Where Sea Meets Sky by Karina Halle
“That’s definitely something I have never heard before.” I slide my hand down the back of her shorts.
“Well, it’s a problem with us,” she says.
“Not a bad problem to have,” I say, “but fine. Next time we fuck, it will be in your bed. You know I’m happy fucking you anywhere. We could do it on the kitchen table right now, give your ex-boyfriend’s father a little show.”
She grabs my hand and starts to pull me toward the beach. “Come on, let’s watch the sunset from there.”
“You don’t want to go back and finish that extremely awkward dinner?”
She grins at me. “We’ll go back for dessert.”
I wag my brows excitedly but she was being literal. After the sunset dipped behind the hills and valleys, tingeing the vivid ocean with gold and pink, we came back to find the Richardsons gone and a meringue dessert called pavlova on the table.
No one brought up the weirdness from earlier, and things continued on to the living room, where we sipped brandy and drank beer and slipped into an easy comfort. But in the back of my head, I couldn’t help but worry. If she didn’t do relationships, what were we, really?
What would I be to her when I left?
It’s quite obvious to see whose presents are whose the next morning. Mine are wrapped in a plastic bag and Amber’s are done up in a backpacker magazine about New Zealand, which includes a rather inappropriate ad for a campervan company: Our prices are so Emo they cut themselves.
I haven’t had a fun family Christmas in a long time. Actually, I’ve never had a fun family Christmas, except for that time we were at the Big White Ski Resort and Vera and I climbed onto some condo’s roof to use their rooftop hot tub. That was fun.
Here, though, it’s nice to just relax as Keri and Kam hand out the presents, pretending to be Santa’s elves, even though they’re way past the age to believe in him.
Amber gives me a small sketchbook for writing on the go, which is pretty awesome of her. The art store was certainly the place to be yesterday. She loves her flask, too, and said she’d use it often. I believe her.
She then opens Gemma’s present, which is a pāua, or abalone-shell, necklace, which fits right in with Amber’s hippie-dippie style. The present she bought from us for everyone ends up being a giant box of very fancy Kiwi chocolates. Like, actual kiwifruit chunks covered in decadent dark chocolate. Keri and Kam go nuts over it and I give Amber the thumbs-up.
Somehow Gemma and I end up saving our presents for each other for last. She takes mine first, sitting down among a battleground of torn wrapping paper. She keeps wrapping and unwrapping the plastic bags I stuck together until she comes to the card at the middle.
She slips it out of the envelope and her features soften as she takes it in, reading it over. She looks at me with bright eyes and says, “Thank you.”
I point at it. “But you know that the real gift is coming later, right?”
She smirks at that and I know her mind has gone the perverted route. “Yes,” she says. She then shows the card to everyone else and they ooh and ahh over it, which makes my face grow momentarily hot.
Justine looks at the card and then at me. “I think you embellished your muscles a bit, Josh.”
Everybody laughs and I shrug. “Artistic license,” I say.
Suddenly Gemma grows serious, maybe even a bit nervous, and hands me a small, wrapped box. I take it from her, feeling the slight tremor of her left hand and the eyes of everyone on me.
I slowly unwrap it to find a black jewelry box. The first thing I think is, I hope I like it, because honestly, I’ve never been given a piece of jewelry that I’ve liked. I’m a picky guy and I hope to god I don’t have to hurt Gemma’s feelings. She can see right through me.
But when I flip open the box, I discover there’s nothing to worry about. Lying there, attached to a black leather cord, is a brightly colored greenstone, or jade, pendant. It’s not too big, not too small, in a simple twist design. I’d actually wear it proudly.
Jeremy gets up to get a better look. “Awh, that’s choice, Gemma,” he booms in his deep voice. “You know what that means, bro?”
I shake my head, taking it out of the box and holding it up. The sunlight catches the edge of it, making it glow like a green sea.
“It’s infinity,” Jeremy says. He looks at Gemma and smiles softly, then sits down without saying another word.
“Infinity?” I ask.
She nods at it and a hint of color forms on her cheeks. “Put it on.”
“This isn’t some Maori curse or something, is it?” I joke.
“Nah, mate.” Jeremy laughs. “The curse is if you stick around long enough, you have to put up with us.”
Best curse ever, I think to myself. I put it around my neck and make sure it’s lying flat. Again, everyone ooohs and ahhhs over it. Then they all separate, gathering their gifts and looking over the stash.
I remain on the couch with Gemma. She’s tucks her feet under her, sitting like a mermaid.
“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Even if you didn’t, greenstone is one of those gifts that’s good luck to receive. It’s not custom to actually buy one for yourself.”
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her forehead, her nose, her chin, then her lips. I know this is the first public display of affection we’ve shown in front of her family, but I don’t care.
They know. They would know from our gifts alone. We may not be in a relationship but whatever we have, it’s something special. Something worth holding on to. I want nothing more than to take her upstairs and make love to her on the bed, like she asked.
But this is not the time or place. I just put my arm around her waist and haul her to me, grinning like an idiot. She laughs, burying her face into my neck. I’m lucky, so lucky, just to have this.
