he gives me when we say goodnight.
The way he holds me behind closed doors.
It’s almost as if there are two of him.
I’m trying my best to tolerate the closed off, barely present facade.
Because if I’m patient, I get to spend more time with him.
The real him.
The caring passionate Porter that I’m falling for.
He lets me see every layer.
And he seems to be falling for me too, if he ever dares admit it.
Am I an idiot for getting my hopes up?
◆◆◆
“Two weeks isn’t that long,” he says, holding me in his arms that night.
“Guess so,” I reply, trying to hide how much I’ll miss him.
“He's lending me his truck too. Saves me lugging a suitcase on the train.”
“Yep,” I sigh.
“Gotta be in Noosa by the twenty second. That’s only a week from now.”
“Franko’s letting you go a day before the kitchen closes?”
“Nah, I might have to pull a sickie."
I’m starting to feel dizzy.
My gut begins to twist, knowing that we’ll be apart for sixteen days.
It's not like it’s forever.
And it's not like Porter is my boyfriend or anything.
Not really.
But I’m feeling vulnerable all the same.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Uh huh,” I lie. “Just wondering what to get Beth for Christmas.”
“She means a lot to you, I can tell.”
“She does. Sort of like my second mum in a way.”
Shit.
I immediately wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
But here it comes.
“Where's your real mum?” he asks, inevitably.
It’s an innocent question.
A natural path for our conversation to take.
Especially this time of year.
Everyone’s all ‘family this’ and ‘family that.’
A wave of anxiety hits, similar to the one I felt on the day of the storm.
My body can’t decide if it feels hot or cold.
Being under this blanket with him suddenly makes me claustrophobic.
I leap to my feet, pacing around the room in slow circles.
Walls close in on either side, heart racing as my thoughts begin to spiral.
Mum’s first Christmas without me.
What have I done?
My first Christmas without her.
Thank god I’ll have Beth.
She'll only be in Brisbane for two days though.
Porter will be gone for much longer than that.
So will most of the guys we work with.
The isolation of being here alone during the holidays will be too much to bear.
Sweat pools in the creases of my palms.
A crushing sense of guilt and nausea flood through me.
I can’t feel my hands or feet.
Lurching toward the door, I run down the hallway.
Curling over the toilet bowl, my body takes over.
Breathe, I tell myself.
Slow your breathing.
But it’s easier said than done.
Nothing can stop the whirlwind once it’s begun.
The bathroom seems so small, so hollow.
Has it always been this dark?
A shadow moves behind me in the doorway.
He turns the light on but I wave my arm for him to turn it off.
Too fucking bright.
“Got you a bottle from the fridge,” he offers quietly. “Might help.”
“To drink beer?”
“No, to hold it. Cold things help Damo when he has anxiety.”
“Damien has panic attacks?”
“Heaps of them. But don't tell anyone, he's a bit weird about people knowing.”
The vortex continues to swirl.
His voice usually calms me, but tonight it feels jarring.
Now that he’s gonna be taking off up north, I feel so untethered.
Pacing next to the window, the light reflects off the bottle.
Noticing that the beer in my hand is the same brand my dad drinks, I lunge for the loo.
Here comes an encore of everything I’ve eaten since noon.
Yuck, now I need to rinse my mouth with Listerine.
I do it twice to get rid of the taste.
Fear ripples through me in waves.
I still can’t decide if Porter's presence is a comfort or a trigger.
Every time he looks at me across the darkened bathroom, I think of Christmas.
Of the empty room that will soon echo next to mine.
Stop being so fucking needy, I scold myself.
Harden up.
Guess which parent speaks to me like that?
In moments like these, my mind imitates my bully.
“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks. “Fresh air might help you feel better.”
“Fresh air, says the city boy.” I manage a feeble smile. “I guess it’s fresher than a bathroom shared by eight dudes.”
◆◆◆
Two seventeen, says the clock near the train station.
I’ve never seen the city this hushed or vacant.
It’s almost eerie.
Porter looks embarrassed.
“I'm sorry for mentioning your mum,” he says. “I shouldn't have asked…”
“It's fine, really,” I say. “I'm just not ready to talk about her.”
And I’m not ready for what happens next, even though it makes me so damn happy.
Porter reaches for my hand. In public.
“Come with me to the river,” he suggests.
“Okay.”
We stroll in silence for a while.
Pausing next to the railing, I let the water soothe me.
Then Porter leans in for a kiss.
Not just a peck.
A real kiss, with tongue and everything.
Sweet, slow and passionate.
A kiss that says: I like you a lot, even with your clothes on.
It happens in the dark, yes.
Away from prying eyes, yes.
But still, not behind closed doors.
And that matters.
For us, that matters a tonne.
◆◆◆
The first twenty-four hours without him have been brutal.
No messages yet.
An empty silent room on the other side of the wall.
His apron left hanging on the hook near the stove.
The staff do their best to work with one less pair of hands.
I hate the empty space on the rack where his shower gel usually stands.
I hate the empty city as locals vanish to spend time with loved ones.
