Page 62 of Because of Me

She asks where we’re going plenty of times while we drive into one of Melbourne’s outer suburbs. Especially when the traffic picks up near the entrance to the semi-gated golf club estate. I avoid the question as much as possible. My vocabulary for the entire drive might as well be made up of “just wait” and “you’ll see” and little else.

I find a place to park just inside the estate and check the map on my phone before we get out. My heart beats in time with the footsteps of the families and dogs who are heading in the same direction as us. Racy and haphazard. The crowd grows thick the closer in we get.

“Seriously Noah,” Amira whines, stepping closer to me. “What are we doing here?”

“I promise it will be worth it.” The temptation to hold her becomes too hard to resist. I wrap my arm over her shoulders. Amira nuzzles into the spot she fits so perfectly, nestled just under my collarbone. Somehow, we continue walking through the crowd and around a bend.

Amira stops in her tracks when she sees it, and I nearly trip on her feet from how close together we were walking. After correcting my balance—thankfully without stepping on Amira’s ankle—I look over her head to the house that has caught her attention.

Fairy lights in every shade imaginable cover the exterior. They’re wrapped around poles and trees, draped over doorframes, and laid across the roof tiles. A projector sends elves dancing across the garage door, and a speaker somewhere plays Christmas music.

“The lights,” Amira gasps, hardly loud enough for me to hear over the music and the cheering of little kids.

We might just be the only child-free couple here, but I don’t care. Not with the way Amira is captivated by the display. And if what I read online is correct, this is only the beginning. Amira tugs me closer to the house until her face flashes from the multicoloured display.

“I love them,” she says. “How did you know?”

“I took a hunch based on the giant Santa on your balcony.”

Turning to me, Amira’s face is silhouetted by the bright house behind her, but I can still make out the way her cheeks puff up as she smiles. “Thank you.”

“Oh Cupcake, we’re just getting started.” I drop my arm from around her, instead threading our fingers together. “Let’s go.”

The crowd begins to thin as we make our way through the estate. There are houses with crazy amounts of lighting displays down every street, and each family seems to choose their own route to see them. We don’t follow a set path. After the third or fourth display, Amira clued on to the fact the whole estate has gone all out on the decorations and begins leading me through the streets to see them all. I steer her away from one particular house though. That one we are saving for last.

We walk and walk, until the houses begin to blend into one giant multi-coloured blur of light. But Amira is in awe regardless. Or maybe she can spot the individual beauty in each set up. Either way, she’s having fun, and that was my goal tonight.

Finally, when I think we’ve been down every street at least twice, I take the lead. Guiding Amira down one last street to the main attraction. Past the orange cones blocking off anyone who might have wanted to drive past, we head in the same direction as most of the crowd. We hear the laughter first, and even that seems to make Amira giddy with excitement. Her steps become a little quicker, a little springier. She rushes along the middle of the road, weaving between families and prams. Then sleigh bells drift across the heavy chatter. The closer we get, the more they begin to make tunes. ‘Jingle Bells’ first, then ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ as we squeeze our way to the front of the crowd.

And even I can admit it’s something else. If the other houses were ten out of ten, this is at least an eighty. Fake snow covers the ground and a fake hedge has been put up about two meters back from the footpath. The lights covering it are softer, a warmer white rather than the bright tones of the LEDs. Every so often a small train chugs through an opening on one side of the hedge before travelling along, around mini Christmas trees and oversized candy canes, before popping back behind the bush.

Amira follows it, apologising to everyone she steps in front of to do so. At the far end of the property, she points to a small sign propped against the hedge.

North Pole this wayit says, with an arrow pointing through a narrow but prominent arch. And underneath the sign, clearly an afterthought addition, an extra piece of wood has been nailed to the post.Entranceis painted in loopy handwriting.

“Do you think that means we can go in?” Amira asks. She turns to me but keeps her eyes on the house as the train reappears at the other end of the track.

“Only one way to find out,” I chuckle, holding my hand out to lead her down the path. Technically, there are at least two ways to find out, because I already know we’re meant to go in. The whole reason I manipulated our way into saving this house for last was for the ‘walk through extravaganza’ the online community group boasted about.

I’d love to capture all the giddiness in Amira, to bottle it up and use it every time she’s having a bad day. But the photo I try to sneak on my phone is all fuzzy from the lights. So, I give up, choosing instead to be present. I jog to catch up to Amira then pull her hand back into mine.

The music rings around us, lights flash in every direction. A golden Santa spins on his stand, reindeer nibble on grass, and elves wrap presents. There’s even a small, but respectable nativity scene near the end of the path. Amira hesitates before stepping out, pivoting to, I assume, take in the scene one last time.

But her eyes don’t fall on the Santa or the reindeer or the elves. They don’t follow the train around its path or shift up to the stars all over the roof.

They find mine. And I’ve never seen Amira this happy, but I wish I could make it so every single day.

“Thank you,” she says for I think the hundredth time this evening. “I didn’t know people did this.”

“Just don’t get any ideas. I doubt Callum would appreciate this many people climbing those stairs every December.”

I’m sure some of the crowd must have paused behind us by now, considering we’re blocking the exit. But I’m finding it hard to care. Amira steps forward, closing the gap between us and throwing her arms over my shoulders. I wrap my own around her waist, holding her close.

“Thank you for being my boyfriend, Noah. I needed this,” she whispers, her mouth so close to mine I can feel her breath skirting along my lips.

“And I’ve told you Cupcake, I’ll be whatever you need, always.”

AMIRA

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