Fire Flies

My gift to her a month ago made sense now -- in a way. Something in me must have panicked at the sight of this woman and what she made me feel, so it fought back by clinging to the memory of the girl Liv had been and that's why I'd bought her a child's gift.

Her tongue found mine and all that I was supposed to do evaporated. I couldn't push her away. I didn't want to. The heat of her in my arms and the peace of having her palms brush down my short hair made so much sense -- felt so right -- that I gave in to my selfishness. I kissed her back.

Her arms went around my neck.

In the next instant all the sweetly singing birds in the nearby trees took flight, as one and for no apparent reason. The whoosh of their wings was the first sound I heard -- then Liv's tumbling gasps. It was almost painful how good she sounded; almost terrible how much I craved to make her moan my name.

Finally I broke the kiss.

I didn't have to explain my move. She already knew.

"I... need to go." Her eyes were large and bright. "I'm sorry. I thought I had this under control."

That day was the second time watching her walk away brought me agony.

*** *** ***

The following month passed by slowly as if to make up for the swiftness with which the previous one had flown by.

I saw Liv once in all that time. She didn't come by my house anymore and I avoided hers as much as possible. I fetched the oversized vase from the formal lounge and threw out the dying flowers.

The day Linda asked me over, I first made sure Liv wouldn't be there. Unfortunately, either I arrived early or she left late -- whichever was true resulted in me parking in the driveway just as Liv walked out. She was wearing a black dress and holding roses. A young man in a suit was laughing at something Zama was saying. Linda took the roses from her daughter and shooed her out the door.

"The point of a romantic dinner is to go out before the night is over," Linda laughed. "Oh, hi, Ian. I was worried you'd back out of coming over. Doesn't Liv look adorable?"

"Linda Hani!"

The way Linda's eyes widened reminded me of her daughter's eyes in playful moments. "Hayi wena, don't call me that!"

"Then don't call me cute, mama."

"I didn't. I said you were adorable."

Zama grinned over at me. "I'm thinking of going into hiding with you, my friend. I'm too old to constantly be reminded of saying things this one doesn't condone; and too young to risk being killed by her mother when I refuse to back her up in moments like these."

The young man laughed a little too loudly.

"Ian, this is Lonwabo."

I ignored Zama's words and the young man's outstretched hand. Liv's thick hair was blown out and tied back... and my fingers itched to undo it.

"You look beautiful," I said.

"Thank you."

The weeks I'd just gone without her company were nothing compared to the pain of seeing her like this. The only way I could wish her happiness with that young man with the showy car was by blocking out the memory of our kiss.

I owed that much to Zama, my closest friend in the world. And I owed it to Olivia above all. And so the longest month of my life was the one in which I saw her only once -- looking exactly like my dream come true.

After they'd driven off, Linda linked her arm through mine and drew me into the house. "I was quite surprised to see her getting ready for a date tonight -- surprised but happy. She's been cooped up in the house for weeks. It's good that she was no longer hounding you, but I didn't want her so isolated either."

"She never hounded me, Linda."

"Oh, you know what I mean." She led me through to their tv room. "When she was young, her peers were constantly talking about boys, clothes and movies. My daughter was obsessed with books... and you. I kept telling her not to intrude so much on your time and your marriage."

"She's brilliant, and I've always enjoyed her company." Little ripples appeared in the drink Zama handed me, so I immediately placed it on the coffee table to hide how shaken I was. "My marriage suffered trauma far more serious than a bright girl in love with the books in my library and the fireflies at the bottom end of my land."

"Bright is right," Unfortunately Zama, as usual, sided with me. "That young lady is walking sunshine -- and I don't blame you for adoring her light like a sunflower."

"I'm well over six feet tall and can make a fist the size of your head." I narrowed my eyes at my grinning friend. "No insult to the bouquet your wife brought me a couple months ago, but I'd be happy to complete my days without being called a delicate flower ever again."

"Actually sunflowers are symbols of strength and loyalty," Linda corrected helpfully. "A description that fits you perfectly. Even I admit that you're the only person I know who's loved and protected our children as we have. And been more loyal to Olivia than anyone I know."

