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She doesn’t say anything for a moment. I think she’s fighting against tears.
I feel a surge of protectiveness, and I’m jealous of Cam, because he gets to go home with her, and I don’t.
“Are you sleeping with him?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
“No. He’s staying in the spare room.”
“Good.”
She gives a short laugh then. “I won’t, until I figure this all out.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, but my heart sinks a little, because her words imply she still hasn’t made up her mind.
“I wish it hadn’t all blown up over Christmas,” she says. “I know you’re right, and there’s never a good time, but it seems worse, somehow, at this time of year.”
“I imagine it’s very common. Families squished in together, forced to have fun. That’s never going to end well.”
“Where are you?” she asks.
“At home.”
“Are you going out tonight with the guys?”
“Nope. I didn’t fancy company. I need to get a dog.”
She laughs. “So you haven’t got a hot date, then?”
“Nah. The girl of my dreams is otherwise engaged.”
She doesn’t say anything, but I have a feeling she’s smiling.
“I should go,” she says. “I hope you have a nice day tomorrow with your family.”
“It’s going to be a nightmare, but thanks for the thought.”
“Will Rangi be there?”
“Yeah.”
“Has his girlfriend decided if she’s keeping the baby?”
“I have a feeling I’ll find out tomorrow, which could prove good entertainment.”
“Well, good luck.”
“You too.”
She hesitates. “See you soon.”
“Yeah, bye.” I end the call.
I put the phone on the table, go inside, and fetch a tumbler, some ice, and a bottle of Islay malt I was saving. Fuck special occasions, I need a good whisky.
After returning onto the deck, I pour myself a generous measure. Then I sit, slide down in my seat, and prop up my feet.
I sip the very expensive 1964 Bowmore, tasting mango, peach, pineapple, and grapefruit, the colors of which are reflected in the evening sky.
I’m still there when the rich colors have faded, and the stars are popping out on the black velvet, filling the sky with diamonds.
