Flesh & Blood Read online

  She looked insulted to be picked for that one. “Are you kidding?” she said. “I’m waiting for you to decide to start taking testosterone and grow a pretentious hipster beard like a proper art snob.” It turned out to be Rob who had gotten that for me.

  Bree patted Rob’s head. “Good choice,” she told him as I took my shot. “Min isn’t a big fan of facial hair.”

  Which was one of the many reasons why starting testosterone injections wasn’t very high up my to-do list, despite Sarah’s complete conviction it’d happen eventually.

  There was one particular present I left aside; I recognised the delicately patterned and meticulously wrapped paper. The frilly ribbon was also a dead giveaway. Apparently my mother wasn’t boycotting my birthday after all, despite how upset she was at me quitting my ‘perfect’ job and not being able to regularly send money back to South Korea anymore. I didn’t want to open it in front of everyone because I had no idea what it was. I gave it to Bree to put in my bedroom before she presented me with hers: the enormous birthday cake.

  It was flat and rectangular and iced like a Cintiq tablet, and there were stick figures of the guests at the party piped all over it. Everyone insisted on singing Happy Birthday to me again so I could blow out the one candle, and then when the cake was cut into slices, everyone fought over which stick figure was who so they could joke about eating each other.

  “I think wearing these uniforms is actually turning you into schoolkids,” I told them all dryly as Sarah swallowed Rob’s piece whole and everyone leered.

  “Shut up and eat your girlfriend,” Sarah told me, nudging my slice toward me. I glanced up towards Bree across the table, and she gave me a coy little wink as I put the piece in my mouth; she’d undone an extra button on her school shirt for the occasion. I needed to be reminded to chew.

  Gemma had gone off to the toilet after presents were finished, and came back to find her own slice of cake left alone on the platter. She took it and laughed bleakly. “That’s right,” she said. “There are eleven of us, and eleven is a prime number.”

  “I’ll share my piece with you!” Bree cheerfully offered before she even realised what she’d said. Everyone was quiet for a fraction of a second before they all burst out laughing, and that just made Gemma blush again. Bree looked horrified. “Oh, no! That’s not what I meant! I just thought we could share because I made Min’s slice really big and I’m really small, and I can’t fit all of this in!”

  She was drowned out by more laughter, and Gay Matt prompted her, “Could you give us a demo of what you have in mind?” I threw a scrunched up piece of wrapping paper at him.

  Gemma ended up quickly eating her own piece, thinking that’s where the jokes would stop. She was wrong. I was surrounded by adults acting like drunk teenagers and it was hilarious.

  As people finished eating each other, we took a few group photos of ourselves all in our uniforms and then everyone went to refill their drinks.

  I sat back in my chair and enjoyed the familiar feeling of alcohol setting in.

  It’d normally be just me and Henry playing PlayStation in my old apartment right now, I realised, still completely spun by the fact someone had thrown a party for me. Henry probably would have thrown me one, but I don’t think either of us really had enough good friends on our own to pull it off. Henry worked too much; in fact, he was probably still at work. I wondered what he’d be doing if he was here, because I couldn’t imagine him at a party like this. He’d probably enjoy it, though. He was a people person.

  I spent a couple of seconds trying to guess what he would have bought me for my birthday. I didn’t have to wonder very hard: I still had that beautiful $27,000 engagement ring in a box in my room, never to be worn. ‘Keep it’, he’d said quietly, even though we’d broken up. ‘It was for you anyway’.

  God, I thought, remembering that whole painful night. That was the last time I’d spoken to him. Why on earth did I think there would be any chance at all he’d be here after what I did to him?

  I sighed. Well, there were two last shots on the table in front of me and I might as well drink them, right? I went to scull them. I didn’t manage to, though, because Bree’s little hands darted across the table and snatched them and they both went down her throat.

  “Hey!” I said, indignant. “Whose birthday is it again?”