"Linda..."

"No, Ian. Zama is spot on: everywhere she goes you turn to watch... obviously she is your sun."

Lame jokes were my forte. And I knew that I was merely the victim of the lame teasing that had been passed around our little circle for decades. But this time they were inadvertently poking fun at a raw truth burning at the centre of me. All the reason I stayed away for the weeks that followed

Olivia was, indeed, my light. My sun.

Christ.

What breed of swine longed for his best friend's daughter?

*** *** ***

On the last day of summer, I was startled from my nap by a knock at the door. I hadn't noticed sleep take me, but supposed it was to be expected after a couple months of little sleep. It was disorienting to wake to a darkening sky, so it took me a minute to understand what the knocking was and that I needed to go answer it.

"Hi."

I blinked. "Liv..."

"Look what I made." She held her arm up to show me a woven bracelet that hung a little loose on her wrist. "Not a masterpiece, I'm afraid. Told you it's been ages since I've had any practice."

"You should have just given that blasted kit to one of your little cousins."

"Oh, never." A small smile played on her lips as she shook her head. "I was raised better than to regift, Ian. You know that."

I dropped my eyes at the way my name sounded on her lips. The sun would be gone soon.

"Why are you barefoot -- again?"

"I was just out in our garden. I didn't know I was on my way here until I was halfway up the road."

I inhaled as she entered. I'm sure we could be anywhere in the world and the scent of her would always remind me of summer in our paradise.

Something drifted past us and her eyes lit up with delight.

"Look who just followed me in," she smiled. "You know, I'm rather sweet on the thought that the fireflies followed me home this year."

"Goddess of sunflowers and fireflies. According to your mother, your worshippers would be guarunteed endless sunshine and eternal love."

Her gaze held mine. "I thought I was happy when you started calling me a woman. Now... Well, I've never been called a goddess before."

Her hair was all over the place, fluffy and blowing into her eyes, and the dress she wore was short. Its colours matched the whites, blues, greys and gold of the woven band on her wrist. It took conscious effort not to step back from the pull I could never again deny.

"I'm sorry about..." I didn't know what to say. "Sorry."

"No, you aren't." She pushed her hair back. "And neither am I."

She was right. I supposed we couldn't spend as much time together as we had -- especially all this past summer -- and not be able to read each other. I didn't regret the kiss. Maybe if I did, I would have been able to trust myself to let remorse rein me in. Instead the passion the kiss had awakened had shaken me enough to make me keep my distance for the last couple months.

"You'd make a great Claus character -- you've always lived with equal ease in both reality and fantasy." I turned and headed to the bar room, sure that she would follow. "Remember the time we read 'Bride in the Morning' and watched 'The Sacrament' on the same day?"

"How could I forget? You made me beg for a year before agreeing to explore his works with me."

She beat me to the crystal decanters and poured me a whisky. Knowing that we were in an unusual moment even for us, she deftly mixed herself a martini without hesitation. The smoothness of her movements made me take deliberate pause.

Who was in charge here?

I gathered my thoughts. "I'd already put you through Chekhov and Dostoevsky that year -- Nietzsche and Sartre the year before. I was simply trying to give you a break before your exposure to Claus."

"Liar."

It was remarkable that I'd strayed this far from the truth within five minutes in her company. More so that she was so good at calling me out on it.

"You're terrible at respecting your elders." My joke came out deeper than intended.

"As are you at respecting your crush."

The whisky burned me. I coughed. Even as my brained barked that my reaction looked guilty in its exaggerated chaos, more coughs exploded as my body tried to eject the thing in me that she had pinpointed so succinctly.

"Liv, I don't know what you think --"

"What I remember most about our Claus days -- aside from how you so predictably and obviously were stalling reading my picks with me because you were waiting for me to be 'old enough'," her pink manicure danced the air-quote, "was the quote by that director. Remember that quote? I remember it because I asked you what one line meant and you gave me some unimaginative answer."

I knew her well enough to know that she wasn't about to back down any time soon.

I had to confront her head-on. "Where is this heading?"

