chapter 7 towering buns

Yesterday we went to the bun festival on Cheung Chau with its parade of ‘floating’ children, marathon opera performances and pink-stamped buns piled high into thirty-foot cones. Hamish said at least the opera being outside meant you could just get up and walk away when you’d had enough. I bit my tongue. Hamish is no lover of the cultural life.

Today we went to Lantau to see the Po Lin monastery with the world’s largest Buddha. Mist swirled in the damp air creating drama as the enormous golden statue would reveal itself before being swallowed up again. We bought a long red cord hung with a golden horse and teapot with a huge golden tassel at the bottom. It’s the Chinese ‘Year of the Horse' so this will be a good memory and we can use it as a Christmas ornament. Every year when I hang each of my Christmas ornaments, collected from the countries I’ve visited, I am reminded of when and where they came from. This is the first thing we’ve ever bought together. It feels a bit weird. But in a good way.
It was sunset by the time we took the boat back to neon central, big smiles on our faces. I’m amazed how easy this is really, this whole traveling with Hamish thing. We’ve only known each other a few weeks after all. Everything developed so quickly, and so easily too, like a flower opening in the sun. But sometimes, usually in the middle of the night, I wonder if it’s too quickly. I think I’m fine with it, the idea of having a boyfriend after all these years of single life, but then I get scared and clam up. How can I get close to someone else after Andrew? I feel such guilt. I can’t really remember how I told Hamish about Andrew, but I remember it knocked him sideways. He said he knew there was something holding me in but because I hadn’t said anything for so long he thought it was just my moods. When I finally told him he was the first guy I had dated in eight years it shook him. Later he told me he felt this awesome responsibility. All I remember is he got really quiet and I was afraid he wasn’t interested in me after all, that he wanted someone more experienced, more together emotionally. It was a few weeks later when we had The Big Talk that I found out differently.

It seems every couple I know has had The Big Talk That first night you both stay up and just talk all through the entire night. Everything came out in a flood. Weeks of thoughts. Years of thoughts. He told me his history, his feelings and desires and susceptibilities. And drew mine out. All of them. By dawn there was no denying it. I knew, I just knew that this was someone I wanted to be with.

The first night Hamish stayed overnight, the night after The Big Talk actually, we lay there in the dark, breathing deeply, knowing what would happen next but feeling awkward about how to start, and I started to shake.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I faltered. “It’s - been awhile.”

He seemed to understand, turned and simply held me, stroking my hair until slowly the shakes stopped. And the tears began. This was not the time I wanted to but I couldn’t help it. I had just let myself open up to someone after years of being pent up, tearing down all the walls that had been carefully if haphazardly constructed. And once the walls were down my emotions just overpowered me and I flooded. Without saying anything Hamish kissed my tears away slowly, one by one, on my cheeks, my eye lids, my lips. I could feel the solid lump in my insides start to soften, then come away in layers, unwrapped like an onion, one by one.

We spent the whole night like that, holding each other and just exploring slowly, cautiously. Touches, then caresses, then soft lingering kisses. In the early dawn we made love. Afterwards I lay there feeling raw and guilty. Hamish got up and returned with mugs of tea. I couldn’t quite look him in the eye. We sat in bed silently sipping, side by side, my head near his chest, our toes touching. I could feel the hairs on his legs and hear his heartbeat. After awhile Hamish broke the silence.

“I think I’m going to stay here tonight,” he said.

I didn’t say anything, but a piece of my heart grew back as I took another sip of tea.

And now here I am in a full-blown relationship that scares the pants off me! I have to make sure this is it; that he is going to stick around before I fall irreversibly into the liquid brown of his eyes. I have to guard my heart as much as I can until I know. I pepper him with questions about his family, his history, his thoughts. He tells me about his parents’ divorce, his first kiss, his sister's distance, both geographically and emotionally, his lost brother (to cancer at age 12), his love of words and action movies, his favourite food (chip buttie) and sport (soccer), his dislike of working for idiots. I try to lay it on thick about my family, but he likes the sound of my parents’ passive squabbles, my sisters’ verbal arguments and tacit alliances. I find myself drawn closer to him the more I learn about how much he cares, how deeply he thinks, how restless he feels underneath his calm.

In the little boat back into Hong Kong harbour I stole a look across to see his long frame bent forward, a rogue lock of dark brown hair drooping over his brow while he read intently. I felt the urge to brush it aside, but didn’t want to interrupt his reverie, preferring to watch him, to just look at him. His cheekbones are high and delicate, more defined than on most men. A long nose, wide brown eyes, arched eyebrows. I am in awe that such a man as this cares for me. He must have felt my gaze then and looked up, smiling quizzically before folding me in his arms, and the rest of the evening was spent away from books and sightseeing.