  “You’ve had enough,” she said cheerfully, and then rounded the table with the cake empty tray to plant a kiss on the top of my head. She was being amicable enough, but she stopped in the doorway to make sure I knew she was serious before she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Rob’s mate Dazza saw the whole thing and looked very amused. “Why’s she allowed to keep drinking and you're not?”

  Because she doesn't have the same history with alcohol that I have, I thought, and she’s right. “Because she's the boss.”

  He clapped me on the back. “Someone’s got you under her thumb,” he said broadly with a grin. “Although I kind of don’t blame you, she’s gold. I only get to give it to girls like that in my dreams.”

  “Well, I’m not so much giving it to her as she’s forcibly taking it from me."

  He laughed at that, and I hoped that was the end of the conversation. It wasn’t. I could feel him looking at me like he wanted to say something else, and I knew what type of question was coming next. The other guys knew me and knew how much I didn’t like doing Min’s Gender Q&A; Dazza didn’t, and apparently Rob hadn’t given him the 101.

  “How does that work, anyway?” he wondered aloud. “Is it like lesbians for you two? I mean, because you don't have a...” He at least had the courtesy to gesture at my flat crotch rather than say the word for everyone to hear.

  I immediately regretted not wearing the packer and I wondered if the fact I wasn't had anything to do with his question. “Actually, I'm saving myself for marriage.”

  He was so drunk that for a second he believed me. “Really?”

  “Nope.”

  He laughed, and I’m pretty sure he got the message. “Hah, nice save. So, you were just up in Broome, yeah? That’s where I’m from.” That explained his incredibly broad accent. “What were you doing up there?”

  At least art was something I felt comfortable talking about, and despite his rough appearance, he was very interested in what I’d painted and in which café. I ended up talking to him for ages, and he was midway through explaining the meaning behind his multitude of tattoos when Sarah tugged on my sleeve and inclined her head towards the couch.

  I looked over her shoulder: Bree had fallen asleep curled in a little ball and completely oblivious to the loud chatter and people stomping everywhere around her. This wasn’t just an ordinary Bree-style sugar crash, either. Clearly those last two shots she’d taken for me had finished her off. I felt a teensy bit guilty about that; she’d hate to miss anything.

  Sarah grinned. “Hilarious, right? I mean, apart from the obvious illegality of getting a five-year-old really drunk.” I groaned, and let her gather me and everyone else around the couch for a cheeky Facebook photo of us all posing around sleeping Bree. The photo I was okay with; it was only when someone asked Sarah if she had a permanent marker that I decided I should probably put Bree safely in bed before anyone could draw a moustache on her.

  “Shouldn’t you call her parents to come get her?” one of the Matts joked as I lifted my groggy girlfriend off the couch and carried her towards my bedroom. I didn’t really want to joke about Bree’s family, so I pretended I hadn’t heard him as I closed the door and tucked Bree into my bed.

  I couldn’t just dump her there in whatever condition she was in, though, so I sat beside her for a second, stroking the hair off her face. She didn’t seem unconscious-unconscious—at least, not to a level that I should worry about. She’d passed out enough times while completely sober at my apartment for me to know there wasn’t anything too wrong. Still, I checked her pulse, just to be safe.

  It woke her up a little. “Are you going to come
to bed?” she mumbled.

  “Soon,” I told her.

  “Okay. Don’t leave your binder on,” she said, and then snuggled into the doona and promptly started breathing deeply again.

  I had to smile at that. It was going to be nice to have her in my bed after two weeks of sleeping by myself. That was probably the only good thing about her parents having zero interest in her whereabouts; she could stay over with me as often as she wanted, including coming to surprise parties on school nights. That seemed so alien to me. If my mum had even let me go to a party at 18, she would probably have sat out the front in her car the whole time and phoned me every five minutes.

  Thinking about Mum made me remember that I hadn’t braved her present yet. From where I was sitting I could see it sitting innocuously on the desk, and the room was so small I could probably just reach out from the bed and grab it. I tested that theory, and then sat back on the bed with her present across my lap.