It’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had.
Chapter Nineteen
GEMMA
It’s Boxing Day and already hot as hell by nine a.m. We’ve—and by that I mean my mother, Auntie Jolinda, Uncle Jeremy, Keri, Kam, Josh, and I—have gathered in the driveway to say goodbye to Amber. Josh and I are still taking her to the airport but everyone else has to give her hugs and wish her well; Uncle Jeremy even tries to demonstrate the Maori tradition of the hongi, pressing his nose and forehead against hers and shaking her hand. She does it and manages to keep a straight face, too. Not that she feels much like laughing.
In fact, she’s kind of a weepy mess all the way to the airport, which makes me feel like crying, too. I manage to hold it together, though, but just barely. I’m really going to miss that girl, and she’s right—I’m going to think of her every time I hear Pink Floyd.
I park Mr. Orange in the temporary car park and it’s hard to even get her out of the bus. When she does emerge, she runs her hands down his tangerine sides and pats him like you would a horse on the rump.
“Thanks for the memories,” she says to Mr. Orange. She stares at him for a moment, like she’s waiting for him to reciprocate, then joins me and Josh as we head toward the airport.
The Hawkes Bay Airport is small, so there’s not much waiting around. She checks in for her flight, gets her tickets, and then we have to say goodbye.
I give her a big hug, bigger than I normally do. Josh does the same. She holds back the tears in her eyes and says she’s going to miss us. She adds “heaps” at the end, proud of her Kiwi phrasing, then turns just as she’s about to sob, hiding her tears and scurrying away to security, her kimono jacket flowing behind her.
She’s going to be just fine in Australia. More than fine. I can’t wait to see her updates on Facebook.
Instinctively, I grab Josh’s hand, feeling the loss of her already. We were four, then we were three, and now we are two. It’s just me and him, and I’m both excited and scared. There’s pressure on us now that she’s gone—on
I loop my fingers through his and he pulls my hand up and kisses it, his mouth warm and real, his eyes looking deep into mine. His eye contact can be so unnerving at times, like he really is searching for my soul, but I’m growing used to it. He’s starting to feel as close to me as a second skin.
There’s a heaviness in the air when we get back to Mr. Orange, the result of Amber’s absence. It feels weird, so I pop in Mr. Floyd to help balance the mood. “Fearless” starts playing, as it has many times before, but now it makes the short drive back from the airport a dreamy trip, green flying past us on one side, blue on the other, sunshine streaming down the middle. I curl up into the song, wishing I could be fearless.
I’m starting to think I’m losing it a bit. When I saw his Christmas present, I could have cried. It was just a drawing and a promise of more to come, but it was everything to me. When he put my greenstone around his neck, I nearly ran out the door from fear.
But it was a sweet kind of fear. The fear that hope hinges on.
I knew that Uncle Jeremy wanted to explain what the necklace really meant, but I’m glad he left that up to me. It’s true it’s a symbol of infinity, the twist going on and on, like a snake eating a snake eating a snake. But what it really means, for me anyway, is that he put his stamp on my heart, and no matter what happens in the future that won’t go away. It’ll go on and on, for infinity. This trip, this last month together, it can never be taken away from us. It means that, though we might take different paths, we will always be connected.
He’s wearing it around his neck right now and the green shines subtly against his tanned skin. The design even matches the swirl of some of his tattoos. It’s masculine and beautiful, just like him.
My Josh.
I blink a few times, trying not to think that way. But it’s hard. He really does feel like my Josh. We’re so undefined, so fleeting and fragile and new, but I don’t think he could belong to anyone else, and I couldn’t belong to anyone else but him.
So, for the next while, he’s still mine.
Later that night, after we get back, we fuck in my bedroom. Uncle Jeremy and the kids have gone back to Aramoana, and my mother and aunt have gone to sleep. We finally have the place to ourselves and we waste no time. I’m barely through the door before Josh is trying to tear my clothes off and I’m doing the same to him.
The necklace stays on.
He goes down on me first, teasing me slowly until I’m squeezing his head between my legs and I’m coming, hand over my mouth so my mother doesn’t hear.
I’m totally sixteen again.
Then when I feel I’m too spent, too dazed, he thrusts inside me, bringing me back to life. I’m half off the bed and he’s standing, my legs in his capable hands, and the necklace jostles slightly while he drives himself in and out. It’s not long before I’m coming again, louder this time, caught up in the connection, in the sight of his long, hard body, of the gift I gave him, of the want and lust in his hooded eyes.
He collapses on top of me and then sinks into my bed, pulling me back into him, his legs and arms wrapping around me, much like they did on the top of Key Summit. I give in to his warmth, to the intimacy. I can’t imagine anyone else ever holding me this way, and it’s one more stab to the gut that I can’t bear.
Every moment we’re together now I’m so conscious that we’re teetering toward the end. Tomorrow we leave for the East Cape, for that sunrise I always wanted to see, the first in the world. Then we skirt the Bay of Plenty, maybe popping down to Rotorua or Taupo, and then back up toward the Northland and New Year’s Eve at my grandpa’s. After that, we’ll head back to Auckland, and then the real world begins. He’ll go back home. I’ll look for a job.
