“Another glass of the Sav, please.”
He looks at Archer. “And you?”
I wait for Archer to argue, but to my surprise he finishes off his whiskey, then pushes the glass across. “Another JD please.”
Tyr nods, picks up the glasses, and goes off to pour our drinks.
I glance at Archer. “You’re not going to tell me off for trying to get drunk?”
“You pointed out to me that you’re a big girl now. If you want to get drunk, you can get drunk. I’m just making it clear that I’m not going to let you do it on your own.”
It’s such a lovely thing to say, and it’s exactly what I needed to hear.
“Thank you.” My vision mists over.
He meets my eyes for a moment, then drags his gaze away as Tyr returns with our glasses. Archer pushes my phone away as I try to pay and touches his own to the machine, and Tyr nods and retreats.
Archer holds his whiskey glass toward me, I clink my wine glass against it, and we both take a sip before he leans on the bar beside me, his arm a fraction from mine.
I study the light-gold liquid in my glass, my thoughts meandering. If I’m honest with myself—and I need to be, I think—things haven’t been right between Jude and me for a while. He’s so prickly and irritable that I know I started to withdraw from him some time ago. I could feel it. And in return, he cooled toward me. Our argument today was not a one-off, and it didn’t come out of the blue.
I miss the connection we had, or that I thought we had. He was never the kind of guy to spend Sundays in bed curled up around one another. Jude has battery acid for blood. His energy levels are either a hundred percent, or he’s asleep. When he’s awake, he’s moving, and he doesn’t stop until he crashes out at night. Sex—when it happened—was passionate, but always fast and furious. He’s not a cuddler. He has no idea how to comfort me. And I don’t think he understands that touch is my love language. Mind you, Archer rarely touches me, either.
I have lots of friends, both at the Ark and outside it. I used to think it was because I’m Maori and we’re openly affectionate with family, but I’m sure that in New Zealand most people are more touchy feely than elsewhere. Women kiss on the cheek or hug. Men bearhug each other or do the ‘clasp the right hand and shoulder bump’ thing. And with the opposite sex, Maori often do the traditional hongi when they meet, pressing noses and foreheads together, while everyone else hugs.
Archer hugged me just now, but it felt awkward how he angled his body away from me. Other than the occasional hug when it would seem odd if we didn’t, and the moment just now where he comforted me, he always keeps his distance. I’d say it was because he was one of those people who recoils from touching, but I’ve seen him greet friends and family with hugs and kisses. So maybe he just doesn’t want to touch me.
As an experiment, I reach for my glass, take a sip, and then when I place it down, I rest my arm on the bar a fraction to the right. We’re both wearing T-shirts, so our arms are mostly bare.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his gaze drop to the point where we’re touching and study it for a moment.
He reaches for his glass and has a mouthful of the whiskey. When he puts the glass back down and leans on the bar again, he leaves a slight gap between our arms.
The rejection stings. I just want comfort. Am I so abhorrent?
I want to ask him why he won’t touch me, but I’m not brave enough.
“What do you mean, you compromise more than Jude does?” he asks.
I shrug, irritated that he moved away and tired of trying to figure men out. “I don’t know. I feel as if he’s a… a plastic mold, and I’m a piece of plasticine. I have to reshape myself when I’m with him to make sure we fit together. But he just stays the same. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“I know I seem upset… I am upset… we’ve been together a long time, and he was my first long-term relationship. But I think I’m more frustrated that it’s taken so long to come to this conclusion. Of course he doesn’t want kids. Why didn’t I raise the subject before? And why didn’t I realize from what he said and the way he reacted when I spoke about Kim? I’ve been so blind.”
“I think you’ve been hopeful, that’s all. Lots of young guys say they can’t stand babies and don’t want children, but most of them come around when they get older. And Jude might, too.”
I shake my head. “I know he won’t. And I don’t want to have to haul my partner kicking and screaming to the nursery, you know? If I do have fertility issues, I don’t want him falling at the first hurdle.”
He just sighs.
“You’re never told this during sex ed classes at school,” I grumble. “It’s always ‘you can get pregnant the first time you have sex’ and ‘you’re never safe,’ as if it’s going to happen at the drop of a hat. They don’t tell you that you can drop every single hat you own and it still might not happen.”
He tries to hide a laugh, and fails.
I glare at him. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiles. “You’re cute when you’re tipsy.”
