CHAPTER 54 #2
Archie takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes flicker to the ground and my stomach clenches. My palms are suddenly clammy. I feel like I’m in the Bermuda Triangle, being sucked down by an unknowable force. Everything is blurring around me.
I want to lunge at him, wrap him in my arms and make him remember that we fit.
He understands me and I understand him, and what could be more special than that?
But I can’t say that because for so long I pretended I didn’t understand him.
I called him a jock and a womaniser even when I knew he wasn’t.
I was trying to pretend he was a different kind of guy—a guy I’d never fall for—because I was too scared of admitting the truth: that I fell for him ages ago, back when we sat shoulder-to-shoulder under a frangipani tree.
During that warm summer night, I discovered someone I could be myself with, be honest with, be nerdy and stupid and vulnerable with, but he didn’t feel the same way.
He left for France. My mum had cancer. I needed to protect myself. I needed control.
I created excuses and barriers and routines and processes to block out the head-noise, but somehow, Archie kept weasel-ling through. I could keep everyone else, even my own family, at bay, but never Archie, and still, I didn’t stop to consider what that meant.
Archie closes his eyes and I want to cup his cheek in my palm, feel the stubble on his jaw, but I can’t, and it floors me how much I miss him already, even though he’s right here.
He’s a satellite floating away and I want to redirect his beam of light to shine at me, but I’ve missed my chance and I can’t bear it.
I don’t want this to be the end, but I don’t know how to keep him here.
‘I dropped the story!’ I blurt.
Archie double-blinks. ‘What?!’
Okay—another thirty seconds of his attention.
‘I told The Daily Mail,’ I sigh, sinking onto the couch.
‘I had to. There were too many people protecting Boss. The Premier’s office has been protecting him since forever.
The story would never have got out unless I dropped it.
He’s been doing this for years, apparently, and I wanted it to stop.
Now. So I did it myself.’ I lift my face to his.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you the scoop and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I’d done, but you don’t need to feel bad for me. I did it to myself.’
‘Oh, Millsy,’ sighs Archie, sinking down next to me. ‘You’re a trooper.’
‘Are you upset with me?’
Archie takes my hand in his as we continue staring at the coffee table. ‘I’m more impressed with you now than I was five minutes ago.’
‘Really?’ I turn my body towards him.
He shrugs. ‘Our world doesn’t always make sense, but you knew what you had to do. I understand that.’
My body feels waterlogged with emotion. I want to lean my head against his shoulder but I know that I can’t, because more than anything, I want to respect Archie’s wishes, and if he doesn’t want me, I have to be okay with that.
Even if it feels like tiny cracks are splintering through my heart, I know it won’t shatter.
I’m strong enough to get through this and he’s one of the people who helped me realise that.
So instead I say, ‘Thanks, Archie. You’re a very good person.’ If this is goodbye, at least I’ve given him everything now: the complete truth. No spin.
We sit in silence for a few seconds, our breathing in sync, my arm against his. If we don’t have a relationship in the future, at least I have this now. Acceptance, acknowledge-ment, respect. He sees me for who I am, and I know that will never change.
‘Archie,’ I say timidly, twisting back to face him. ‘At the very least, I think we should try being friends. I know I’ve spent the last few years professing to hate you but I think we can take that as a good sign.’
Archie’s mouth quirks. ‘I’m intrigued to hear your angle on this one.’
‘Think about it. We’ve never been able to exist in each other’s orbit without it being something. During university it was this crackling electricity of you noticing me and me noticing you. Then for the last few years it had to be hate.’
‘Had to be?’
‘Hate is better than indifference! It showed you meant something to me. And I know I’ve been dumb and rude, and I am so, so sorry, but I don’t think you can deny that I made you laugh. Our banter is possibly world-leading. It would be such a travesty to throw that all away.’
Archie rubs his palm over the back of his neck. Eventually he says, ‘Millsy, I didn’t come here today to be your friend.’
The expression in his eyes is unwavering, and I close my eyes and start nodding. I’d thought my argument was convincing, but no. I’ve thrown too many grenades that I can’t take back.
