Ina walked away from the university. She’d finished the essay, although finished wasn’t really the word. She was done with it, she’d had enough of Jane Eyre and mirrors and fear of the thing that is not you. That you hope is not you. She crossed the city to meet the shopping strip, the old main street heading towards the south, and turned left at the ice-cream shop. She walked past restaurants and op shops, the old church (not the oldest), a handful of cafes, and then all the cheap places to eat, noodles and sushi and curry and pizza. The air was filled with spicy richness and she realised how hungry she was. She walked past the place she and Niko usually ate at, their favourite table in the back corner, where they read laminated menus busy with colour photographs. She remembered Ngaio’s text about Niko earlier, have you talked to him lately? He seems a bit down, and her stomach tightened.
She got out her headphones to distract herself. Spacey Jane and the cute summer bop of Cold Feet. She’d seen them up north that year just before everything closed down. The happiest vibe of any live gig she’d been at. In that small space, the tight air filled with human warmth, the crowd moved as one body, jumping together through the chorus, hands raised and singing, my mind’s a playground of half-thought thoughts, and I can’t get my head around it. There hadn’t been many live shows since then, not up north anyway. The memory made a buzzing glow in her chest, and her stomach settled a bit. What would be would be. She couldn’t be responsible for his feelings.
The malls and clothing stores gave way to specialty food stores and what was left of the souvenir shops. She stopped at the window of the gem store. A glossy tumbled amethyst on a silver chain caught her eye. Amethyst, the stone of spiritual healing and wisdom, or so she’d read. She put her hand to her chest and imagined it sitting there, hanging around her neck. It wasn’t that she believed it would do anything for her, she knew what it was. An inert substance formed by igneous and metamorphic processes inside volcanic rocks, the rocks as containers for silica and ferric iron and water which over time coalesced to create something beautiful and magic-looking, if nothing else. But the thought that it might do something for her was enough to want it.
Ngaio had a large piece of pounamu sitting on her dresser just inside the door of her bedroom, given by her grandmother. She touched it when she came home and before she went out. Ina had seen her do it the first time she’d gone around to her flat one afternoon after an English lecture. They’d sat outside drinking tea on the fire escape at the back of the flat, and watched seagulls flying in from the south, landing on the peak of the roof of the warehouse directly behind, and flying off again. Ina had asked her about the stone then, and while they sat there looking up at the sky, Ngaio told her about her grandmother and her whakapapa, and the stories of her tipuna. Her voice lifted and fell as she recounted story after story. That was when Ina knew she could listen to Ngaio talking forever.
Ngaio’s flat was close, and Ina picked up her step. It occurred to her suddenly that she shouldn’t arrive empty handed, and as she got closer she saw the Arabic grocery store on the other side of the second hand bookshop was open. She looked up at Ngaio’s window above, and her heart started thumping. What did she want? What did Ngaio want? What would it be like to kiss her? Her stomach hollowed out at the thought. She walked into the shop and stood in front of a shelf lined with boxes of Turkish delight. Citrus, rose, cardamon and orange, peanut, liquorice. Her mouth watered. She picked up a box of double peanut, on special, and carried it to the counter. A bottle of rose water caught her eye and on a whim she picked it up.
The passageway that led to the flat sat between the grocery store and the bookshop. It was dark and grimy and at some point someone had painted a large square of black on the left hand wall as a noticeboard. There was a poster advertising an exhibition of the sculptor Greer Twiss’ work, a metal bird attached to a tall stand. Below that, a coal protest poster had been ripped at all four corners but stayed fast. Right down at the bottom was a flyer advertising sound vibration. Discover how to utilise sound to release your true voice and harness the magic of pure intention. Join us for a group vibrational sound session and unleash the healing power of sound. Would that be something she could do? Would it help?
The grubby intercom number pad at the very end of the passageway had a peeling label that read ‘Flat B’ if you turned your head and peered up at it from below. Ngaio’s soft voice seconds later was followed by the sound of the door unlocking. Ina pushed it open, and as it swung back behind her she stood still for a minute to let her eyes adjust to the dark. The staircase went directly up in front of her, but wasn’t lit, and after the fourth step the stairs faded into darkness. She walked up carefully, waiting for the moment when, as she crossed the small landing and turned to walk up the final set of steps, her eye caught the light coming through the glass panel above Ngaio’s door.
In a moment Ngaio opened the door, and light flooded the hallway. Ina looked up and smiled.
‘I brought you Turkish delight’ she said, fumbling for something to say, ‘and roses.’
She handed Ngaio the box and the bottle of rose water. Ngaio’s quiet laughter, the way she took the gifts and put them down and then took Ina’s bag and put that down also, and drew her into the flat and closed the door and wrapped her arms around Ina and kissed her, all happened so quickly that Ina was lost. All she could register was Ngaio’s mouth, small and so much softer than she’d imagined, and that dip in Ngaio’s back, and waist, and the way her hands kept travelling the path between them as if they had never touched anything like it in the world.
How long does a good kiss last? A long time. And if you’ve never really had a good kiss before, then the longest time, a time even beyond time. You probably know what I’m talking about. Ina’s first kiss had been distinctly unmemorable, and the kisses after that were an improvement but not strikingly. This kiss elevated itself into a completely new category. Or perhaps not a completely new category. Perhaps what it did was push every past kiss into a category which could only now be known as ‘not-kiss.’ This kiss had become the exemplar, the touchstone against which all future kisses would be compared. It didn’t need to stop. Why should it stop? But the stock on the stove was about to boil over and Ngaio moved towards it quickly and Ina realised the whole flat was filled with the thick smell of it; onion and parsley and celery and peppercorn and lemon. She was starving.
