All You Want for the Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

3. Perrin

Chapter 3

Perrin

W ith a deep sigh of relief, the bed threatens to swallow me up. I spend some time staring at the pretty ceiling light, with its edges painted to look like the shiny moon. I wonder if Inari’s room has the sun instead.

My cheeks are sore from smiling, but I didn’t really know what else to do. To question so many things at once—what is Inari doing here? Is this really happening? Do they still hate me?—is so overwhelming that it’s easier to act like things are normal.

Should I be glad to see them? Or maybe pretend they don’t exist? Wait for them to make the call? What was I going to do when we had a week ahead of us?

I turn my head to look out the balcony doors to a view of treetops. They’re uniform, all the same height, with each leaf perfectly trimmed like its sibling. The green is vibrant on this bright day.

As much as I wanted that top-down garden view, I suppose I couldn’t complain about this one. From what I saw of the pool, it’d make for an interesting geometric photograph.

Nothing like seeing an old friend could change how truly incredible this artistic holiday experience would be. Plus if making friends is what I intended, then make a friend I would. Surely it would be easier with someone I knew so much about already.

I roll around and grab my camera off the bedside table. The current game plan: sort through more pictures and edit what remains. Settle in, as Inari put it, before attempting a proper catch-up with them later.

Laying back, I lift the camera over my head and take care not to drop it like one would a phone onto their face. I had kept many of the photos from earlier but now that I look closer, there are little mistakes here and there. A blurry bird, an awkward composition, a photo with no inspiration.

Each deletion is a strike upon my confidence. If I want to make good of this residency, I’d have to capture photos that inspire me just like Francesca Owen and Jane Burton. Even when I look at them for the second or third or fourth time, they shouldn’t get old.

My greatest achievement would be curating a collection of Sunlit Creative photos that told the story of my utter love for this place and concept. I have hopes it will be worthy enough to display on one of these walls.

I pop my camera to the side and crawl to the end of the bed to grab my laptop bag from my pile of belongings. Once it’s booted up, I open my photo editing app and plug my camera in.

I’m only left with two photos by the time I’ve appraised all of them. Though it was only the first day so to be selective had to be good. On the laptop, I go at them with tweaks, making variations, trying different crops and compositions, experimenting with what screams Sunlit Creative Space to me.

One moment I’m preparing a small handful of ‘Sunlit’ presets, the next I’m waking up with drool on my pillow, my hair stuck to my forehead, and two chimes from my phone.

I roll onto my back and blink myself awake. It’s still light out but the sun is noticeably lower and since my window faces the west, light floods through the glass balcony doors. I think to myself how it could make a nice photo, but I can’t bring myself to grab my camera for it. My limbs are a bit heavy and I’ve tangled myself in the sheets. My laptop is on the other side of the bed, still on and open to my editing project. I sit up, just because I’d hate to not hit save, and close the lid.

When I find my phone under a pillows, the messages read:

Unknown

Hey. I noticed you didn’t come down to get any lunch. I know because I was sitting upstairs earlier and you didn’t come out.

It’s dinner time now. I’m making something if you’ll join me.

Dinner already? Dang it. I wasted so much time.

My stomach rumbles on cue and that encourages me to swing out of bed and neaten the sheets.

When I peek out into the studio space, a lamp is dimmed on Inari’s desk and there isn’t much light coming through the sunroof anymore. The clattering of plates and cutlery can be heard from downstairs.

Before I head down, I grab my camera and loop the strap over my neck. There is a chance I’ll be inspired while fuelling my body and mind, and starting with some rudimentary pictures, even if they weren’t composed the way I wanted them, was a process I was always taught during university. It was too bad my old habit of diving right into taking photos often made me forget that.

As I approach the kitchen, I hit save on Inari’s new contact and all our messages update with their name.

The aroma of fragrant herbs and roasted chicken wafts towards me, carried by a warm breeze, and I look up from my phone to find the sliding doors to the patio wide open and Inari setting the outdoor dining table. There's roast chicken in a glass tray on the kitchen island surrounded by crispy potatoes and carrots.

“I didn’t realise ‘making something’ meant you were already done,” I say as I hover in the sliding doorway, wondering if I should offer to help. I rock from my heels to my toes as they place a couple cups down and straighten things here and there.

As they walk past me to get back inside, they avoid my gaze and I can’t help but make up for it by staring at the side of their face.

“Ah- yeah.” They bring their fist to their mouth and clear their throat. “I thought it might be boring for you to watch me cook. Or, maybe you were doing some planning or taking pictures…” My immediate thought is that I wouldn’t have minded keeping them company and that they should’ve known, should’ve remembered how much I loved cooking with them in home economics. Then again, not inviting me was probably the point.

I notice their wary looks towards my camera as they grab the oven mitts from the counter. Now that’s something I can work with.

