Page 62 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“All right. So… what do you want to do about food tonight? You want to go to the restaurant, or order something in?”

“Do you mind if we order?”

“Not at all.” The menu is lying on the worktop, and I open it and pass it to her. “Anything take your fancy?”

I watch her while she reads it. She’s still a bit pale, but she looks more relaxed now. I guess two orgasms will do that to you.

I still can’t quite believe what happened between the two of us. Facing your own mortality does tend to give you a feeling of carpe diem. Refusing to have sex with her was probably pointless. Just because there was no penis-in-vagina action doesn’t mean she won’t regret what happened on the sofa.

“Oh my God,” she says, “look at this seafood platter. It’s got prawns, oysters, mussels, smoked salmon rolls, crab meat, salmon mousse, coleslaw, and French fries. Oh, Joel.”

I chuckle. “You want to share one?”

“Can we?”

“Of course. I’ll phone an order through.”

The food arrives just before seven. We decide to eat outside again as it’s such a nice evening, and the waiter places the platter on the courtyard table. We light the candles, pour ourselves a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and sit and eat as the sun goes down and the southern stars begin to emerge.

“The sky’s the same color as Nemo and Dory fromFinding Nemo,” Zoe comments.

She’s right—the sapphire of the blue tang is fringed with the bright orange of the clownfish.

“Top ten Disney and Pixar movies,” I say to her. “Go.”

Unsurprisingly,MoanaandThe Little Mermaidmake the top three of mine, while Zoe lovesFrozenandMary Poppins, and we spend a pleasant ten minutes arguing about whetherMonsters, Inc. orToy Storyshould take the top slot.

We continue talking about movies while we eat, and then meander from topic to topic, from music to books to travel. I’ve known her for a long time, and we’ve socialized a lot with Elora and Fraser and other friends, but we’ve never spent so long talking just the two of us. I’m surprised and pleased that the conversation flows, and we seem to have no trouble coming up with topics.

She’s never quiet in conversation, but although she chats away, tonight she seems just as happy to sit there and listen to me talk. That’s unusual for me. Usually it’s the other way around—I’m the one asking the questions to take the spotlight off myself. But she asks my opinion on politics and religion and the environment, listens and counters my arguments, and then pushes me to explain my views, until I finally relax and lose the usual inhibitions I feel at talking about myself.

The platter is amazing, too. We spend a couple of hours making our way through it, and by the end we’re both completely stuffed.

“I can’t go to bed yet,” I announce, rubbing my stomach. “I doubt I can even walk.”

“What a shame,” she replies. “You’ll just have to sit here talking to me instead.”

We smile at each other across the table. We’ve poured the last of the wine, and I’m feeling full and mellow. “Aren’t you bored with me yet?” I ask. “I’ve been opining for most of the evening.”

“It’s been lovely to listen to you for once.” She sips her wine. “You’re normally fairly quiet in company. You tell stories or jokes, but you don’t reveal much about yourself.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“I… don’t know.”

She tips her head to the side. “Is it something to do with your father?”

I frown and look away, across the flagstones that are now covered in shadows, thinking about the moment I won the award, and how I’d heard my dad’s voice in my head berating me with pride. A memory jumps into my mind of being eight and sitting with the rest of my family at the dinner table. It had been sports day at school, and I’d won a swimming competition. I was absolutely thrilled, and I was talking about how the race had gone, describing how I’d passed each competitor, and how I’d beaten the last guy right at the end. Mum, Fraser, and Elora had been listening patiently, exchanging amused glances. Dad’s face had borne a slight frown, and I’d just been explaining how my schoolmates had all rushed over when the race finished when Dad interrupted with a quote from Proverbs, “When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom, Joel.”

I remember Mum shooting him a harsh look, but he just stood and took his plate to the sink, and that was the end of that. I subsided into silence, humiliated and embarrassed. I don’t think I’ve mentioned an accomplishment in front of him since, apart from the award the other night, I only did that reluctantly.

I look back at the table and finish off the rest of my wine. “Shall we take all this inside?”

“Joel.”

I start stacking the plates. “What?”

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