And try to forget him.
But the thought of him leaving me scares me more than anything, more than trying to figure out jobs and figure out my future. I don’t know how I’ll go back to living with Nyla and Chairman Meow again, just existing on fumes, succumbing to the emptiness inside, the sadness. I guess I’ll have no choice but to harden myself once more and build my armor.
But my armor has chinks. If it didn’t, Josh wouldn’t be in my bed right now, holding me like he’ll never let go, and I wouldn’t be loving every sweet second of it.
If I was smart, I would do it now. I wouldn’t lie here with Josh, I wouldn’t let him hold me and make me feel like I’m so fucking important to him. But I’m not smart. Not anymore, not now. Maybe I never was. I want to enjoy him while I can, even though I can see the Gemma of the future and she’s lonely and cold.
I tried to tell Josh the other day, when Grant pulled that drunken bullshit at the dinner table. I tried to warn him, that I can’t do what he thinks I can. I can’t be that person he wants me to become. I can’t hold on to myself and let go at the same time.
He kisses the rim of my ear, his favorite place, and murmurs a heavy good night.
He’s burying the ache as well.
The next day we’re up bright and early to keep our tight schedule. I know the drive up to the East Cape will take longer than it looks, thanks to Mr. Orange’s composition and the Cape’s remote and twisting roads.
After we have another hearty breakfast and I’m convinced I’ve gained another two pounds, Josh asks, a little too innocently, if I have any art supplies around.
I know we do. My father’s studio, under Auntie Jolinda’s room in the guest cottage, has been largely untouched since his death. I go in there from time to time when I’m back home, just to feel a piece of him, something tangible and real that he’s left behind. But other than that, no one moves his stuff around. It’s still his room and we like to pay respects.
But I know that my father would have loved Josh, would have loved his talent, and wherever he is, I know he wouldn’t mind a little tour, even if it’s to see if there are any leftover pencils or canvas or whatever Josh has his eye on.
Together we stroll down the gravel path, the morning sun high and strong. He grabs my hand and squeezes it hard just as I take out the keys. There are valuables in there, paintings that we could never bear to lose.
“Is this difficult for you?” he asks, eyes searching mine.
I manage a smile. “It’s not easy but it’s good. It’s a good kind of pain.”
He nods and waits as I unlock the door and push it open.
Dust rushes to meet our faces and floats in the air like mist, caught in the sun streaming through the back windows.
Most things in the studio, particularly easels with paintings my dad was still completing at the time of the accident, are covered with white linen, giving the room a ghostly look. I flick on the light but the bulb seems to have burned out. It doesn’t matter; the natural light that floods in from the south-facing windows is more than enough.
Josh is silent as he takes it all in, and there’s a wash of reverence in his expression. He’s being respectful and I love him for it.
Finally, he looks at me. “This is a good space.”
I nod. “He was in here all the time. Could hardly get him out. I used to sit right over there,” I point to a stool in the corner, “and spin around and watch him paint.”
“Where did you paint?” he asks.
He’s getting closer to a question I don’t want to answer. I clear my throat, feeling like the dust is getting lodged in there. I point at a spot in the corner, behind a shelving unit. “Over there.”
He eyes it, frowning. “Where are your paintings?”
I feel the hot cloak of shame come over me. “I destroyed them all.”
He stares at me blankly for a few long beats. “You what?” he whispers.
I look away, unable to handle this. I’ve never brought it up with anyone. After it happened and my mother found out, we had a horrible fight, but that was
He thinks I’m crazy. I think he’s right.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. “I destroyed the paintings. All that were in my possession, anyway. I burned them in the fire pit outside. There’s nothing left.”
“Why would you do that?” His voice is shocked, saddened, heartbreaking to hear.
I put my head in my heads, blocking him out. He wraps his fingers around my forearm and pries my hands away. “What happened?” he asks.
My face crumples. Why doesn’t he understand?
“What happened?” I repeat, shame and fear and anger competing in my heart. “He died. I was ruined. I lost the two things I loved most in the world, that’s what happened!” I pull away from him and stumble to the middle of the room, gesturing wildly around me. “How could I look at what I used to be, what I used to have? I couldn’t! The paintings would hang on the walls in here and they would mock me, they would make fun of me for not becoming what I could have been. Haven’t you ever lost something, Josh?”
He stares at me, not saying a word.
“Well, I did,” I go on, my heart racing, “I lost them in the worst way.”
“So you shut down,” he says, almost to himself.
I frown at him, my hackles rising. “It’s called self-preservation.”
He smiles sadly. “It’s not a way to live, Gemma. Everyone is going to lose something, someone, at some point in their lives.”
“You don’t understand,” I snap, glaring. He thinks he has me all figured out. He doesn’t know me, he wasn’t there, he didn’t have to go through it. “You have everything.”
He raises his brows and gives his head a little shake. “I don’t have everything,” he says quietly. “I barely have you.”
We stare at each other, the dust still hanging in the air. I try and compose myself, breathing in and out, but my breath keeps escaping me.
I need to escape.