With a practiced lift, switch-on and snap of my camera, I capture them off-guard as they’re picking up the tray. Even with a blurry background and their blurry moving hands, the way their open mouth and wide eyes come through clear and their dark hair contrasts the light kitchen background makes me want to keep this picture. They never were fast enough to give me a photo-ready pose no matter how often I took pictures of them without warning.

When I turn the camera off and lower it, Inari is looking at me with brows slightly furrowed.

I give them a smile to ease whatever it is that they’re thinking. They lightly scoff at me as they carry our dinner. I follow their lead outside.

The rugged tiles beneath our feet, more European in design, separate this patio from typical Australian patios. The patio ceiling replicates the design of the living room, with exposed wooden beams slanted at a diagonal and large planks filling the gaps. Weathered edge bricks stack to make the pillars that stand between this space and the rest of the backyard, with arches carved out between each.

“What was that for?” they ask, moving around the table and placing the tray carefully in between the set seats.

“Just another point for me,” I reply and shrug as if we were back there in the school yard, keeping a tally on how many times I could get them before they knew what was happening. With nostalgic instinct, I grab my camera and hold it behind me.

They come back around the table and open their hand to me. “At least let me see it.” Their tone is serious, like a parent scolding a child who’s taken something they shouldn’t, but their expression says otherwise with that twinkle in their eye. Looking up at them like this really affirms it is the two of us here. It really is Inari.

I shake my head with a laugh. “Nope. That’s the rules.”

They roll their eyes and cross their arms. “Right. Fine.” They give up quickly yet it sparks something happy within me. They remember our game. Then, from under their breath, they say, “You’re still just as petty.”

Their words fly towards me like a tennis ball ready to be received, and like a rehearsed script I’ve quoted a hundred times over, I say, “You’re still just as pretty!”

I don’t realise what I’ve said until seconds have passed and the words linger in the air. They were not new words. We had come up with the call and response in year eight after Inari kept calling me petty for just being good at the game.

Though with the way they look at me now, like they didn’t expect me to respond, I want to throw myself into the pool. But nothing, not a finger, will move as I watch Inari’s face shift from surprise to concern.

“Oh—” They take a step back and fold their arms behind them. Immediately, I notice how their warmth has left with them. They blink rapidly, like the flashing screen of a rebooting computer, and when they look my way again, their gaze wanders and their smile does not stretch across their lips in the right way. “Well. How about we have some dinner?”

I quickly take my seat lest I make them even more uncomfortable but do so with as much grace as I have handling the situation.

I have to be more careful with what I say. Without knowing where we stand, who knew if they still even cared about our jokes from back then.

I try to be as normal as I can as Inari serves me a delicious plate. The chicken is juicy and the skin is slightly crispy. The potatoes and carrots are wonderfully crunchy on the outside and soft inside. It’s taking a conscious effort to not burst for joy right there and run my mouth for how I’ve missed Inari’s cooking.

Instead, I show them my gratitude politely, like I would if I was a guest at a relative’s house. I nod in appreciation, give them a smile, and say, “Thank you for this. It’s delicious.” Sophisticated.

It works because their apprehensive expression melts into a smile. They breathe a sigh but I don’t bring attention to it. I just enjoy the rest of dinner quietly, savouring each bite.

We pack dinner up together. I wasn’t going to let Inari do all the work and at the same time, they refuse to leave me to it either. I end up washing the dishes and wiping the table and benches, and Inari dries the dishes and puts them away. The exchange is all far too quiet for my liking because we both hate small talk.

When I’m back in my room, I plug my camera in to charge. The sun is beginning to set and the deep golden light streaming into my room mixes with the twinkling rainbow of the glass sculpture. I haven’t had a proper view from the balcony, so I answer its call and slide the door open. The warmth of the outside wraps around me and I breathe in the seasalt-tinged air. Distant crashing waves calm me and I take hold of the balcony railing, shutting my eyes and inhaling deeply.

Here I am. My first day at Sunlit is coming to an end and even if I didn’t get much done, there was so much more to be done in the days to come.

“Hey, Perrin.”

My eyes fly open. It takes me a moment to realise their voice had come from below. From up here, I get a good view of the outdoor lounge and the entire stretch of pool. Inari is resting on a sunlounger with a notebook and pen.

They watch me as I find the words to say. I get distracted by their change of clothes—a slightly faded graphic t-shirt and cargo shorts. My gaze flickers to their face to find them frowning again. It’s an unsettling reminder of how much they frowned during our last days together.

“Oh, sorry. I told you about the privacy thing and I just— yeah…” Inari holds a hand to the back of their neck.

“No— don’t worry.” I shift to the left side of the balcony to make sure my words reach them. “I was just looking at the sunset.”

They give me a small nod and then go back to writing, their pen furiously moving across the page. They say that pictures say a thousand words but if a writer had that many, what wondrous things could they come up with?

“What’s your project for the residency?” I shout down, just in case they can’t hear me.

They immediately look back up at me and I crouch down to get a somewhat better view. The bannisters are obstructive, though.

