Page 63 of Packing for Vacation

“They’ve got lithium-ion batteries in them, they’re supposed to go in carry-on… although the airline checked this bag anyway. I was trying to be good.”

“I’ve never thought of that before.”

“You’re not packing your vibrating dildo?” I joke, picking mine up and waving it in his face.

“Nah,” he says, grabbing it by the knot, “but I’ll happily use it on you. We might as well… this in your pussy, me in your arse, Scott in your mouth.”

“Why am I in her mouth? Oh, you’ve got fun stuff packed in there!”

I cover my face with my hands, losing it in a fit of giggles, unable to articulate why I’m even laughing. All I know is that I’ve never felt quite so happy before. I hadn’t realised what it would be like to meet people that understand me on a bone-deep level, who make me laugh, who make me comfortable to just be myself, free of judgement.

“So your heat suppressants are in here, eh?” Scott asks once I’ve calmed down. He rifles through the disorganised contents of my case, pulling out items and placing them in neat little piles on the carpet, categorising the chaos. “These ones?”

I take the box he holds out to me, opening it up and checking the foiled packets of little white pills inside. “Yeah, but since I’m staying here long-term, I should change brands now. I have a small window, maybe a couple of days, to start the next round of heat suppressants or I’ll likely go through another heat in a couple of months, which isn’t the end of the world—” I acknowledge, making note of both Matiu and Scott’s expression “—but it’s not necessarily ideal. Personally, I’d like to get to a place where I’m certain of my immigration status here, where we have decided where we might live as a pack…? And where I have an income and we’ve figured out what heat-leave looks like for your workplace, and then I would have another heat.” I bite my tongue, forcing myself not to say But if you have different ideas, let me know. This is my body. I need to be able to assert what I want and need, and I know these two don’t have a problem with that.

“That’s fine,” Matiu says.

“Yeah, sounds like a good plan. The chemist should be open today, if you wanted to go.”

“I’ll need a prescription.”

“There’s one in Whangārei that can do it.” Matiu holds his phone out for me, and I take it, reading the information he pulled up.

Qualified pharmacists can prescribe some medications including treatment for erectile dysfunction, and heat suppressants.

“That’s an interesting choice of things they decided to highlight there. Okay.” I shrug, looking between Matiu and Scott. “Let’s go and get my suppressants.”

The only open pharmacy is a chain store, and it’s a sensory nightmare for anyone who is neurodivergent. As soon as the front doors open I cringe at how too much everything is inside—the loud music blasting from the overhead speakers, the bright paper price tickets poking out from under every single item, the way every square inch of the store appears to be brimming with stock, with not a single area of negative space save for the garishly patterned floor.

I hold on to Scott’s hand and allow him to lead me down one aisle, and then another, until we finally arrive at the prescriptions counter. It’s a fairly straightforward process from then on—they need an address and phone number, and ask me a few questions about my medical history, including my prior suppressant use. The fact that I’m not a resident or citizen is fine, the only downside is that the meds aren’t funded. Even so, they’re not nearly as expensive as I expected them to be.

“You know, you could always tell your travel insurance you lost your meds and get this covered, eh. Just put in a claim for the replacement, say they weren’t in your suitcase when it was returned to you. No one has to know.”

“Excuse me, aren’t you supposed to be mister uphold the law?”

“No,” Scott answers slowly. “I’m mister get what’s best for my clients… What’s that grid, again? I’m not lawful good, that’s all I know. Neutral good, maybe.”

“I’m chaotic good.”

“You are definitely that, sweet, and I love you for it.”

We meet up with Matiu at a nearby restaurant, where surprisingly, he’s not alone. An older couple sit beside him at the round table, the resemblance between Matiu and the other man striking. “Here they are,” he says as we approach. “This is Lizzie, and you’ve met Scott before.”

“Yes! A long time ago,” the woman replies, her pale white skin flecked with sun spots. “I’m Debra, and this is my husband Hōne, he’s Matiu’s mother’s brother.”

We do the usual introductions and handshakes, the where are you from’s and the what do you do’s, before Debra and Hōne excuse themselves to go and join the birthday celebrations two tables over, the gathering that they were actually here for.

The food is simple but good. I order a burger with a side of beer-battered fries, and end up having a discussion with the owner about poutine and whether he should try adding it to the menu. Scott and I share a jug of margarita slushy, and Matiu’s knee remains comfortably pressed to mine under the table for the entirety of the meal.

“It’s nice to be out of the house after being holed up in my nest for so long,” I say, yawning. “Though I’m getting pretty tired.”

“You need an early night,” Matiu says, his hand on my thigh. “We can go in a minute.”

“I’ll just use the washroom.”

The toilet cubicles are small but thankfully clean and tidy. I’m washing my hands when the second cubicle opens up and Matiu’s aunt, Debra, steps out.

“Hi,” I say quietly. My smile is forced, but I can’t help myself when this is such an awkward place for a family reunion.