Page 45 of Kiwi Gold
I turned back to my dad. He looked gobsmacked. I said, “We’re going, then,” and kissed his cheek. “And if you want to talk to me—ring me.”
20
DATE NUMBER ONE
Laila
Ten minutes later, I was in trouble.
No, I wasn’t dissolving in tears over my father’s faithlessness to his religion—I was feeling fairly faithless myself these days—or even his sudden acquisition of a new family. I hadn’t quite worked outhowI felt about that one yet. Also, no, Lachlan hadn’t jumped me, or even tried to hold my hand.
The problem was—I was absolutely unequipped for heels.
That’s not trouble, you think? Maybe you haven’t told a man to whom you’re hopelessly attracted, possibly in a somewhat teenaged way, since that was your last being-attracted experience, that ofcourseyou don’t need him to get the car and bring it around, because you’ll be fine. Andthentold him that it’s nearly as far to the car as to the restaurant, so why not just walk there? Because, first, you’re not the sort of high-maintenance woman who can’t walk for five minutes, and second, you need those five minutes to get your mind sorted and not be self-conscious about (a) your dress, and (b) this date/tutoring session/mistake.
What were Lachlan and I now? Stepsiblings? That was a dash of cold water.
No, because your parents had to be married for that. Not far off, though. There was no good word for this, and no framework, either.
In any case, Ihadtold him I could walk. And now, as in most places in Dunedin, we were traversing a hill. Adownhill. I’ve never been brilliant at maths, but surely there’s some physics equation for the force exerted by high heels plus a downhill slope. I explained, as I took Lachlan’s arm, trying not to notice the warmth and solidity of his bicep under my fingers, or the way it tightened at my touch, “Sorry, heels.”
He looked down at me with so much warmth and so much amusement. “Thought I explained this. That’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s nice, dating-wise.”
“What, it’s attractive that she can’t walk? Odd. Also, we should probably—” Ouch. These sandals were pretty, but they weren’t nearly padded enough— “change the rules again. The idea of a date seems a bit ridiculous, if we’re just going to talk about our families.”
“Now, there,” he said, “you’d be exactly wrong. You OK?”
I waved my other hand in a would-be-airy manner. “Fine. I’d be wrong how?”
“That’s what youdotalk about on the first date. Your families. Your jobs. Your general thoughts on life, possibly. It can be a bit dull, to be honest, but not for us. We’ve got topics.”
I laughed, didn’t pay enough attention to the gingerly placement of each foot, and fell off the side of my sandal. With a shriek.
I didn’t just do that, either. I stumbled, too, because you can’t catch yourself after twisting your foot if only about a third of yourotherfoot is making contact with the ground.
I thought,I’m falling,and even as I did, Lachlan caught me. I don’t know how he moved that fast, but somehow, he’d grabbed me and was hauling me upright.
With his palm on my breast.
“Whoops,” he said, and moved it. No laughter in his voice, though. “All right?”
“Fine,” I said, and continued on. Or I tried, anyway. My foot wasn’t cooperating.
“Not all right,” he said.
“Never mind. I’ll just … I’ll hold on to you harder and limp. Or take my shoes off, maybe. Once I’m not in the heels, I’ll be fine.” My foot was throbbing, but it wouldn’t become really hard to walk on until the inflammation had a chance to develop. I knew that from years of patching Kegan up. I could wind an elastic bandage better than an ambo at this point. I just hadn’t anticipated doing it tonight. “You should be laughing,” I said. “At my clumsiness. Imagine how ridiculous. You ran from somebody shooting at you, and I can’t even walk in heels! Graceful, eh. I’d say, let’s go to the Grand Casino instead, since here we are outside the doors, but have I mentioned that I was raised Muslim? One sin at a time.”
He didn’t answer the second part of that. He said, “Another dating rule. Don’t go out with somebody who laughs at your clumsiness. Why would you think that?”
“Oh. No reason.” I looked around for a bench. No joy. “Maybe I could hold on to you some more. To take my shoes off.”
He said, “Remember how I carried you, when we were running?”
I did my best to look at him like I’d do with Amira when she suggested that now would be a good time for her to learn to drive the car, just in case. “No. That’s a no. All you’d remember about me was that I was the girl who fell off her shoes and had you gasping and sweating and possibly straining a muscle trying to drag her to the restaurant. I’ll take them off until we get there, and then I’ll put them back on and we’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”
He breathed in and breathed out, in his perfectly cut, designer-written-all-over-it black jacket and his perfectly shined shoes, his navy-blue eyes and his beautifully trimmed scruff. I should be paying the entire ticket on this date, because one of us was bringing something to the party, and one definitely wasn’t. “No,” he said with deliberation. “I’d remember that you were the girl who let me carry her when she hurt herself. And I’d remember that I enjoyed it.”
“So the helplessness thingisappealing. Not sure that’s a better answer, from my point of view. This dating practice is actually very illuminating.”