How am I meant to survive another fifteen days of this?
I search online for return flights to Longreach.
Maybe I can go spend a week or two with Beth when she flies home.
My hopes are soon quashed.
This time of year, especially last minute?
More than a thousand bucks.
About eight hundred more than I can afford.
I cry quietly into my pillow until I fall asleep.
◆◆◆
At least by the following morning, I have an excuse to leave the building.
Beth's plane has touched down.
I stay overnight in the spare room of her holiday rental.
Christmas Eve is glorious, even with just the two of us.
We do all the traditional things a day early.
My first real Christmas, in a way.
A home cooked meal and presents.
Candles and music.
So many hugs.
Conversation and laughter flows until the early hours of the morning.
She introduces me to her family during a video call.
I already know Amanda, but the rest of them seem really nice too.
She’ll see them tomorrow night when she gets home.
You’re my home, I wish I could say.
Please don’t go.
I spent months wishing I could afford to get from Longreach to Brisbane.
And now I want nothing more than to go back.
I need her more than I need this TAFE certificate.
I feel safer with her than I do when Porter’s being all blokey and ignoring me.
But I’m too scared to tell her.
I know how much she wants me to do that course.
And obviously, there’s that infuriatingly handsome boy.
If I left the city for good, I’d ache for him more than ever.
My heart lives in two places now.
Six months ago, I would have traded anything to have these problems.
At least now I have people in my life who care about me.
And I guess two kind-of-homes are better than one toxic home, or a cold park bench.
“Sorry I can't stay longer, hun,” Beth sighs. “Gotta be back at work on the twenty sixth. Rocco's on leave, so it's just me and Harry running the place.”
“It's okay,” I bluff.
“Franko behaving himself?” Beth laughs.
“Most of the time,” I grin, handing her a salad bowl.
“Rough diamond, that one,” she replies. “He means well.”
We whip up a feast in her tiny rented kitchen.
All of my favourite recipes.
I miss a certain chef while we cook.
Yet somehow I miss Beth even more now that she’s standing right next to me.
◆◆◆
On Christmas morning, a peaceful hush blankets the urban concrete maze.
Every store in downtown Brisbane is a dark cavern, even Coles.
I suggest a stroll along the river.
We wander past the spot where I was kissed.
It feels too soon to tell Beth about him.
Because tell her what exactly?
Boyfriend would be a lie.
Just a friend would be a lie too.
I soak up every minute of her visit.
Saying goodbye is just as hard the second time.
“Love, I'm really proud of you,” she says as we hug at the airport departure gate.
"You'll see me again on Easter weekend, okay? Text you tonight when I land.”
I fight the tears as best as I can.
Not just because it breaks me in half to watch her walk away.
But because I face an empty upstairs when I get home.
Now it’s just me and my shadow.
I long for company, even the parasocial kind.
Scrolling endlessly through stupid videos and reels makes me cry.
I hug my pillow as strangers vlog their family festivities.
I’ve always craved a home like that.
And I loved spending time with Beth today.
But part of me also wishes that I had one of those big cosy families.
The kind where everyone sits around the table eating and laughing.
Making fun of each other.
Belonging to each other.
Guess I’ll never be a dad because I’m not into women.
Guess I’ll never be the cool uncle because I’m an only child.
Probably a waste of time thinking about shit like that.
It only makes me sad.
I’m about to yeet my phone into the laundry pile when it buzzes in my hand.
New message, says the notification.
Him.
Merry Christmas to the one person I wish was here, it reads.
Would have messaged sooner, but I've been trying (and failing) not to miss you.
Porter has missed me?
That’s oddly comforting, even though I’m still mad at him for leaving.
Wish I was there too, I reply.
I punctuate my message with a heart emoji, then delete it quickly.
Better beach than Nudgee, I add, trying to sound nonchalant.
Maybe I’ll sleep in Porter's bed tonight.
Would that be fucked up?
The door is locked when I try.
I return to my room, sulking.
I’m so miserable, I don’t even feel like a wank.
Laying on my side, I wait for another message.
Ping.
Landed safely, darl, Beth writes. Miss you already. Talk soon xx
Miss you too, I say. So much.
Not a peep from Porter.
I fall asleep with the phone in my hand.
◆◆◆
Tap tap tap.
It takes me a moment to register the sound.
Tap tap.
Tap tap tap.
The room is still dark when I open my eyes.
Barely four in the morning, according to my radio clock.
A pair of boots shuffle on the other side of my door.
“Franko?”
I stumble across the carpet and give the knob a twist.
“Nope. I have a better ass,” Porter grins.
My dreams are getting so vivid.
This one almost feels real.
“Three nights without you is too long,” he whispers.
An affectionate hand ruffles my pillow-warped hair.
Halfway through our kiss, I reach out to touch his arm.
“Not a dream,” I mumble.
“Not a dream, no,” he laughs.
“You're here,” I utter in disbelief.
“I'm here.”
“You drove for two hours? You're meant to be in Noosa.”
“I was,” he shrugs. “Pack a bag. It's time I showed you what a real beach looks like.”