Since U Been Gone

7:14pm

Louis takes a tadalafil from the drawer in the nightstand and swallows it with a mouthful of prosecco. The yellow pill will make it so that he can make Chelsea feel the way she wants later. The medication is not a secret and Chelsea has been good about it. Louis is on citalopram as well and the sexual side effects are well-documented. The nightstand is listed on Facebook Marketplace along with their other furniture, which has thinned considerably, leaving the flat spare and unhomely. But he and Chelsea have successfully co-ordinated the divestment to leave enough seats and tables for the guests tonight: the sofa, dining chairs and ottoman all corralled in the living room and the patio furniture and camping chairs outside around the brazier. They both like a checklist.

Chelsea is getting ready in the bathroom and Louis thinks about initiating sex with her now. She might like the sense of urgency, but he doesn’t want her to have to re-do her makeup and they would both be distracted by the thought of their friends arriving and the things they have to do before then. The best time would have been four hours ago. There was a window where they could have done it properly and then it would already be done, but Louis dithered for too long. Later is not ideal, there are too many variables involved, but future Louis can deal with that. Right now he needs to assemble a giant crudité platter and get the moussaka in the oven.

“Fuck! How did I ever pull you?”

Chelsea’s chosen a blue satin dress that she looks poured into. Her pale hair, just barely touched by a colourist, is loosely waved and hangs behind her shoulders. She wears fine silver jewellery as always at her ears, hands and neck.

“Kissing my arse. Making moussaka. Pouring me drinks.”

Louis gets her a glass and makes her a spritzer.

“Salud gorgeous.”

She’s always good about moderation when they’re hosting, keeping things on track, making sure everyone is taken care of. Louis usually gets a bit too loose, but in a gregarious way, and he puts a lot of effort into the prep work. They make a good team.

“Ben’s coming over soon, he’s bringing his camera.”

“Great, as long as he puts it away before we're all half-cut.”

“I asked him to bring it, this is the last time we’ll all be together for a while.”

She’s right but Louis hates being caught off-guard by Ben Lomax’s Minolta. The candid photos always show him looking bored or disconnected or alone. He likes to be ready, like in the pictures on the fridge that haven’t been packed away yet. Louis with his mum at his 30th. Louis and Max on the Tongariro crossing. Louis and Chelsea at Chelsea’s sister’s wedding. Her younger sister’s wedding. They look gorgeous and happy in the Polaroid, overexposed teeth shining. He likes to remember it that way, a perfect sunny day where nobody asked jokey pointed questions or glanced discreetly at Chelsea’s ring finger, where there was no crushing dread at all.

7:42pm

Louis palms his secret vape from the top of the bathroom cupboard and slips it into his pocket. He gets his height from the Scandinavian giants that he whakapapas back to on his dad's side. They cut through 178km of bush to build the railway line to Ahuriri. He gets his teeth from that side too, crooked and never corrected, no chance of orthodontia on his mum’s single income. He scrubs them quickly with water and then Ben is there.

“Benny Liebovitz! Are you here to shoot us all?”

“Kia ora Louis, that smells delicious. Where can I put this Veuve?”

Ben is wearing his usual RM Williams boots and class ring. Even now, even for a party. Louis jostles for space in the fridge as Chelsea and Ben hug. Ben went through law with Chelsea and has somehow stayed on as friend and confidante to this day. Ben’s tenure in her life exceeds Louis’ by five years and Louis is certain that Ben likes to subtly remind him of this seniority.

“Make sure you get some good ones of Chels tonight Ben. She’s ethereal.”

Louis can only just tolerate Ben’s fastidious ways, the precision and detachment with which he argues a point in conversation, the aloofness of someone who thinks they always know how to behave. Louis keeps himself cheerful with the knowledge that he can see the full extent of Ben’s thinning crown better than Ben ever will.

8:10pm

A cohort of Chelsea’s colleagues has arrived and have formed a loose group around the kitchen. Louis has strategically placed snacks around the living room to get them to fan out, but they won’t sit down. They’re older and won’t stay for long, only one or two drinks and then back to their children or other social engagements.

Louis has switched to a low-carb lager for his third drink and is being chatted up by Carol, who has been to Greece and swears that Louis’ moussaka is up there with the best. Women like Carol - metallic lipstick on thin mouth, thick mascara on kind eyes, years of joyous sun damage showing on her décolletage - have a way of finding Louis and creating an ambience of safe cheekiness that he’s comfortable with. He’s grateful for the buffer from the rest of the lawyers, including Ben mingling with his chest puffed up. Then the balance inevitably shifts and Louis is brought into the general conversation.

