“Uh, not really.” The familiar knot of anxiety forms in my stomach at the mere mention of social gatherings. Crowds have never been my thing—I much prefer the quiet solitude of the farm, where I can tend to the grapes and lose myself in the rhythm of the seasons. It’s what I know, where I’m comfortable.
“Come on, it might be good for you,” John presses gently. “There’s a whole world out there beyond these vines, you know. You’ve just got to put yourself out there.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, kicking at a stray pebble as we walk. “You’re married to your high school sweetheart and you and Sarah have a great life together. When was the last time you went anywhere by yourself?”
“True,” he says, “but Sarah and I both believe you deserve to experience more of what life has to offer. Besides, who knows? You might meet someone special along the way.”
Heat crawls up my neck at the thought of meeting someone, and I quickly look away, focusing on the gravel beneath my feet. The truth is, I’ve never been very good at connecting with others—especially when it comes to romance. My shyness tends to get the better of me, leaving me tongue-tied and flustered in the presence of anyone I find attractive.
“Okay, fine,” I sigh, knowing that John won’t let this go as it’s been a recurring subject over the last few months. “I’ll think about getting out more.”
“Great, I’m glad to hear it,” he replies. “And remember, you’ve got Sarah and me here to support you every step of the way.”
Sarah and John live in the main homestead, the house where our mum and dad raised us. Mum and Dad have been gone coming up to ten years now. I live in the cottage at the back of the property, but I usually join John and Sarah for dinner.
As we reach the house, the subject changes to the forecast for the coming week and some of the knot in my belly eases as we slip back into easy conversation. At the back door we hang up our hats and toe off our boots then walk in socked feet to the laundry where we wash up in the huge sink.
The scent of roast lamb greets us as we enter the kitchen and my stomach rumbles in response.
“He’s here!” Mia, my seven-year-old niece, claps her hands with excitement from where she sits at the large kitchen table. “Uncle Kyle is here.”
Leo, her ten-year-old brother seated next to her, looks unimpressed as he fiddles with a Lego racing car. Baby Olivia sits in her highchair smearing pureed vegetables around.
“Happy birthday, Kyle,” Sarah says, approaching to kiss my cheek. “Now you boys take a seat while I dish up.”
“Can I help?” I ask.
“Not today, you can’t,” she says. “Today, you get to be waited on hand and foot. You too, John. Go sit down. You can help with the washing up later.”
I smile and nod, taking my usual seat.
“Happy birthday, Uncle Kyle,” Mia says. “We’re having birthday cake.”
“It’s not cake, it’s pavlova,” Leo replies, and the two of them proceed to have an argument.
“Kids, knock it off,” John scolds, placing plates of food in front of everyone.
We all dig in when Sarah joins us, conversation at a minimum as we fill our bellies. As soon as the initial hunger is satiated, the kids start talking a mile a minute, telling us about their school day. Eventually we have cake, or rather pavlova, and the obligatory singing of “Happy Birthday.” It may be a simple meal but I’m surrounding by my family, the people who mean the most to me, and I couldn’t ask for a better way to celebrate turning twenty-five.
Cake eaten, the kids push back their chairs and escape to the living room, while Sarah takes Olivia from her highchair to get ready for bed. John doesn’t allow me to help clear the table, so I watch on while he stacks the plates, then makes coffee, placing the mugs on the table.
Sarah comes back to the kitchen and both she and John sit down opposite me. They share a conspiratorial glance and straight away I’m on alert.
“Kyle, we have something for you,” Sarah says. She slides a large envelope across the table towards me.
I put down my coffee and instinctively reach for it.
“Go on, open it,” John urges. He leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me with interest.
“I thought I said no presents,” I say glancing between the two of them.
“I know, but it means a lot to us to give this to you,” Sarah says and takes John’s hand.
“Thank you.” There’s a flutter of nerves in my stomach as I slowly tear open the envelope, revealing a card. I slide it from the envelope. Folded alongside the card is a glossy brochure. The wordsPride Cruisecatch my eye, the rainbow lettering standing out.
“Surprise!” John and Sarah exclaim in unison. They grin at each other before turning their attention back to me.
“A brochure for a Pride Cruise?”
