Page 34 of Secrets in Love
I wasn’t about to dignify that with a response.
“Goodbye, Polly.”
“I don’t think so.” She laughed as she followed me out the door, still naked and hurling fish. “You’ll be back, Nathaniel Myers. Trust me, my bed won’t even be cold, and you’ll be sick of that little ice block.”
Nate
To: Evie
From: Nate
Hey, Gidge. I know you’re probably asleep, and I know you thought I was full of shit. But I’m on my way. I’ve cleared customs, and Operation Convince Evie has officially begun. My flight # QF 4393 is expected to arrive at JFK around 10 pm, and I’d really, really, really love to see your face when I walk-collapse through those gates.
As I wait in Sydney before floating through the air at 35,000 feet to be near you, I thought I’d share a few treasured memories, hoping you would finally see how much I treasure you.
1:When I was six, I tried to kiss you in the cubby your dad made for us in the old chicken coop. You were not impressed and rightly punched me in the face. When I started crying, you called me a stupid baby but fetched me an ice pack and held it to my face. I remember looking into your eyes and being terrified while also wanting to marry you when I was big.
2:When I was ten, I attempted to do a mono on my bike in front of Harvey’s milk bar. My audience was a gang of older kids I was desperate to impress, mainly because it included you. I failed miserably, falling backward into the road, and grazing most of the hair from the back of my head and the skin on my ass, back, and arms. You were the only one to come to my aid, wiping the blood from my neck with your pink-and-white hanky, then walking me to Polly’s house, berating me constantly for being a pain-in-the-ass idiot but waiting and not leaving my side till my mum came to get me. I still have that hanky. It’s in my pocket right now.
3:When we were twelve, Finn, Shelby, and I snuck into your room and went through your things. Finn was looking for a diary he was sure he’d seen you writing in, convinced it would hold enough blackmail material to get him through his and, more importantly, your teenage years.
Luckily, I was the one who found it. I admit to reading a couple of pages before feeling so guilty that I stopped. But I swear there was nothing terrible or overly personal, mostly the odd confession of love for Justin Bieber and notes and ideas for your stories. One was about a little girl who grew up by the beach and dreamed of being a ballerina. It was poetry, really.
The phrasing and language seemed so mature. I couldn’t understand most of it, but I remember every word….
“Her slumber brings dreams of worlds so different to those of her every day she struggles to comprehend their existence. She wears princess gowns of tulle and sequined satin. She is all beauty and grace, flittering and fluttering like a delicate fairy, twirling on a shimmering, golden string. But her true and mighty heart beats with the ferocity of a medieval knight, and her blood runs red, burning with the fire of the dragons she will one day slay. She yearns for adventure, for independence. For stages and strangers with interesting faces. Of finding her own way. Of making mistakes and occasionally learning from them. Of finding and falling in love, all the while deeply fearing the unknown realities of leaving everyone and everything she knows. She’s both feminine and masculine, diminutive and demanding. Fire and ice.
It was you, Evie. I saw it even back then.
To: Evie
From: Nate
Fuck. Just got a coffee and a muffin and it cost me 15 bucks! Also, why does predictive text change fuck to duck all the time?
To: Evie
From: Nate
4: Christmas day. I was thirteen, and you were sixteen. Your mum had given you a hair straightener, and you had just finished frying the shit out of your curls for the first time. You and Finn then rode over to our place after lunch. Finn strutted into the house like king shit, his new body board tucked under his arm and headed straight for Shelby. You swanned in like freaking Beyonce, flipping and waving your hair to and fro and heading for the mirror Mum still has hanging over the side table in the hall.
You knew how hot you looked. I knew how hot you looked. So hot I had the first of many Evie Austen-inspired teenage boners I would have to hide over the years.
To: Evie
From: Nate
I’m the one who told Marc Loritso you collected toenails from dead people at the funeral home, that you never cut your own, and that this was why you wore Doc Martens—they allowed space for your gross, curled nails, you see.
If the toenail thing wasn’t enough to make him cancel your date, I may have eluded to the fact that you were thinking of collecting teeth, too, and warned him not to smile too much, as you may try and pull one of his out.
I didn’t expect him to tell everyone in Year 12, or to put it in the school yearbook.
My bad.
To: Evie-
From: Nate
