“I did.” Before dinner, I prepared myself to be interrogated like I was at the pizza dinner or for my relationship with Aaron to be something the others tiptoed around or spent the whole time discussing. But that didn’t happen. I didn’t feel like an extremely obvious interloper — I was just there. The fact that Aaron and I were dating was acknowledged but not constantly pointed out. It was a completely normal dinner.
“Thanks for coming,” Aaron said. “I know it was a chore —”
“It wasn’t,” I interrupt. “Seriously. The food was really good, and your friends were nice.” Sure, I don’t have a heap in common with them, and maybe the version of me from threemonths ago would’ve been standoffish and judgemental, but I forced myself to make an effort.
Aaron shoots me a quick, skeptical look before returning his gaze to the road.
“What?” I ask. “I may not be the most gregarious person in the world, but I’m not totally antisocial.”
“Thank you anyway. I know you did it for me,” he says.
“You were scared about what your friends would think, but you still held my hand and told them I was your boyfriend. Dealing with a tiny bit of discomfort at a dinner is the least I can do,” I say.
Aaron keeps looking straight ahead, but he reaches for my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.
We arrive at Easton Paradise Motor Inn, a two-story grey concrete building. The only thing that’s paradisical about it is the palm trees planted around the perimeter.
We don’t have much luggage, just a small bag each with pyjamas, toiletries and a change of clothes for tomorrow. In reception, a dingy room decorated with framed photos of tropical beaches, a man sits behind the counter, watching TikTok on his phone.
“Hi,” I say. “We have a reservation under Seymour.”
He drags himself closer to his desk and clicks around on his computer. “One night?”
“Yes.”
“Checkout’s at 10 A.M,” he says, opening a drawer and pushing the card across the counter.
We take a rickety metal staircase to the second floor and enter a motel room that looks like the kind you see in road trip movies. The carpet has a few suspicious smudges, a single painting hangs on a wall, the sheets are white, and the furniture is wooden.
Aaron drops his bag on the bed and opens drawers and cupboards at random. “They have a kettle,” he says, pulling it out. “And tea and coffee and ooh, biscuits.”
I enter the bathroom and turn on the light, which flickers on and hums. I inspect the provided soap and tiny squeezy tubes of shampoo and conditioner, and Aaron joins me in the bathroom to brush his teeth. Our elbows touch, and my stomach swoops with anticipation.
I get ready for bed, too, and join Aaron, who’s already sitting in bed, the lamp light illuminating his broad shoulders. Immediately, he pulls me close, and I relax into his body. We haven’t had a chance to touch like this all day. At school, we followed the ground rules of no couple stuff and maintained that at dinner because we didn’t want to subject Aaron’s friends to PDA.
Now, I push some stray hair away from the side of his face, then drag my fingertip down, settling at the bottom of his jaw.
“You have a single bed,” he comments.
“Yeah.” I’ve slept on a single my entire life, and it’s big enough.
“You need to get a double when you move to Melbourne. A double, at least, though a queen would be better.”
“And why would I need to do that?” I ask, but I’m smiling.
“So I won’t be sleeping on the floor.”
I laugh, tangling my legs with his. “You think we’ll still be together when we leave Easton?”
“No reason why not.” He pauses. “Why, do you think this will end before then?”
“No! No. I’ve been thinking about it too, but I wasn’t sure whether it was too soon to bring it up since we only officially got together on Sunday.”
“Yeah, but we’ve been like this for a while. Maybe not officially, but the first night we met…” his eyes are soft and earnest. “I’m not saying I believe in love at first sight —”
“Not that we could even see each other,” I interject.
He grins. “Right. But I was drawn to you. We didn’t talk for that long but I knew then that you were different to everyone else.”