“It’s always sad to see young people go across the ditch, but I’m sure there will be great opportunities there for you too, Louis. My nephew bought a house in Newcastle at 24.”

“We just can’t compete with a job market of that size. And the super!”

“Yeah I like to think of myself as employable. We’ll see if I can get some house-money.”

“So good that you’re supporting Chelsea’s career like this. Boyfriends were always threatened by my ambition when I was younger.”

“Huge fan of her work! Never gave it a second thought.”

This is a lie. Louis gave it many thoughts. Eventually the main thought was that if he gave Chelsea this it would delay having to deal with the things that he couldn’t give her yet, or perhaps at all. Ben prompts:

“You have some family over there don’t you?”

“Not really - well one of my Dad’s kids is over there. As far as I know.”

There’s a blip of wariness, Louis has gone against the grain of the pleasantries.

“Your Dad’s - so your half - ”

“I don’t really have a relationship with his other family. Or with him, come to think of it.”

Another wave of guests arrives and Louis is released.

8:43pm

Louis pretends he’s getting fuel for the brazier and hides in the garage for a minute to hit his vape and check his secret Grindr account. On the app he’s a lurker, a faceless creep, a blank profile. He receives a flood of messages regardless. He’s never actually cheated and the Grindr thing doesn’t count as anything, in fact it’s a safety valve for the random stabs of libido he gets on the tadalafil. Horned up over fellow cyclists on his commute, twink-era Damon Albarn, a reserved older woman at work who he thought he caught a vibe from. Anyone it seems, other than the woman he’s in love with.

If anything it’s actually a deterrent. More dick photos than the human mind was ever meant to parse. He looks at one now and thinks of a biology textbook, something like a tube worm or a sinister fish coming out from its hole, a creature living in dim light temporarily stunned by the flash. The next one looks like forensic photography, a blunt object at a crime scene. The next one just looks like a dick.

He hears raised voices from the house and his mood swings upwards. Max and Oscar have arrived.

9:10pm

Chelsea and the other girls are in the garden taking photos next to the fairy lights. Ben is several meters away, taking photos of them taking photos. The older guests have left and the party has finally reached a critical mass where all of the zones are being used. Louis has made Max complicit in the secret of the vape and now they are both pretending it belongs to Max.

They’re huddled with Oscar next to the brazier discussing past and future expeditions, tramping (“do they have tramping in Queensland?”), surfing, snowboarding, arms slung around each other's shoulders, becoming emotional with the possibilities. Louis and Chelsea are envoys across the Tasman. This is not the attrition of the friend group, but the expansion of their territory.

Their faces are all glowing with joy and alcohol and the heat from the brazier. It would make a lovely photo, but Ben isn’t looking at them.

10:20pm

Louis is pissing and checks his Grindr account again. Hey, hey, hi, can host, looking now? Any pics? Looking for head? Someone 3km away is hung like a Rexona can, impressive but not really Louis’ thing. The closest person on the grid is someone he thinks might be Ash, who arrived half an hour ago. It crosses his mind that his profile would be showing on Ash’s grid too and he thinks he should probably delete, but then Hey, Someone has sent a photo, and a very nice one at that, towel slung low on his hips and compact build and tattoos like a cool barista. Louis’ brain lights up with interest. The slot machine occasionally does pay out. Louis double taps the guy’s picture and sends a photo of himself at the gym, nothing too raunchy, the kind of thing that it’s safe to have on his phone. He has graduated from faceless creep to torso.

He bumps into Chelsea as soon as he steps out of the bathroom. Her face is clear as a bell, flushed and a bit tipsy, pretty in any lighting and Louis is so happy that she’s having a good time.

“God you’re gorgeous. Anything you need me to do?”

“Maybe just do a sweep and wash some glasses, and if there’s more lemons put them out, and keep an eye on the group chat in case anyone needs directions, and kiss me you lanky fuck.”

Louis pulls her in and his hands slide to their familiar spots, cupping her rear and the back of her head, handsy in the way she likes and sucking her pointy little tongue and he even has a semi.

“And fuck me later.”

She goes back to the party wet and Louis deletes Grindr.

