And I always thought home was complicated, for me, Bren says. But maybe it’s not. Maybe now I’m here, it’s easier than I thought.
Everythingcanbe easy, she says, nodding. I’ll talk to Robin, and it’ll be fine.
And Bren’s nodding back, and there’s a second where she thinks thingswillbe fine, just like she’s said, but then he stops. Shakes his head slightly, instead, and says sorry, Nora. But what is it you’ll talk to him about?
Us, she says, after a protracted pause, rain glistening on the parked cars in the street. I’ll make him see there’s nothing to worry about, here. That we’re like family.
Right. Except you were never just family to me, Nora.
Everything in high contrast, as he says it. Soaked ground, red hair. Feelings she cannot name.
I’m probably way out of line, saying this now, Bren says, but I got it wrong once, when I left, and I didn’t put it right, or even talk to you, about any of it, so this is me … talking, this time.
Nora is staring at him.
And maybe we missed our chance, Bren says, and maybe I don’t get what you’ve got here, with Robin, but I see you looking uneasy, Nora, every time the wedding comes up, and I’m just saying, if there’s a part of you that feels like this whole thing is – not what you want? Then you can walk away, like I did. With me.
That’s ludicrous, Nora wants to say.Youare ludicrous. But her brain isn’t working, her mind is not connecting the synapses that fire between thought and language, and she doesn’t imagine him kissing her, this time, doesn’t feel much of anything except a stunned blank dumbness as he says just give it some thought, okay? Before he heads down the path into the blurred, storm-wrecked day; a day where everything has changed.
_
Almost every hiker – and in fact, most thrill-seeking tourists – Bren has crossed paths with in recent years has seen127 hours. A film about Aron Ralston who went walking alone in a canyon in Utah, only to get trapped under a boulder for five days. Five days of waiting, with no communication, his mindprimedfor any glimmer of rescue. Five days of wishing he’d told someone where he was going. Five days of self-reflection, extreme regret and agonising possibility. Five days of hell, essentially, ending only because he cut off his own arm and willed himself towards freedom.
Bren thinks a lot about that movie in the five days after the storm. His own five days of no contact. Of regret, and possibility. Five days of priming himself for any message from Nora, which does not come, and he can’t be sore about that after Robin’s point because yes,hehas been known to disappear for months at a time, but in all fairness there wasn’t a question to answer, wasn’t a wedding three weeks from now; wasn’t a situation where, while not his actual arm, it does feel like he’s cut off a part of himself and held it out, is waiting to see if she’ll take it.
He’s aware the comparison ends there; he’s bleeding out hope, not blood, with three meals a day and a bed to sleep in and innumerable cups of coffee; checking his flight app to stay occupied between his walks and his mind-numbing conversations with his mother. But Bren can feel something clotting inside of him as he begins to check flights more frequently. An itch, almost, that is becoming hard to ignore. He does odd jobs for his mother to pass the time. Checks his bank account, baulks, does some handyman jobs for the next few days around the village until someone says he looksso much like Jonand he decides he’s earned enough cash for now, enough to put towards his ticket back to the outdoor centre; emails traded; yep, the next season’s contract is still his; does he want to do his NZOIA Rock 2 assessment, sure, yeah, sign him up.
Long days like this. Longer nights. And then, on the fifth evening, Bren watches another movie, in the company of his mother this time. No amputated limbs in this one as she sits with her herbal tea and he sits scrolling for routes back to Auckland, cheapest via Singapore or Shanghai, but in spite of himself he ends up lowering his phone and watching the film properly. The protagonist needs tofind herself, but to do that she needs time alone, she’s going to walk some distance witha giant rucksack; there’s a comic scene where she can’t pack it properly and Josie laughs her bellowing laugh and asks if it’s ever like that for him, he grins back at her, says he packs much lighter than that; snaps his toothbrush in half, even, stuffs his socks in his shoes. It’s kind of nice, they are laughing together, and then the woman in the film comes to realise what the viewer has known the whole way and something happens, inside Bren, as the credits roll.
Because what if Nora is just getting some distance, he wonders, before she gives him her answer? This feeling in his gut, this feeling that has steered him right his entire life, can’t be wrong – and is telling him, too, thatsheknows what’s right. That she just needs time, unlike him, who has no attachments or commitments – to sort things out.
He thinks about the perceived mistakes he’s made, as monochrome photographs appear on the TV screen. How people judge him for his actions. Which he’d admitted as much to Robin, not as a threat but in self-deprecation, almost: he doesn’t do the right thing, historically, not when it comes to life’s milestones. Gap years. Weddings. Funerals. Which hadn’t gone down so well, judging by the look on Robin’s face, the way he put his drink down, hard. But it wasn’tBren’sjob to reassure him, especially when he doesn’t really care what Robin thinks of him; when the only one he cares about here is Nora, and there’s that itch, inside him, again. A certainty he’s not felt, before. The credits end, the screen fades to black, and he amends his search on the flight app to two tickets – two seats – instead of one.
Well, Josie says. I really enjoyed that.
Yeah, Bren says, unmoved. Shereally enjoyseverything she watches. He’s never heard her express anything else, negative or impassioned or otherwise.
D’you want a hot cocoa, pet, before bed?
She asks him this every night, and every night he says no thanks, because he isn’t eleven, not that he says this last part. He doesn’t head to bed just yet, though; bookmarks the cheapest double flight, first. Singles, not returns. Then puts his phone down, only to see his mother looking straight at him from her armchair. Mug of tea on her side table. The painting that Nora had given her for her birthday, one year, propped beside her reading lamp.
What’s up? he asks her.
I was going to ask you the same thing.
How come?
You seem particularly distracted, this week, Josie says. Watching that film is the first time you’ve sat still for more than two minutes.
I rarely sit still for more than two minutes, he reasons.
Well, Josie says, I suppose that’s true. You’re still staying for Easter, aren’t you?
Classic, he thinks. Concern for him, eclipsed by the more pressing preoccupation with this vague get-together of hers. He says yes, though, and she says good. And for Nora’s wedding, too?
Something must show on his face at this, because his mother actually points at him and saysthere, Bren. There’s that distracted look I keep seeing – and this surprises him, not only because she’s noticed, but because he’s not able to hide it, after years of managing his emotions. He tries to rearrange his face. Tries to look unruffled, nonchalant. But then –
You’re leaving, Josie says to him. Aren’t you?