“I’m going to write a novel this week,” they say with very mild confidence. They tap their pen on the edge of their notebook. “And you?”

“I’m going to snap a collection inspired by the experience,” I share, wiggling my fingers in the air at those last two words.

“The experience?”

“The villa, the meals, the pool, the beach, the doing of the art…”

They nod again and scribble down some notes before replying. “Is there anything I can help with? Do you need a model for your photos?”

My excitement makes itself known far too quickly because I lean forward and hit my head against a metal bannister. “Ow…” I rub my forehead and Inari is snickering from below. “Hey! You don’t get to laugh. I’m dealing with the horrors of heights to have this conversation.”

That only keeps them laughing and even when they look away, they still steal a peek at me as if acting like they aren’t looking fixes anything. Heat rushes to my cheeks which seems impossible when it’s already over thirty degrees out. How embarrassing.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, again,” they say. They compose themself with an exhale and pick up their pen after they’ve seemed to drop it. “And you don’t have to stay up there. You can come sit with me.”

I purse my lips and survey the seating options. They do look quite comfortable, but on the other side of things, I want to avoid getting into their space too much. We’ll be living in the same house for the week, after all, and it wasn’t going to be easy… shouldn’t be easy when I had no idea what they were thinking about all this. I was grateful for their kindness so far and had no doubt it was all part of their naturally kind demeanour.

“I’ll just stay here. I like the view.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

I’m half tempted to grab one of the bed’s many pillows to throw at them. “Very funny and very original.” It felt like making tall jokes to a tall person.

“Hey, I was the first one to make that joke to you so it’s mine.”

I raise a brow and hold a hand to the bars as I lean forward. “Really? How do you know that?”

“I remember when I made the joke. It was on our first school camp. You were treating your phone like a top-of-the-line camera.”

“Well it was the best I had at the time,” I protest. It was my first smartphone.

“I know,” they say. “But then we were going to do flying fox. You gave your phone to the teacher to look after because you didn’t want to drop it.”

I remember too. Smaller versions of our old friends and classmates come to mind. For most of us, it was our first time seeing each other in something other than the school uniform. There was a long line for the flying fox with a small group standing by one of the teachers—those who didn’t want to do the activity or didn’t get a parent to sign-off on it.

I was terrified of the heights, but adored the view of the mountains from the platform, so I decided to be part of the majority.

“I told you that the view was so beautiful,” I say. We were standing in line together.

“And I said, you should take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And you laughed! Because it was the first time you’d heard the joke. So officially, it’s mine.”

It doesn’t help my case when I laugh this time, either, and they seem pleased with themself as they continue writing with a cheeky smile.

Warmth swirls in my chest, like a cat finding a comfortable spot to sit. Nostalgia and comfort in the present moment join together. Inside, though, sits a tightly wound knot that hasn’t budged, tied not only during today’s fiasco but years ago when Inari walked away from me, calling our friendship to an end.

“Hey,” I call down, resting my head on the bannisters as I watch Inari look up at me again.

“Hey,” they respond with raised eyebrows.

I fiddle with the amethyst point hanging from my necklace. “I’m sorry for… earlier.” I desperately hope they know what I was talking about because recollecting the moment again would be far too embarrassing. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

They blink at me. “Oh, yeah. That’s alright.” Their words are far too short for my liking.

“Are you sure?” If I could read their mind, this would be much easier. Reaching out to them again like this… I never imagined I’d get the chance. “You can tell me if it wasn’t alright.”

They’re quiet for a moment, thinking. They’re tapping their pen again, this time on the back of their hand. A thread between us is pulled taut in the lack of response.

Then, finally, they say, “Look, I know this was… not what either of us expected.”

I shake my head. “I kinda thought this was the pinnacle of meeting strangers and leaving as friends.”

They chuckle as they put their pen down and run a hand through their hair. It lifts in awkward places and leaves itself messy, but I suppose wolf cuts did messy best.

“I think that I know too much about you to treat you like a stranger,” Inari says. It’s almost too quiet to hear from where I am. “But it’s been a while since we’ve known each other like friends.”

“Do you still want to try?” I blurt out, holding the bannisters in both hands and leaning forward, not hitting my head this time.

“Try…?” Hesitance and curiosity linger in their voice. “To be friends, you mean?”

I nod with furious enthusiasm.

They toss their head back and laugh. I wonder, is this what the residency is all about instead? Not only new experiences, but old experiences revisited?

“Does that mean you want to?” I ask with tentative hope. I know it’s been years. I know we didn’t end on great terms. But if this was the universe’s way of saying that it was time to mend things, then I couldn’t refuse the chance.

They hold a hand to their chest and look up at me. Their eyes shine in the last light of today’s sun. I hope they are tears of joy more than anything.

“Perrin, let us try to have a good time here together.”

That knot within loosens and grants me a sigh of relief. “I’d like that.”