  The ribbon was frilly. That was my first concern because I hated frills, and it didn’t bode well for what might be inside. I had to get this over and done with, though, didn’t I? I was going to have to do it at some point.

  I undid that frilly ribbon and very, very carefully peeled the edges of the sticky tape off the paper without tearing it—Mum hated it when I just ripped into presents and I felt like she’d just know. When the perfectly preserved wrapping paper was folded neatly on the bed next to me and I discovered what was inside, I was really glad I hadn’t opened this in front of everyone else.

  She’d sent me a cutesy microwavable heat pack in the shape of a bunny—I’d probably lose that one to Bree—and a book of wedding dresses for ‘the tall’ woman. Real subtle, Mum, I thought, frowning at it. It was also in Korean. I leafed through it just to properly horrify myself, and I saw her precise handwriting inside the front cover. ‘Henry would love some of these!’

  I’m sure he would if we were still together, I thought to myself. That was about as close as I’d gotten to telling her, because she loved him. If I’d told her we’d broken up, I’d be opening a card full of anthrax right now. Or worse: I’d be opening the front door to her. I sighed at the book and put it back on my desk.

  In the process of doing that, I caught sight of my phone and its little flashing LED: blue for new voicemail. In the frenzy of the party, I’d forgotten all about those. Obviously they hadn’t been left by Sarah like I’d originally thought, and looking at my phone beside Mum’s present suddenly made it very clear to me exactly who had left me all those seven messages. I closed my eyes for a second, exhaling. Of course, my birthday was the perfect opportunity to spend seven minutes nagging me, wasn’t it?

  Well, fuck that. Sarah had gone to a tonne of effort to put this party together, and I was pretty sure her running sheet didn’t have a segment dedicated to me sitting in my bedroom being nagged and feeling sorry for myself. I was not going to be sucked back into that place by someone who was 10,000km away: it was my birthday, this was my first real party and I was going to fucking enjoy it.

  I kissed Bree’s temple, slipped the packer into my underwear, and then went back to the party where I couldn't be bothered by that little flashing LED.

  TWO

  I’m going to be late for work!

  It was impossible to tell what time it was in winter, and for some reason my stupid alarm hadn’t gone off—I’d probably been drunk and forgot to set it again, my team was going to kill me–and, fuck, where was my fucking phone?— I had been hurriedly feeling around for my phone on the bedside table when I realised my table was the wrong height. That’s weird, I thought as my eyes adjusted to the light. Nothing made sense, I didn’t remember getting another—

  —bedroom.

  I wasn’t in my apartment. It took me several seconds of staring at an unfamiliar ceiling to remember what had happened and where I was.

  I’d quit that god-awful job. No one was going to kill me. No one was expecting me to be anywhere at the crack of dawn doing anything for anyone, and no one was asking me why I no speaky Engrish or telling me to leave all that tranny shit at home. I was in Sarah’s house, there was a formal complaint pending about all that crap, and I could relax.

  I lay my head back on my pillow and took a deep breath. Beside me, Bree stirred. Under the doona, she slung an arm across my stomach and buried her nose in my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said groggily. She was lovely and warm.

  I kissed her forehead and felt her smile against my shoulder. That made me smile, and I exhaled at length, ready to try for another round of sleep before I realised that it was Friday and Bree had school.

  I groaned, opened my eyes again, and clumsily felt around my bedside table for my phone so I could hold it at my face, in the process knocking over a framed photo of Bree smooching my cheek and probably about a hundred other things. I read the clock at the same time as I noticed that fucking flashing blue LED and those stupid messages I hadn’t listened to yet. I dropped it back on the bedside table and sighed upwards at the ceiling. Clearly I wasn’t supposed to relax this morning.

  “You’re doing that teeth-grindy thing again,” Bree mumbled into my arm.

