“I don’t know the exact word, but you remind me of my grandma. She's like 90, always wearing her hair in one of those over-the-top buns, like Marie Antoinette, and acts and speaks like she’s some dowager countess.”
"Great," I say. “Being compared to someone's grandma is everything I'm striving for in life.”
“All I mean is that sometimes you speak kind of formal. Not like most people our age. It’s impressive, actually. I mean, that’s probably part of why you’re so smart.”
Now I’m reminded of R from last night.You talk so…sophisticated like.
"Okay, okay," I say. "You don't have to flatter me.”
He smiles and gestures his hands towards the stepladder as if to say, after you. So I walk up it, and pull the first box off the topshelf with ease, and I'm pretty proud of how I stop myself saying,see?
"Your arms are long enough," Aaron says. "Let's just say that we're the same height."
I follow his instructions to pull everything down so we can sort it out. It’s dusty up here, and the boxes I handle coat my fingertips in grey fluff. It's slow progress, pulling everything down, getting off the stepladder, moving it to the side a bit, and pulling everything down again. Every time I hand something down, Aaron always has his hands out to collect it. Maybe our arms are the same length, but his hands are larger and more calloused than mine.
The final shelf is the most difficult because the boxes are the largest and heaviest. I determined not to let Aaron see how much I'm struggling as I pass down the base of an elaborate floor lamp.
"If it's too heavy, I can swap with you," he says.
“I’m fine,” I say.
I think he’ll argue, but he doesn’t.
The next box I pull down, I think I have secured, but it catches on the edge, and I wobble on the stepladder, letting out a high-pitched gasp.
“Are you alright? " Aaron says.
I blink twice, then realise that his arms are around my waist. I fell backwards, with him catching me from the side. My skin flames. Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.
“Yeah,” I say, scrambling to get my feet steady on the concrete ground. Aaron slowly unwraps his arms, and he’s close enough that I can smell his shampoo. It smells familiar. Is it the same kind I use?
"Sorry," I say. "You're right. You should’ve been up there instead of me. That was probably like a breach of OH&S. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Calm down,” he says. “It's fine. You're not hurt, are you?” He touches the side of my arm, and I flinch away.
His eyes widen with hurt, then shutter. Damn it. I didn’t mean to offend him. I just wasn't expecting him to touch me.
"No," I say, looking at my feet. "I'm not hurt."
Why am I like this? Maybe because my body became used to a pattern of contact at school, but now I haven’t seen R for a week, so it’s starving for something, anything, and now even the most innocent touch feels like an electric shock. And Aaron, who doesn't appeal to me personality-wise, has a built frame, large hands, and smells nice.
"Let's take a break," Aaron says. "It's almost time for lunch anyway."
Call tonight?R emails me.
Yes, I reply.10?
Why so late lol.
Gotta study, I reply.
It’s true, of course, but it’s not the only reason. Just before 10 o’clock, I’m freshly showered and in a loose shirt and shorts that I wear as pyjamas. I go out to the kitchen, ostensibly for a glass of water, but really, I’m checking that Mum’s gone to bed. The house is dark and quiet, all the lights off. In the darkness, the display-home decorations and furniture look even more foreign.
Back in my room, I shut the door and drop a stack of textbooks by it to act as a doorstopper. It won’t do much if Mum wants to get in, but hopefully, it buys me enough time to look innocent if I need to.
I turn off the main light, leaving only the bedside table lamp on, then climb into bed. A thrill of anticipation runs through me as I tap on my phone and call R.
“Hello?” he answers, voice low and husky, and I flush.