10:34pm

Louis downloads Grindr again.

11:22pm

All of the party zones are thick with conversation and good cheer. Two neurodiverse factions are both trying to claim anyone who hasn’t been diagnosed yet. Oscar is explaining his latest business idea which involves selling horse feed to bodybuilders and Ash is very patiently fielding questions about polyamory. There’s a bit of coke going around which Louis will not touch, not even seven drinks under, because besides the virility thing it always gives him heart-exploding anxiety for days afterwards and there’s not enough citalopram in the world to make it stop.

Chelsea and Ash are having some little key-bumps together and Ben is still fucking taking photos. Louis throws himself into the firing line.

“Ben, Benny! I’m ready for my close-up! Please Ben I’ll never be this young again, it needs to be captured on film!”

Louis annoys Ben until he puts his camera away, and then puts him in charge of the brazier. Pleased with his problem-solving skills, he goes to sit down again and promptly knocks someone’s drink over.

“Alright, cut him off!”

Chelsea’s probably right, he’s getting sloppy, limbs rendered coltish and unsteady and he's forgetting to pretend he’s not vaping.

“It’s ok babe, I can cut myself off!”

11:43pm

Louis is in the bedroom having a little lie-down and looking at Grindr again. The guy from before has messaged asking Louis if he wants to meet tonight. He’s also shared a private album which shows his face and cock and Louis is sure he’s seen him around before, which makes it the most real it’s ever felt. Maybe their sweat has already mingled at CityFitness, maybe they’ve shared a cycle lane. It’s a small city. Louis is going back and forth over sending a face pic of his own, scrolling back years though his photos, hovering and uploading and deleting. He wants to show his face to this man he’s not going to have sex with, but none of his photos feel right for this context. He takes a selfie in-app. It’s dim and grainy and shows only the lower half of his face, fittingly sleazy. He hits send and asks the guy if he can host, then revisits the private album and starts to get hard again.

This won’t do. He chugs room-temperature water from the drink bottle beside the bed and deletes the app. Waiting for his dick to un-swell he stares at himself in the mirror. Thick hair threaded with his first few greys, eyes slightly unfocussed and creased with the beginnings of an Ed Hillary squint, hard jaw and tension around the mouth and pull yourself together Lou.

11:50pm

Someone has brought sparklers even though it’s May. Ben has put himself in charge of ignition and distribution and most of the guests have one. Chelsea’s white girl bangers playlist is on and she’s having the time of her life, bright-eyed and animated, dancing with the other girls and Ash. Louis hasn’t seen her let her hair down like this in a long while and he’s enthralled.

Kelly Clarkson starts playing and the girls shriek. A few of the boys join them; Max Martin lyrics are the kind of cocaine that everyone can enjoy. Even Louis knows the words to this one. Here’s the thing, we started out friends. Chelsea’s face is lit up by the sparkler she’s holding and she’s started pulling people up to dance. And all you’d ever hear me say, is how I pictured me with you, lyrics that would be fairly meaningless under sober scrutiny, but by the time the soaring, anthemic chorus hits everyone is on their feet and ready to scream -

SINCE U BEEN GOOOOONE

I CAN BREATHE FOR THE FIRST TIME

I’M SO MOVIN ON, YEAH YEAH

- hands up and sparklers waving. Louis is just drunk enough to believe that everything will work out. He makes Ben give him two sparklers and then Chelsea grabs his arm, breathless, and pulls him towards her.

“Do you want to have a threesome with Ash?”

The evening cleaves in two. Suddenly Louis feels very sober.

“Do I want to what now?”

Maybe he does want to have sex with Ash, but is this a test? No, Chelsea’s definitely horny. But still he doesn’t want to seem like he wants it too much. He’d like Chelsea to have sex with Ash if it’s what she wants, but is she only asking because she thinks it’s what he wants?

“Sex! With me! And Ash! They’re into both of us.”

But maybe it would also bring them closer and fix everything.

“Yes! Absolutely, sex with you and Ash!”

Louis leaves his sparklers sticking out of the lawn and gets another drink and it starts to make sense. It’s just sex, it’s all one thing, flowing freely from Grindr to Louis to Chelsea to Ash. Louis’ dick as lightning rod, grounding the energy, channeling it somewhere safe. He’s in control. He can pull this off. It doesn’t have to be so difficult.