Olivia sipped her drink; the oversized wristband slipped down her arm a little. "The line that stayed with me was 'Claus constantly sets desires against inescapable reality, the children's flights of fantasy against the grim reality of the adults.' That was the line that led to your generic bullshit."

"Liv." Deep-toned warning again.

"Desires set against inescapable reality... Ain't life a bitch?"

"Olivia --"

"Yes, I know: language."

"No, I was going to say..."

What??

She came around to the front of the bar counter and stood before me. Her dress, though short was also loose, and her movements made it pick up the light. The greys got highlighted as silver.

She put her palms to my cheeks, but the rest of her didn't touch me. "What is it, Ian? I think it's been long enough, don't you? How about a little straightforward honesty now?"

It was strange how I felt both electrified and numb at the same time.

"I wasn't going to berate your language," I said. "But I wasn't going to confess to some generic decoy either. I meant my answer back then."

She stepped back. As soon as her touch left me, I was sure that I needed it. Strange how immediately and intensely we miss the things that matter.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Her words came out on something of a desperate laugh. "I thought... I was so sure that you felt... Well, shit, it doesn't matter, does it? The result is still --"

"Olivia, for the love of all the angels, please shut up."

Her next laugh was louder, also more disjointed. "All the angels, really? They're all at risk, are they?"

"The literary saints at very least."

"Well... Gosh." I appreciated her ability to stabilise me and our world with humour. "Considering the umpteenth novel about a witless girl being groomed by a love-professing, emotionally stunted, sadistic billionaire I've seen published... I'm actually going to take your plea seriously and pay attention so we don't lose better thought-out works due to the demise of the muses and saints."

This made me want to laugh with her. To shatter all the complications between us so I could simply have a good time with her.

As strange as getting to know Liv had been in the last three months, I enjoyed knowing she'd delight me in endless new ways. She'd always be herself and let me be me. And I could count on her to be there should I need someone to pull me back from the brink of insanity.

"We're all inspired in different ways, Liv."

"True," she half-nodded. "But I do mourn not finding bookclubs with anything other than glittery vampires and delusional misogynists anymore. Who does a girl have to pay to discuss a little existentialism, tantric sex and the best brownie recipes like in the good ol' days??"

"Tantra? We've never ever --"

"Catch up already, Ian." She caressed my cheek again. "What must I do to make you see I'm all grown up?"

"I know that already." My own cravings made the words come out dark and sensual.

"Do you?" She watched me with complete challenge and zero pressure.

How did she know how to do that?

I took her hand in mine. "I've known your father for thirty-five years, Liv."

"I've known him for twenty-three."

"I'm not kidding."

"And I am?" She pulled back and regarded me neutrally. "It's time to get your head out of your sexy bum and reallly listen to me, Ian Macallan."

"My head is in my arse simply because I'm not saying what you would prefer to hear??"

"No, it's in your arse because you've been denying the last seven years."

The birds were back, chirping in the front garden this time. Their music was actually incredily beautiful in unison, but it pissed me off nonetheless. Olivia was vulnerable and I didn't want to hurt her. But I could shut up the intruding birds with acceptable reason.

She spoke on. "When Helen left, something started changing... inside me. I warned myself against embarrasing myself with this stupid crush. I was bloody young yet into things way beyond my years and it needed to stop. So, I focused on the books and was content with our walks."

I kept my gaze trained out the window. The birds were out of sight, but I felt I might be able to quiet them from where I was on sheer will alone. There were articles, writings I couldn't remember clearly in the moment, but works on energy and frequency. Surely, the birds would feel me, sense my displeasure, and stop with those beautiful sounds I didn't want to hear?

"When Helen left, I was sixteen. Gods, how ridiculous it always sounds when I express my life in numbers..." Her words joined the excruciating chorus outside. "But I have always been very realistic about the difference between what I feel and what I am. So, at eighteen, I was really relieved that the university I'd chosen also chose me. It was wonderful both because it's the best in the country... and because it's at the other end of the country."

My shoulders were tensed, my fists clenching. I knew I had to put my glass down before I crushed it, but couldn't bring myself to move just yet.

