At Alfonso's

The smoke invaded Sydney as the jacaranda flowers left the trees and painted the pavements purple. Gradual at first, then all at once – coating the city in a cloud that blocked out the sun: a warm, red filter over our existence.

Joe picked me up at six, pulling up in the side street that connects Underwood to Hargreave Street. I wasn’t sure if I should kiss him when I climbed into the passenger seat, so I didn’t – awkwardly uncertain of where we stood since he’d told me in a nervous Sunday evening phone call that he wasn’t sure he wanted a relationship. It was simple when we started talking, with the comfort that’s easily reactivated after months of friendship and moments of intimacy.

I brought up the conversation on the phone, because I know the way unspoken problems throw me off and turn me into the worst version of myself.

“I just don’t want to be one of those guys, you know? And I’ve been one before. I just don’t want to fuck this up, or like – fuck up our friendship – and I’m worried I already have. Have I?” Although he normally existed in a state of play, Joe was surprisingly good at serious conversations: humble and honest and open.

I kept my eyes on his face, aware that he couldn't hold my gaze as he pulled off towards Vaucluse.

“I just think you’re over communicating,” I told him.

“Is that a thing?”

“Yes! We don’t know yet, of course we don’t, but by telling me that you don’t know if you’re ready for a relationship you’re making me feel rejected,” my voice fell at the end of the sentence, and I surprised myself with my vulnerability.

His jaw tightened a little, but his light grey eyes stayed gentle.

The wind had picked up by the time we parked, pulling away the sticky heat of the day. Across the water, the cityscape was just an outline – cut grey against the orange sky. A white orb hung above us, and I asked if it was the sun or the moon.

“The full moon was last weekend” he laughed, “I’m surprised you don’t remember”.

“Moons are Mel’s thing,” I told him.

He took my hand as if it was the obvious next step, and we walked in silence along the dusty path through the bush, past the grassy clearing and down onto the empty beach.

The hot wind of the day had turned cool, and the smoke blocked out the warmth of the evening sunlight.

“Do you still want to swim?” he asked, turning to me, hands on my arms which were spiked with goosebumps.

“Definitely” I told him, and sat down on the sand. We talked more about feelings: about past relationships and heartbreak and over-communication.

“I still don’t think it’s a thing” he told me, pulling me close so I didn’t feel attacked “I just think honesty is the best policy, always. I think as long as you’re being honest, in a relationship, you can’t really go wrong. I mean that’s definitely what I learnt with Katie”.

This was the most serious he’d ever been with me, and even talking about relationships and sex, his energy was comfortingly, endearingly childlike.

He’d been with Katie for a year at the end of high school, and they’d broken up on a holiday in Thailand after a series of misaligned expectations. “Later on is different,” I explained. “Of course when you’re in a relationship honesty is the best policy, but we just don’t know at this stage, so a degree of ambiguity is just… you can’t know that you’re going to be with someone, but preemptively telling them that you don’t know if you’re ready just hurts, you kind of need to suspend doubt and play along, everyone does it”. He was quiet for a bit, and I looked up at him, his eyelids hanging heavy.

“I’m not playing though, are you playing?” His sensitivity stopped my abrasiveness in its tracks.

“Well… no. But everyone’s playing, to an extent. I don’t know what this is going to be any more than you do, but I’m happy to just … go with it and see,”.

“I just didn’t want to hurt you Lily. I never want to hurt you. I like you a lot,”.

I took hold of his hand again and sat up, pulling him to face me.

“I know you’re not trying to hurt me, let's just take it slow. And don’t feel like you need to tell me everything, I know you’re trying to protect my feelings, but sometimes it can be good to leave things unsaid.” I kissed him quickly on the cheek, a kiss of reassurance not of passion – like a nanny to a nervous child on the first day back at school.

I stood up and pulled my t-shirt over my head.

“Swim?” I asked.

The water was cold, and the smell of smoke was fresh when our heads pulled up for air. It was getting dark, and the haze formed a film over the water, stopping the lights from reflecting on the surface.

He didn’t hold my hand as we walked back to the car, but as I looked out to the silhouette of the city from the clearing on the top of the cliff, he wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.

“You’re very sweet,” I told him.

“You’re sweeter,” he said, his lips against my ear.

I turned around to face him and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Even when I insult you in my sleep?”.

“Especially when you insult me in your sleep, actually,”.

“Interesting! Talk me through the logic there?” I smiled up into his face, his chin shaded by dark stubble.

“Hmm… it’s intimate, and it’s cute. You’re quite...well you’re very strong, you know when we’re with other people you’re definitely not shy. And you’re so clever and confident, but... when you’re falling asleep you’re just so...cute, and I’m the only person who gets to see,”.

He kissed me gently on the head and I turned around to face the city again, holding his arms over my shoulders and tracing his forearms with my fingers. The red haze behind the silhouette of Sydney was angry and apocalyptic, but here on the cliff, salty lips on salty skin, we were terrifyingly, perplexingly immune.

I turned the heating up to full in his old, rusty four by four, and he put his hand on my knee that shivered beneath the towel.

“I want to take you on a date,” he told me, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Is this not a date?” I asked, smiling into the sideways glance he shot me.

“A proper date,” he told me, smiling himself now – his eyes sparkling silver from the streetlights.

****

“Joe’s here!” Melissa called from the kitchen, and I heard her open the door and greet him with her signature elongated “helloooo”.

I checked my dress in the mirror that hung on the back of my door, and slipped on the heels I’d borrowed from Rach.

He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a bunch of Australian natives in his hand, the gold of his signet ring contrasting perfectly against the neutral tones.

“You are so ridiculous,” I told him, standing on the second last step – so I matched his height – and kissing him quickly.

“What?! I said proper date,” he argued, as I unwrapped the bouquet from the brown paper and arranged the flowers in the china vase that sits redundant on the mantelpiece between birthdays and anniversaries.

“Bye Mel!” we called in unison as we shut the door behind us and headed out onto the street. The smoke was beginning to clear, and a few stars appeared in the navy sky above us.

As we walked, my hand in his, our steps finding a natural rhythm, we tracked every moment we’d spent together until now. Meeting in the busy garden at Ethan’s birthday, the Wednesday night we all went to the gallery and ate dumplings in a crummy corner of Ultimo, the gigs in packed Marrickville pubs, the warehouse parties, the beach days. Never, though, in the three months of confused, romantic friendship, had we been on a date.

****

Alfonso’s sits on the corner of a steep Paddington street, and overflows with warm light and laughter every evening. I’d wanted to go there ever since I’d moved to the neighbourhood, but the two month waiting list (and the ease of cheap pub dinners) had prevented me from ever acting on my desires. A waiter with a thin moustache opened the door the second before we arrived at the threshold, and welcomed us with a confusingly friendly smile.

“Joe! Your usual table, good sir,”.

He filled two heavy tumblers with sparkling water, then appeared with a bottle of Merlot and poured us each a glass.

The moment the waiter was out of earshot, I let my eyes widen in (partially genuine) mock disbelief, mouthing the words “what...the...actual”?

Joe laughed, and I realised quickly that the waiter must be a friend.

“I called in every favour,”.

“Every favour?” I asked, curious as to what more the night might entail.

“Yep, strap in Lily,”.

I raised the glass of Merlot to my lips and smiled into his warm, familiar face.

“Thank you, good sir,”.