12:23am

The guests have thinned out with emotional farewells at each departure, hugs and tears for the girls and back-slapping and playfighting for the boys. The few who remain are entrenched for now. Chelsea has made sure they have snacks and drinks and the brazier is stoked. Ben has gone home. Louis has been whispering and giggling with Max and Oscar; they are excited for him and ready to run interference if anyone asks where the hosts have gone.

Chelsea goes to brush her teeth and Louis shows Ash to the bedroom.

“This house is gorgeous, did you have to break your lease?”

“Nah, Chelsea’s parents own it. They’ll renovate after we’re out.”

Ash takes off their jacket and boots. Louis gets on well with Ash. They’re a really good surfer.

“Can we put this bougie candle on?”

Louis finds a lighter for the $200 candle that he pretended he was buying for Chelsea.

“Ambience! Make yourself at home.”

Louis and Ash sit on the bed, not touching, waiting for Chelsea.

“Hope it wasn’t too punishing doing Q & A with our basic friends.”

“Nah, they were all really nice.”

Louis feels shy checking out the shape of Ash’s body, their thighs and chest and shoulders, all strong and solid.

“Just so you know Ash, I’ve had hundreds of threesomes before and I’m pretty much the expert.”

“This is your first one?”

“Yeah. Chels too I think.”

“It will be chill. Any of us can call it off if we’re not feeling it.”

Ash strokes Louis’ hand and he melts with gratitude. This will all be ok. Chelsea enters and her dress has disappeared.

“Well” says Chelsea.

“Hello!” says Ash.

“Oh gosh” says Louis.

And so to bed.

Louis’ arms are long enough to feel both of them up as they kiss. Ash’s hand is between Chelsea’s thighs and Chelsea is reaching back to stroke Louis through his clothes, and it’s nice but it’s pretty gentle and the bed is so soft and the rhythm is too relaxing and -

2:12am

- Louis wakes up when Chelsea gets into bed.

“What happened?”

“Everyone's gone home.”

“But what happened with the threesome?”

”You passed out and we did it without you.”

“Oh god I'm sorry .. you did the threesome? With three of you?”

“Yes Louis, Adam Driver came over. No, Ash and I carried on for a bit, but it wasn't very sexy with you snoring next to us. Go back to sleep.”

Louis strips off and gets under the covers and is asleep again in seconds. He dreams that he’s alone in the bed and a beetle is crawling across the nightstand. He crushes it and the yellow-green goo of its guts spills out, more and more flowing as he tries in vain to mop it up with tissues.

9:40am

Louis is afraid to open his eyes. The light from the window is already searing through the cracks in his eyelids. He reaches blindly for Chelsea but her side of the bed is empty.

“Chels?”

The shower is running. He sandwiches his head between two pillows and holds it there until Chelsea comes back. Then he’s afraid to come out. Muffled by the pillows -

“I’m sorry Chels.”

“Here.”

She puts something cold in his hand. His drink bottle, filled with electrolytes.

“Oooaaagghh. You’re too good to me.”

He maneuvers the sippy top between the pillows and into his mouth without letting any light in. He wishes that Chelsea would get back into bed. The distance is making him nervous.

“I’m sorry if it was weird for you Lou. The whole threesome thing.”

Louis could cry. He comes out from the pillows. Chelsea is perched on the edge of the bed, damp and pink and smelling of pomegranate.

“Don’t apologise Chelsea, I’m an idiot. I ruined it.”

“That part doesn’t matter, it’s just - I thought I’d try something different. Things haven’t really been working for us for a while now.”

Louis does start to cry.

“Oh shit Lou, did you do coke last night?”

“No, it’s just a normal hangover. I’m sorry.”

“It’s probably best if we talk about this later. We’ll both be suicidal until we’ve had coffee.”

She puts on a jacket and grabs her keys.

“I’ll be back in 15.”

“I love you Chelsea.”

“It will be alright Lou.”

Chelsea pulls the front door closed behind her and messages her sister, I'm doing it today. The animated ellipsis immediately pops up in response.

Louis has retreated into the pillows again, forming a kind of cave this time. He holds his phone at the entrance and looks at Instagram. Someone posted to their stories last night. Everyone in the video is elated, sparklers fizzing and belting out Kelly Clarkson and Chelsea's in the middle, radiant, and you can just see Louis in the back watching her and grinning. Louis taps the heart.