Page 3 of Goldilocks

Sam tucked Mal’s present under his elbow as he pushed open the front door. Music played in the distance, audible through the walls, and a loud hum of voices came from the kitchen.

Sam nodded to a few cousins who passed him in the hall on the way to the bathroom and noted a usually very sober, straight-laced cousin stumbling over, drunk. “You good, Abby?” Sam asked.

Abby nodded. “Work tomorrow, so I’m heading home.”

“You’re not walking, are you? I’m not drinking. I can drive you.”

“Mom’s outside.” Abby gave Sam a tight hug. “You love like fish.”

Sam blinked. “Come again?”

“You smell like fish. Love you,” someone translated. Sam looked up to see Mary in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Behind her, the room was jammed, family members crowding the kitchen table, playing some sort of card game.

“That’s the one,” Abby confirmed. “Night, guys.”

Sam waited, watching to make sure Abby got safely out of the house and into the car waiting for her outside. He was aware of Mary’s piercing look. “What’s the big deal?” Sam finally acknowledged her.

“Did you readanyof the texts I sent you?” Mary demanded in a hiss. Her curly red hair was pulled into a ponytail so tight it sharpened the angle of her eyes.

“Yes,” Sam lied. He cringed internally at the small fib. Reading at night washard. The glare from the phone screen was so piercing when everything else was subdued, and his brain just hated making sense of what he was looking at. Not to mention he was tired. Tired made everything worse.

“I hate how you never reply,” Mary grumbled. She grabbed his elbow and guided him into the kitchen. He glimpsed a tattooed stranger shaking up cocktails at the counter, then Mary ushered him onto the back porch.

The music rose in volume as they stepped outside. The back garden had become a family rave, the porch a smoke den, and everywhere in between was filled with people drinking and chatting. The younger cousins, who ranged from five to nine years old, zoomed around like lunatics.

Sam blinked at the chaos, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips. “Did someone get married?”

“It’s wonderful,” Mary said.

“Seriously, is there a wedding? A funeral, a wake?” Sam spitballed.

“Everyone just showed up.” Mary shrugged. “Including…” She bumped Sam to look toward a group at the edge of the porch. There was another stranger there, leaning against the railing. Amongst the uncles, he was the only person without a cigarette or vape. Like the man inside that Sam didn’t recognise, this one had tattoos covering almost every inch of skin. A T-shirt left exposed coiled branches, birds and leaves twisting over muscle and sinew.

Sam admiredthe way the images intertwined and overlapped.

“Those look great,” Sam said, accidentally speaking over Mary.

She blinked. “What does?”

“His tattoos.”

“Right?” a man agreed, enthused.

Sam twisted to find the tattooed guy from inside at his back, holding two colourful cocktails in tall glasses. An array of geometric patterns seemed to crawl over his olive-toned skin, and Sam’s brain melted into goo as he looked.

“Wow,” he said.

The man laughed. His hair was a rich caramel, his eyes a similar brown. “Here.” He offered a drink to Sam and Mary. “Everyone else has gotten their cocktails, so I am standing down for an hour. I need to mingle for a bit, not just serve.” His gaze moved to Sam and stuck. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Ivan.” His smile was friendly, but there was an oddness in the way he studied Sam; his eyes were a warm shade, but Sam didn’t feel any of the warmth as they fixed on him, as if seeking something specific in Sam’s face. Whatever it was, Sam didn’t think Ivan found it.

Mary opened her mouth, practically vibrating in her spot.

“Don’t be weird.” Another unfamiliar voice came from behind. Ivan’s smile faded as he shot an irritated look over Sam’s shoulder.

“I’m introducing myself.”

“I saw you smile.”

“It’s normal to smile when you’re introducing yourself.”