Ngaio poured her a glass of wine. It was a bottle of Cleanskin which was supposed to be Pinot Gris but was far sweeter. Ina downed half the glass without even thinking, and felt the edges of everything blur. Ngaio, as a rule, didn’t drink while she was cooking. Ina watched her as she put the ramen together, methodically adding the vegetables in careful order. The bok choy sliced roughly went in last. Then she turned on the back element, where an old cast iron frying pan sat glistening with oil. As soon as the oil had started to curl into itself she cracked in the eggs, four of them one by one.
By the time they sat down at the table with the bowls of steaming ramen in front of them, Ina had finished the glass of Cleanskin. Everything was soft now, and easy, and all the anxiety she had carried inside her as she walked to the flat had dissipated. The ramen was delicious; the noodles cooked until just soft enough, the bok choy tender but with a good bite. The egg yoke draped itself over the vegetables and melted into the broth. It was the best thing Ina had eaten in a long while. They were both hungry and ate with concentration, hardly saying a word, except with glances they kept making at each other, as if they weren’t quite sure what had happened had really happened. Ina felt as if she were spinning. As if everything inside her was moving.
Ngaio’s flat was small but the windows overlooking the road were almost floor length and light spread out across the open plan living and kitchen area. The table they were sitting at was directly in front of one of the windows and Ina kept looking out; the solid branches of the oak tree which reached up from the pavement below, the cars on the road waiting for the lights to change, the strip of boarded up shops on the other side, every available space plastered with bill posters. The branches of the tree were bare but she could see the buds which were about to become bunches of bright paper thin leaves. She wanted to read it all like a book.
When they’d finished eating Ngaio stood up and took the bowls over to the sink. ‘Let’s go sit on the fire escape’ she said, and re-filled their glasses.
They walked across the room together, Ngaio stopping halfway to change the music to Frank Ocean, for something chilled. She turned the volume up and took Ina’s hand, and they walked through Ngaio’s bedroom to the large window at the end of the room. Ngaio lifted it up and they climbed out onto the balcony of the metal fire escape.
Outside dusk had settled. The air was brisk but not cold, and full of the scent of a city at night; the kitchen of the hotel a block over, fried onions and garlic wafting out from the flat next door. A door slammed below and a man came out carrying a bag of rubbish and tossed it into a bin. The rancid sweetness wafted up. Sounds were sharp and amplified. Voices from the street on the other side of the warehouse below them rang out clearly. Did you ask for the phone number, we need to call them tomorrow. The fire escape they were sitting on stretched out just past the bathroom window. They had enough room to sit cross legged on cushions which Ngaio kept inside the window for this purpose. Ina leaned her head gently onto Ngaio’s shoulder.
‘When did you know you were into women?’ Ina asked. Ngaio smiled.
‘I’ve always known. I remember as a kid my parents had a friend to stay once and one day I saw her getting dressed. I just stared at her breasts, basically. Couldn’t take my eyes off them.’ Ina laughed. ‘I had a few boyfriends but they didn’t do it for me. Then there was this girl a year ahead of me at school who was out and we got together at a party and I fell for her. I’ve never looked back. I like who I am when I’m with a woman, or someone non-binary, you know. I can be with both.’ Ngaio looked up at Ina.
‘What about you? ‘When did you know?’
Ina looked away. There was a long pause. ‘Tonight,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I mean tonight for sure,’ she added.
Ngaio’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ she asked, her voice suddenly serious.
Ina lifted her head up and turned around. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, just that. Do you really want to be with me or are you just trying something new?’
Ina’s heart contracted like an anemone in a rock pool poked by a child’s finger. She grasped for words, panic rising and then subsiding, not able to push up through the alcohol haze. ‘Of course I do. Why else would I be here?’ Ina felt her eyes well up and she turned away. Her mind swirled. ‘I’ve been thinking about you for months’ she said, mumbling, ‘but I thought you just wanted to be friends’.
Ngaio let out a breath, and the edges of her mouth turned up into a small smile.
’I’ve got an idea’ Ina said, moving to climb back in the window. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Be careful’ Ngaio called, turning around to watch her clamber up and walk through the flat. Ina came back with the box of Turkish delight tucked under her arm and the bottle of rose water in her left hand.
‘Take them’ she said to Ngaio, dropping them in her lap and climbing through.
Ina took the bottle and unscrewed the lid. ‘Smell this,’ she said, holding it out to Ngaio.
Ngaio smiled. ‘Amazing. Smells like my grandmother,’ she said laughing, and then added ‘in a good way.’
‘Exactly!’ Ina exclaimed. ‘It reminds me of my grandmother too. But not just that, something else more, can you smell it? Something so… something.’ They both closed their eyes.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Ngaio.
And there was something else in the scent of it, something full and dense and pent up, something that was so close to the real thing it was incredible, and yet it wasn’t the real thing. It wasn’t the real thing at all, in fact, it only made you long for the real thing even more. Ngaio lent over to Ina and took the bottle out of her hands and put the lid back on. Then she kissed her, and this time it wasn’t gentle.