I force myself to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. ‘Fair enough, Archie. Well played. You’ve put up with me for long enough. That is a victory in itself. Well done.’ I smile weakly to mask the pain but when I open my eyes, they’re brimming with tears.
‘Millsy,’ Archie says quietly. His voice is so soft that a wave of sadness rocks through me. He takes my hand in his and I yank it away.
‘Don’t let me down gently!’ I bleat. ‘You can’t choose this moment to go easy on me.
Tell it to me straight. But before you do, you need to know that I will always be grateful for the way you made me smile every day.
Even when I was exhausted from trying to run rings around you, we had the best time together.
I see that now. I was just too deep in my own mess to realise.
And!’ I say, raising my finger aloft—I’m babbling but I don’t care.
‘You also need to know that I am willing to go cycling with you if you still need a cycling buddy.’ This is the extent of my desperation: I am prepared to submit myself to padded-bum lycra in exchange for his company.
I have possibly never made a more generous bargain in my life.
Archie stands up and pulls me with him. ‘We should be upright for this,’ he says.
‘Okay,’ I agree, grimacing. ‘I can take it. Just say it.’
‘Millsy, we’re not going to be friends.’
‘I change my mind!’ I yelp, covering my face. ‘I don’t want you to tell it to me straight. Let’s pretend this never happened. You go live your life and be happy, I’ll be fine! But oh god!’ I gasp, as if winded. ‘The banter. I’ll miss it so much.’
‘Millsy, you need to stop talking about the banter.’
‘But it was so good,’ I whine.
‘We were good at other things too.’
I huff. ‘Yeah sure, I’ll tell my grandchildren about how we both excelled at extrapolating the most salient line-items from overly jargonistic budget papers. They’ll be so stoked for me.’
Archie shakes his head and then he laughs. It’s a quiet chuckle that starts in the crinkles around his eyes and gently lifts his lips. ‘Millsy, if out of everything we’ve done together, you consider the banter the highlight, I will be so thoroughly disappointed.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Are you thinking of the time we convinced Larry to buy us Chiko rolls?’
Archie takes a step towards me. ‘Nope.’
‘Tennis?’
‘Wrong again.’ His hands land on my waist.
My eyes widen. ‘If you’re going to squeeze my glutes to check my cycle-readiness, I’m warning you that I’m going to flex as hard as I can.’
A half-smile tugs at his lips, and my mind is pirouetting around a possibility I’m too scared to latch on to because the dashed hope will crush me if I’m reading this wrong.
I try to keep my voice steady. ‘If you’d just accept we could be friends, I’d feel much more comfortable about having accidentally mentioned my glutes to you … again.’
Archie’s fingers tighten around me and his lips curve into a smile. ‘How many times can I tell you that I’m not here to be your friend?’
My voice is squeaky when it eventually works. ‘Archie, I need more words from you.’
His eyes fasten on mine, sparkling as if they know every joke that’s ever been told. ‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi?’ I repeat.
‘Hi,’ he confirms.
My lungs absorb the impact. He holds my gaze, grinning, willing me to smile back.
It feels like I’m back under that frangipani tree.
The wonder, the confusion, the hope that this might become something bigger than I can understand.
But I’m a communications professional now.
I know how easy it is to misinterpret things.
I need to ask hard questions to get clear answers.
I don’t want miscommunication. I want clear, I want concise, I want the truth. I need it.
‘Archie Cohen,’ I whisper. ‘Are you trying to make a move on me?’
‘Millsy,’ he says, pulling me close. ‘I’ve been trying for years.’
His lips press against mine and his arms sweep around me. The tiny speck of glittery shock in my heart is swept away by a gust of relief. My body feels like it’s soaring but I know that’s impossible because I’m here, with Archie, and we fit.
Archie grabs the fabric of my trackies in his fists and tugs me closer, locking our hips together as he laughs against my mouth.
‘I’m so happy,’ he scrapes out, and I laugh between kisses because I’m so happy too.
Maybe we’ll always have the urge to copy each other’s words, not because we’re unoriginal or immature, but because we’re in sync.
I’m not perfect and neither is he, but somehow—weirdly, awkwardly, hopelessly—we are perfect for each other.
