Page 28 of Kiwi Sin
“They don’t?” I set my spoon back into my bowl of pumpkin soup. “Oh. I was going to do a pork roast. I’ll do meatballs instead, maybe, with beef and lamb, if those meats are OK. That would be easy. People … men … they like meatballs, don’t they? With tomato sauce and pasta?”
“If you mean Gabriel,” Gray said, “I reckon he’ll be thrilled to eat whatever you cook. Got to be an improvement, especially now that he’s on his own.”
“Gabriel?” Frankie said. “Why? Oriana knows exactly one unmarried man—who’s part of our whanau, by the way—so she must be mad for him? Give women a bit of credit. Even Oriana has outside interests.”
I didn’t pay any attention to that. Gray was teasing, that was all. He didn’t know it could be true, so he didn’t know it hurt. I said, “He’s on his own?”
“Yeh,” Gray said. “Got a new flat, because Drew’s partner Hannah is having that baby soon, and his mum’s coming down from the North Island to care for the kids. They told Gabriel he didn’t have to go, but I reckon he felt that he’d be in the way. One of Drew’s new young players was leaving his horrible flatshare, so there was a spot open, fortunately. Or unfortunately. Housing’s a bugger.”
“How d’you know it’s horrible?” Daisy asked. “I did quite well on these paninis, by the way, considering that they’re—well—sandwiches. It’s the ham that does it. So fortunate that I’m not Muslim.”
“Soup, too,” Gray said. “No complaints. I’m like Gabriel, grateful for anybody cooking that isn’t me. And the flat will be horrible because they’re always horrible. Three blokes in a flat? One bathroom and one frying pan between them, and the grease practically dripping down the kitchen walls? How could it be anything else? But you said your friend wants to bring something, Oriana,” he said, switching gears. “What is it?”
This was it. The ticklish part. I put my stockinged foot on Xena’s chocolate-colored side for courage—she was lying between my chair and Gray’s, as close to him as she could get—and said, “A cake. Well, cakes. It was her idea. She doesn’t know how to bake one, though, so maybe I should have a backup sweet ready just in case. Something easy. A plum tart with custard? That’s nice when it’s cold outside.”
Gray waited through all of that and had his mouth open to speak, but Daisy got in first. “Because it’s your birthday on Sunday, and your friend thinks you should have a cake.”
My face got hot, bang on cue. “I know we don’t do that,” I said, “but Aisha didn’t understand. We don’t have to sing that song or anything. She just thought it would be nice, and she wants to come over, and it’s …”
“It’s better,” Daisy said, “to have friends. To feel normal. I never thought of you inviting her here. I never did that. Living with Dorian in a one-bedroom apartment, eh. Completely weird, the two of us, sixteen years old and on our own. Oh—Gray? OK with you?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Let’s have her, then,” Daisy said. “No reason we can’t have cake. No reason we can’t sing the song, either. What do you think, Frankie? Should we start celebrating birthdays? This family’s meant to be a democracy of sorts, so let’s have your opinion.”
Frankie said, “I don’t mind. I know I’ll be celebrating my eighteenth.” It was ten days after mine, because we were almost exactly one year apart.
“We could celebrate both our birthdays on Sunday,” I said, “as we’ll have two cakes. But your birthday is the one that really matters, Frankie, because you get to change your name.”
“Oriana’s right,” Gray said, “that we need birthdays. If anybody wants to sing to me on mine, I’ll grin and bear it, and if Oriana wants to bake me a cake, I’ll be more than happy to eat it. Carrot’s my favorite. But I don’t think we should combine them, because Frankiewillbe eighteen, and everybody needs their day.”
“Gray and I are paying for that name change, Frankie,” Daisy said. “The fees, and the witness. That’s our birthday present to you. We could fill out the paperwork on your birthday, if you like, and file it. And that night, we’ll have cake.Morecake.”
“Are we doing presents, then, from now on?” Frankie asked.
“No,” I said fast. “I mean—for yours, yes, because you’ll be eighteen, and that’s special, but I don’t need presents. It would be so awkward, with everybody coming. They barely have enough for themselves. I’d rather just have lunch, like usual.”
“But with cake,” Gray said.
“Well,” I said, “cake’s good.”
Maybe Aisha would write my name on it. And bring those candles.
* * *
Gabriel
I got ready for that lunch with my heart in my throat, wondering what I thought I was doing. I’d taken a shower, trying to feel cleaner than was possible in the flat I’d moved into barely a week ago. Now, I buttoned my shirt—I had a new one, a blue plaid in soft flannel, the first time I’d owned a shirt with a pattern—tucked it into my jeans, took a doubtful look in the age-spotted mirror, and headed out of the bathroom, then into my room for my phone and keys and wallet, because I had one of those now. I only had two things in it so far: my debit card and my driver’s license. I had no idea what other blokes put in there to justify all those slots, but a man was meant to have a wallet, so I had one.
Jack had been wrong, though. I’d had to buy almost nothing for the flat. My room had come ready-furnished with a bed and bedside table left behind by the last occupant, my only contributions being some very odd bright-green patterned sheets and a purple duvet I’d bought off TradeMe.
“Purple’s kind of a girl color, though,” Jack had said doubtfully, peering at the screen on my phone.
“It is?” These things always eluded me. “The color of kings, eh.”
“Maybe dark purple. This is light purple. I’m pretty sure it’s a girl color. But it looks like the warmest duvet on here.”
“I’m not going to care,” I said. “I’ll be asleep.” And bought it. It did look a bit startling with the green sheets—they really were extraordinarily bright—but at least it was colorful. Cheerful, even, with sheets and duvet pulled up crisp and tight over the bed and the floor swept clean.
