Chapter 6

6

Elin picks halfheartedly at the remaining piece of grilled chicken on her plate before pushing it aside. Although the doors to the restaurant terrace are open, there's no breeze and the space is packed, only intensifying the heat. Three or four large groups are clustered by the bar, overspill leaking into the seating area.

Will squeezes her hand and Elin smiles. With the sweet-sour tang of wine on her tongue, it feels like their early dates—the ritual and festivity of eating out; the choosing of drinks and food, people watching.

"Hey, budgie alert." Will points to the doors at the back of the restaurant.

Elin follows his gaze. A man in his sixties is striding up the beach in a green pair of budgie smugglers. It's her and Will's in-joke during summer. They've become connoisseurs; grading swimwear according to the cut on the butt, waist height, color, transparency.

"What do you reckon? A nine?"

"Nah... seven," she replies, deadpan. "There's coverage in key areas."

Will laughs, but as it winds down she senses a tension in his expression. "On a more serious note, there's something I wanted to ask you."

She picks up her wineglass. "Sounds ominous."

"Not really. I wanted to show you this." Reaching for his phone, he tilts the screen to face her. "Message from Farrah. Says she can't meet this weekend. Busy at work."

Farrah, Will's older sister, works at LUMEN as a manager. Fingers always in each other's pies—it seemed slightly odd to Elin, too close for comfort, but then that was Will's family. Constant phone calls and texts.

"And? You've said before it's been hectic this season."

"I know, but she's been acting odd recently. Not herself. Mum and Dad said she seemed distracted when she went around there last week. I've asked her about it, but you know what she's like. Never show a weakness."

What you're all like , Elin mentally corrects. As a family, while they make a show of their openness—family meetings, heart-to-hearts during lunch—over time she's learned that the openness is selective. They struggle to reveal anything that puts them at a disadvantage.

"Maybe boyfriend stuff?"

"I don't think so." His fingers worry his battered silver ring. "There hasn't been anyone since Tobias." He pauses. "I sometimes wonder if she'd confide in someone outside of the family." He hesitates again and she knows what he's about to say. "You never did go for that drink, did you?"

She pulls her plate back toward herself slowly, a delay tactic. "Drink?"

"Didn't Farrah mention it the last time we saw her? You and her?"

Elin nods. She knows she should make an effort but has never quite gotten around to it. It hasn't been an easy relationship, awkward from the get-go, their first meeting a lunch together, several weeks before she met Will's parents.

You'll like her , Will had said, while they waited in the café, teeing her up— she's sporty and fun like you— but all Elin remembers is Farrah's assessing gaze, that immediate sense that she'd found something wanting. Elin knew what it was: a message. You're not right for my brother.

Ever since then, she and Farrah have circled each other warily. They talk a good game: lots of empty promises about meeting up, but it never materializes because she suspects neither of them actually want it to.

"I'll message her," she says finally. "To arrange it."

Leaning over, he kisses her lightly on the lips. "You can stop pretending." He smiles. "I know you're not keen, but she's probably more intimidated by you than the other way around. You've got to give people a chance. It's the same with the reassignment. Roll with it. See how it goes."

Elin nods, looking at him, absorbing everything: the freckles, the dirty-blond hair, the black-framed glasses that ever so slightly magnify his eyes, and she feels a surge of love.

He's right. There'll be hurdles as she gets back to work, but she needs to do as he says. Roll with it. See how it goes.