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It was a while ago now, the last Sunday before O-Week. I was at Vinci’s Caffè and Gelateria with Ellie, Rafaela, and Phil, enjoying the beach and trying not to think too much about the future. We were chilling at a table out front, listening to The Beatles - the owner, my bestie Teresa’s dad, loves old music -, and a funny story Phil was telling about her brother’s girlfriend, when I saw her.
She’d just gotten out of the water: her short, dark hair lay wet against her head, and a wetsuit hung unzipped about her waist. She had the shoulders and tanline of a surfie, and carried a board under her right arm. I could almost feel the weight of it - balanced, but making it just that much harder to turn. What really got me was the familiarity. It was like I knew, yeah, knew her, and even if I didn’t, it was so certain I would that I as good as did already.
“Oi, Claire!” Somebody - Phil - called out my name.
“What?” I answered.
“What’cha lookin’ at?”
“Eh, nothing.” She was closer now. I could see her eyes. They were hazel, intense, focussed but remote - like there was a world behind them. As I watched, she propped her surfboard against the railing of the promenade and came toward us.
Our eyes met as she passed - how could they not I was staring pretty hard - and I swear I felt music. Then she looked away, abrupt, like she was brushing something off. “Do you know her?” Ellie asked.
“No,” I said. “She just reminds me of someone, that’s all. I pretended to be interested in my phone while she ordered a single scoop of what I now know was mango in a cup. She ate it next to her board, staring out to sea. There was - is - a tattoo on her back of a sort of twisted tree transforming into butterflies. I wanted to count them, to trace their path across her shoulders and down her spine. Looking back I'm not sure why I wasn't more off-balance, I kinda knew I was bi but a girl hadn’t gotten me like that before, but in that moment it was all that seemed real to me.
She finished her gelato and picked up her board, keeping to herself the whole time. But as turned to go she quickly, almost accidentally, glanced at me. I smiled, more warmly than I expected to. She froze, but nodded before heading back the way she came.
As soon as she was gone I raced inside.
“Who was that?!” I demanded of Cass who’d served her.
“Who?”
“The girl who was in here just now. Wetsuit, navy swimmers.”
“Her? I dunno. She was in here last week, though. Ordered mango then, too.”
Next Sunday, I caught a ride down with Teresa and was there at opening. It was the day before uni began in earnest, and Vinci’s was packed with families, tourists, coffee snobs on the trail of Teresa’s macchiatos, and students enjoying their last hours of freedom. I’m on the books as a casual in case I’m around when they need an extra hand, so I scooped gelato and manned the till as I waited. It was a long, busy day, and my feet were thoroughly sore, when there she was.
Our eyes met in a wash of psychedelic strings from the tranced-out song that was playing on the iPod. It flowed through the shop like a river as she worked her way to the front to order. It took a minute, but when she made it I was there.
“Good to see you back!” I beamed, noticing that she seemed a little tense. “What’ll it be today?”
“A single scoop of mango in a cup, please.” She had a quiet voice with a heavy Queensland twang.
“Sure thing!” I said, brightly “But can I interest you in something a bit different? Samples are free and you can have as many as you like!”
She blinked, clearly taken aback. I belatedly realized how dodgy that sounded and wondered if I’d absolutely fucking blown it. Then she smiled and said:
“Alright, what’s good here?”
“The mint chocolate chip,” I said, grinning like an idiot. “And salted caramel - oh and the popcorn! It’s a special flavour this week. You should also try the tiramisu. It’s all pretty amazing, actually, I’d say you can’t go wrong.”
She nodded. “I’ll try the mint chip, then.”
“Good choice! So what brings you to Sydney?” I asked as I reached for the tub.
“Uni. I’m studying maths at UNSW.”
“Awesome! I’m doing comp sci there. My first class is tomorrow.” I handed her the sample stick. She tasted it, concentrating like it was the most important thing in the world. “That’s good!” she said. “I’ll have a single scoop of that in a cup, please.”
“Coming right up! Can I get you another sample?” She smiled again and shook her head.
“Nah. I don’t want to hold up the queue, eh. Next time, though?”
“Absolutely!” I grinned. “My name’s Claire, by the way. I’ll be here next Sunday between two and three.” I handed her the gelato.
“I’m Jean. I guess I’ll see you then.” She left the counter. I watched her go just long enough that the dad who was in line behind her glanced back at her as well. He looked at me a bit oddly as I took his order, but didn’t say anything.
It turned out I didn’t have to wait until Sunday. Jean was there when I showed up at my discrete maths lecture on Tuesday morning. It was only logical that I join her, and that we make a point of being in the same tutorial class. From that followed study, distracting each other from study, telling all my friends - Teresa’s all possessive it’s hilarious -, and, yes, I did eventually get to count those butterflies. There’s nine, of course. Anyway, that’s the story of how we met. What more can I say?