"Being that far away helped. I developed daily routines; I had adventures, I explored new places. Sure, I travelled each vacation to avoid coming home and making an idiot of myself -- but I did genuinely enjoy experiencing the places I'd read so much about. I met... new people."

I downed the rest of my drink. Again came the urge to punch a man I'd never met.

"Ian look at me."

I couldn't.

Her sigh was a plea. "So much happened in my five years away. I really and truly became me... Yet the moment I walked into your arms a few months ago, I instantly understood the feeling I'd spent five years fleeing. Something inside me is only alive when I am with you. Something burns bright in my heart. I don't know what it's called -- I just know it's been in hibernation for years and years."

The room was dark now. One little winged light fluttered in circles above us.

"Ian."

I looked at her. Olivia, home three months now.

Olivia, no longer the clumsy girl with more books than she could carry. No longer asking me what certain words meant or why I didn't like rollercoasters as much as she did. The lessons and library trips faded, as did the backpack and school uniform.

Suddenly, all I had in front of me was the woman who had reorganised my house, advised me on business and cooked me breakfast after hacking her way into my kitchen and my heart. The woman who walked a certain way and told jokes better than the decade-old ones I still repeated.

I finally saw the Olivia who had kissed me with water dripping from her hair. The woman saying excruciatingly beautiful things.

"I used to help your father sneak you sips of beer."

One corner of her mouth curled. "Yes, you did. And you never stopped seeing me within that decade-long beer adventure. You saw all the parts that could fit in it, in the child-like innocence and harmless pranks and lessons, but not what I am now. Do you see me clearly now, Ian?"

She had no idea the Pandora's box she was cracking.

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does."

"Why??"

"Because I love you, you honourable dunderhead." She took a step back. "Heavens bless me, how did I end up here?! In love with a dashing prince who healed me within weeks, but nurses his own wounds indefinitely! Here, patiently relearning the newness of someone who'd started out as an arts encyclopaedia to me most of my life... then suddenly stood a man before me this year..."

She took one last sip from her glass then placed it on the counter. Her body was a sculpture of resignation.

I stepped closer, feeling like a hypocritical hound for wanting to stem the flow of blood from a wound I was inflicting.

"I came home in professional humiliation determined to secretly nurse my broken heart then get back out there once ready..." Her breaths were ragged. "But something happened... I saw you and something new happened."

I had to say something and wanted to. It was too much: to go through this turmoil and have it overwhelm me, then have that exprience confirmed as reciprocated in words even better than any I knew. I had to say something.

"You don't know what you're saying, Olivia."

She took another step back. After a deep breath, she took one more.

I took one forward. "Olivia, listen to me. Zama is my friend."

"No shit."

"My best friend, a brother. I'm crossing a line by feeling... I have no right to violate his trust like this."

"By feeling what?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Damn it, stop tossing that around as an answer."

"Then stop asking all the wrong questions."

She headed back to the entertainment area. It had one of the four doors that opened onto my huge patio.

Liv stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Are you ever going to let anyone in again, Ian...?"

No words. I wasn't sure if I knew how.

She took that silence as my answer and walked out into warmth of the deepening darkness. From this end of my property, the city lights could be seen far below. Distant man-made fireflies.

"I told you that Claus was a realist!" My unscripted need pursued her out the door. "You asked me about the children's escape into fantasy in that play -- and I insisted that Claus was a realist. That the characters alternated their existences between reality and fantasy, but their creator was a realist."

My words stopped her as she was about to step off the end of my huge patio. The motion-sensor light flashed on.

I'd complained when it was first being conceptualised, but this was one of my favourite spaces now. A built-in braai and fire pit were to the far left, benches surrounding the pit. The middle was open paving, potted plants and sculptures guarding its corners. And to my right was one of my favourite reading spots: a covered area with expensive patio furniture and the kind of elegance that I repeatedly credit to Linda Hani's eye for artistry. I've often come out to find Olivia snuggled in the custom-made oversized daybed to the far right beyond the patio set.

I walked to where she stood, right at the end of the paved platform.