“Public, John. Public.”
“Right. Tell me all about the pubic embarrassment.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“What’s that, Bev? I don’t hear you.”
“You creepy old man.”
“Creepy! I have liberal ideas.”
“You have selective hearing!”
Loud cackles bounce around the van. Trent ducks his head towards me. “Let me know if you want me to put a stop to it.”
I turn, my breath tickling over his jaw, and whisper, “Let them have their fun.”
A woman with bright pink lipstick leans over the seat in front of us. “We’re not all like this, I promise.” She smiles and looks between us. “So handsome. Are you both single? Both gay? My grandchildren are single?—”
“My grand-nephew is singleandstunning.”
“I have a godson that looks just like Taika Waititi.”
“You wish.”
“If I’m wishing, it wouldn’t be for a godson.”
I’m laughing so hard inside that I’m jolting against Trent’s side. Gosh. This crowd sure doesn’t hold back.
“Keep the last weekend of March free,” I tell them all. “This birthday bash will be quite the affair to remember!”
“Remember! Half of us will forget by tomorrow,” John calls out. “Organise the van to pick us up.”
“Ohhhh,” someone up front calls. “My doctor is single. He’s a lovely fellow, mid-thirties, dependable type.”
“We’ve moved on from that, Clara. But you are right. Heisa lovely man. Ika, you can ‘escort’ us on our next visits. Perhaps something can develop organically.”
Trent has slowly become more and more rigid beside me. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Lipstick laughs.
“Look at him getting pricklish over his little bro dating!”
Trent murmurs, very dryly. “Not pricklish. Just fascinated by how much free time you all have.”
“Not much, not much. That’s why we have to use it well.”
I nod. “Sounds wise to me.” I lean forward. “What does this doctor look like?”
Trent pulls me back by my arm. “Looks are what matters?”
I smile slowly at him, then grin at the grannies. “The first step into the sea is shallow, after all.”
John throws two thumbs up over his head. “And each wade in gets you deeper and deeper until you don’t miss the sand beneath your feet.”
Trent mutters under his breath. “That’s drowning, John.”
“Or floating,” Lipstick counters smoothly. She glances at me, assessing. “If you have the right man.”
Trent makes a sound, soft yet sharp. “And I’ll be the judge of that,” he snaps, just as the van pulls into Zealandia.
