Where Sea Meets Sky(98)

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.