  She was right, I was. I tried to relax my jaw, but my muscles still felt all stiff. “Why am I such a stress ball this morning, anyway?” I asked her, tilting my head to stretch my neck. “I had such an awesome time last night.”

  “Because when there’s nothing to worry about, you worry about worrying,” Bree told me sagely, and snuggled up against my arm. “Don’t worry so much. Just relax.”

  “Wow, I’m cured,” I said dryly. “Thank you, Dr Dejanovic.”

  She was peeking over the doona at me and there was a twinkle in her eye. “You pronounced it wrong.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I said, and propped myself up on an elbow. “Let’s hear you say my name properly.”

  She still had that cheeky grin. “Pretty hard for me when you can’t even pronounce your own name properly.”

  Wow. That earned her a tickle, and I rolled over on top of her, my fingers hovering ominously around her ribs while she struggled, laughed, apologised and shrieked—that ear-splitting, glass-shattering sound she made when she panicked. I put my hand over her mouth. “Shh!” I hissed, but I was laughing too hard for it to be an effective warning.

  She licked my palm to get me to take my hand away, and it worked. At my grossed-out expression, she shoved me. “Are you serious? You’ll let me put it in your mouth but you think it’s gross on your hand?” she wrinkled that cute little nose of hers. “No wonder you won’t let me put it anywhere else!”

  “Didn’t you hear what I told Dazza? I’m saving myself for marriage.”

  She looked a bit coy. “Yeah? Well, I’m not, so…”

  “Oh boy, I wonder what that means,” I said flatly, and then leant down to kiss her.

  In the grand habit of Bree, at some point in the night her skirt and her socks had come off and were probably buried in the covers somewhere. I had bare legs, too, and the feeling of all that skin against mine was not incentive to get Bree off to school on time. She was soft and warm, and her hips were resting against mine and our legs were intertwined, and, god, her buttons were really hard to undo with one hand…

  She helped me, and then said in a deep voice which I think was supposed to be mine, “’You can’t be late, Bree, that would make you a terrible person!’”

  I kissed down her neck to her collarbones. “I’m just getting you ready for a shower,” I told her as I pushed apart the sides of her shirt. Her breasts were falling out of her bra because she was on her back, and that was a very, very pleasant sight. God, I was going to need one of those showers myself: a very cold one. I wanted that bra and those knickers off her right now.

  We couldn’t start something, though, because she needed to get to school before Christmas. I managed to resist the allure of all that very tempting skin, and sat back off her. “Okay,” I said breathily. “Okay, we probably shouldn’t. You need to go get rea
dy or you will be late.”

  “Fine,” she said, and sat up from underneath me, shrugging off her school shirt and her bra, and leaning over to my phone. She scoffed. “I’m going to be way early, you are so ultra-paranoid about time.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you had an opportunity to use all the hot water before it’s my turn.”

  She rolled her eyes at me and stood, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around herself. I must have been watching a bit too hard as she did that, because she gave me another cheeky grin before she left. “You want to come and waste the hot water with me?”

  I winced: I did, a lot. But seeing my naked body in front of Sarah’s full-length bathroom mirror was a big enough challenge for me even when I was alone. “I can’t,” I told her, making a face. “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “—I know,” she said simply, and then added, “Maybe we could get you, like, a binder that’s supposed to be swum in or something? I mean, trans guys still want to swim, right, so they probably exist? That could be fun.”

  “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of being wet and naked together, though?”

  “No,” she said, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “We’ll still be in there together with all the hot water and the steam, and I’ll be naked.” When I tried to apologise again, she cut me off. “—Still worrying too much,” she told me, leant down and gave me a quick kiss and another spectacular view of her cleavage, and then slipped off to have that shower.

  I had been sitting on the bed, smiling like an idiot and imagining all that hot water and steam, but the little flashing LED on my phone kept fucking distracting me. I gave up, threw on some clothes, and went to see how Sarah’s house had fared after the party.