I’m not sure if I want a thousand tiny kisses or a languorously slow one, and we settle somewhere in between until his arms tighten around me. I let myself lean into the hug as if he’s the shore and I’m a boat that’s been out at sea too long.
‘Please tell me you’re not working today,’ I say, my face pressed into the cotton on his shirt.
‘Is that an invitation to stay?’
‘Yes,’ I say, pulling back so he can see the sincerity in my eyes. ‘Please read into that.’
Archie smiles and weaves his hands under my T-shirt to hold the small of my back. ‘I will read the shit out of that.’
I giggle and my head falls back against his chest. ‘Do you think we’ll ever have a serious conversation?’
‘I’m actually really serious about this,’ he says, squeezing me.
My voice hitches when I speak. ‘Same.’
We stand for a few moments, breathing each other in, basking in the closeness.
I want so badly to kiss him again, but I want this too.
The togetherness, the peace, the silence of finally knowing and understanding that we want each other in so many different ways.
I’ve been racing against life for so long, it feels so nourishing to pause and be held.
With Archie I never feel scared, I realise. He makes me feel safe.
When Archie eventually speaks, his voice is playful. ‘Your apartment is bigger than I expected,’ he says.
‘What?’ I lift my gaze. His calves are being squished by the coffee table while mine are jammed against the couch. It’s inconceivable that he could consider this big, even on a relative scale.
I’m on the verge of explaining this when I spot his giant grin, which pretty much says Millsy + bait = already taken.
I catch myself and laugh, nuzzling back into his embrace and simultaneously wondering if I should prove to him how small this apartment is. With a deft pivot and shoulder-charge, I could push him flat onto my mattress and pin his hips down with mine.
I decide there’s no time like the present.
We fit.
★
Archie’s fingers drum the curve of my waist as we lie in bed amid a tangle of sheets. ‘Are we checking the results?’ he asks.
‘Depends,’ I say, twisting towards him. ‘Will you be tempted to start filing stories?’
‘I think I’m suitably distracted at the moment.’ He leans over to plant a trail of kisses across my collarbone. The beating in my chest is so ridiculously loud, he can probably hear it.
‘Archie.’ I put my hand on his cheek and wiggle closer, pressing our bodies flush together. ‘In case I haven’t made it clear, I kind of like you.’
Archie’s hands slide over my bare skin and settle at my waist. ‘I kind of like you too.’
The goosebumps that appear over my body are instant and we grin at each other like fools because we are. We’re idiots. We’ve wasted so long. We should have been doing this since forever.
‘So are we checking?’ Archie asks.
‘Yep, do it,’ I say. ‘I need to know.’
Archie grabs the remote from my side table and the TV blinks to life.
‘They’re about to call it,’ he says, pulling me back into the crook of his arm. On the screen is a map of red and blue shapes, jigsawed together within the outline of New South Wales.
I shake my head, smiling. ‘I can’t believe I spent election day in bed with Archie Cohen.’
Archie chuckles and wraps me closer against his chest. ‘Here it comes.’
We listen to the well-coiffed presenter announce the results, her words settling slowly, like feathers floating from the sky.
‘So … they won?’ I stutter. ‘They’re staying in power?’
Archie’s eyes are darting across the screen. ‘But … ah, yep. Harcourt is out.’
‘Oh,’ I say, numbly. That’s all I can think of. A dull, useless non-word. Oh.
‘Do you think he lost his seat because of me? Or did he lose it himself?’ I close my eyes with a sigh, a heaviness settling over my chest. ‘Did I even need to drop the story?’
‘I think you did,’ says Archie, squeezing me tighter.
‘You did it for yourself and for every person who’s ever going to work for Harcourt in the future.
For every person in a workplace who’s been told to stay quiet and shut up, even when they know they shouldn’t.
Who knows, maybe things will change thanks to you. ’
I think of Boss and his suits and his car and his colleagues; I think of the businessmen at the conference, the stern glares on the portraits in the wood-panelled foyer of the university. I swallow hard. Maybe things will change, maybe they won’t.
All I can do is hope.