Page 1 of Unexpected Boyfriends

Chapter 01

Palm Beach, Sydney

JUSTIN

“Don’t forget to set for six. They’re bringing their son with them, remember?”

“Yeah, sure.” I sigh. Why do parents – and grandparents in this case – always assume that two young people will hit it off, just because they’re of similar age?

Ugh. It’s not the first time my grandparents have pulled this stunt, and almost every time it’s been painfully awkward. The only time it wasn’t, the new ‘friend’ was a girl. In my experience, girls like hanging out with gay guys, maybe ‘cause they feel safe around them, but guys my age…well, they generally keep me at a wary distance. My family haven’t figured out my sexual orientation yet, but every person my age can tell, and most straight guys behave as if the gay guy is going to hit oneveryguy he meets. Like we just can’t control ourselves. Like straight guys are all so lust worthy. As if.Idiots.

Anyway, I know my grandparents mean well. And yes, I don’t have friends here in Sydney, but I’m only here for the holidays and I’m perfectly happy with my own company.My grandparents live in a beautiful, airy house overlooking a stunning surf beach - which is just a short ten-minute walk down the hill - and I spend most of my days down there, swimming or lounging on the beach. What’s not to love about that?

Well, maybe thefifteen-minutewalk back up the hill after the swim, which means I’m hot and ready to go back down again as soon as I get home. But, whatever. It’s a small price to pay. I don’t have my license yet, so walking it is, unless my grandparents pick me up, but then I have to pick a time and stick to it... and that is not the point of a holiday, so, nah, I'll walk.

I love spending my holidays here, and when I’m not at the beach, I draw or paint, or read novels. There’s nothing I find more relaxing than sitting at the table in the sunroom surrounded by paper and colored pencils, the sun shining through the glass walls of the sunroom, the cicadas singing, and the beautiful blue ocean stretched out in front me.

But not today.

I will admit to being a little put out at having my peaceful holiday routine disrupted by visitors, but it’s not my house, so I roll with it. It’s not so bad when it’s just my grandparents’ friends that come, because after lunch I can easily make my escape and head off to the beach. However, when they’re bringing their son or daughter to ‘keep me company’, I’m obliged to stick around. Sometimes I’m able to convince them to come to the beach which sort of takes the pressure off having awkward conversation, but usually we just end up on our phones basically ignoring each other.

I’m not looking forward to today, because a) guy (probably straight), and b) way older than me, which means we’ll have even less in common.

I groan inwardly. Still, it’s just a few painful hours and then I can be at the beach again. I can do this.

AXEL

I do not want to do this.

I’m twenty-two years old. Why do I get dragged out to my parents’ social events?

Family friends, apparently, though I’ve never met them, so how does that work? I know my dad works for the guy, and my parents have socialized with them a number of times over the years, but as far as I remember they’ve never been to our house. So really, they’d be more appropriately labeled ‘work associates’, and it begs the question - why am I going?

“WhyamI going?” I ask my mother again, as I procrastinate about getting ready. I’m still in the swim shorts and rashy I wore for my morning swim and the thought of dressing in stuffy clothes suitable for a social visit to my dad’s employer, in the middle of the heat and humidity of summer, is really not appealing. I'd rather be at the beach.

Although I already have my degree and a job, and I’m not financially dependent on my parents, I still live at home. But I like where I live. It’s a neat two-story cottage with a decent yard, and it’s less than two minutes’ walk to a sandy estuarine beach, called, not that surprisingly, Sandy Point, since it is sandy and it’s on the point. Not very imaginative though and I know of at least three other locations with the same name. But it’s a great place to live and when I’m at home, I spend most of my time in beachwear, except when I go out at night, of course.

The area is relatively undeveloped, although the McMansions are starting to appear around the foreshore, but there are still plenty of older, smaller homes, and plenty of the old boatsheds still remain too. There are a couple of shops – a general store, aliquor store, and a fish and chip shop. But that’s close to it as far as civilization goes. Unless you count palm trees, the ferry wharf and the marine hire shed near the wharf.

The beach itself is a narrow stretch of sand, with an equally narrow band of grass behind it, before the McMansions start. These residences, with their pristine appearance, floor to ceiling glass windows and stainless steel fittings, reek of ‘exclusive’ but the beach and grass in front of them are public land, so anyone can go there. There’s a little lane leading to an asphalted boat ramp, and hundreds of small boats bob at their buoys just off the shore. Across the water, which is maybe a kilometre wide at this point, the dark green of the national park looks isolated and forbidding. Sometimes I motor over there with friends in a borrowed tinny to fish.

I’ve been blessed to grow up here, and I’m in no hurry to leave. It’s an idyllic little paradise, not that far from the city, but with only a single access road into the area, the number of people and amount of traffic we get here is restricted. Except in summer, when all the holidaymakers come. Ugh! A-n-d that reminds me about today’s unwelcome excursion. Sometimes living at home comes with a catch, and today is one of those times.

So there it is: we’ve been invited to lunch at my dad’s employer’s house and I’m expected to come. Their house overlooks the main surf beach, on the other side of the hill that overshadows our peaceful little area. That’s the wealthier and more prestigious side of the hill, and where the holiday makers flock. It’s not an area I normally go to, and just the thought of sitting there in social attire in some swanky oversize mansion while a perfectly good beach day goes to waste makes me edgy and disgruntled.

“Justin lives in Melbourne, and he’s visiting his grandparents,” my mother tells me, not for the first time. “He doesn’t have anyfriends here, so they thought it would be good if the two of you met.”

The kid is here on holiday and doesn’t know anyone. And I’m supposed to be his new friend and entertain him? Jesus! Just play with your phone, dude.

Chapter 02

Guests

JUSTIN

Colored pencils are scattered across the top of the table - greens, oranges and reds mainly. The rest, except for the blue pencil in my hand, are still in their box. I’m shading the side of the lorikeet’s head and struggling a little to give a realistic impression of tiny wispy feathers around its head and the curve of its neck.

I pause, pencil in mid-air, and survey the drawing critically.

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