RELATIONSHIPS | COMING OF AGE
It’s Always Been You
Love through our ages

“This is a Telstra reverse call from — A friend is going to stay for a bit, trouble at home, she’ll be there before me, let her in, ple- beep. To accept…”
I hung up before the end of the automated message. It was 2003, and this was our standard way of passing on messages, call reverse and hurriedly try to cram an entire message into the few seconds granted to say your name.
In this case, the message was from my housemate, Lucas. I had recently turned fifteen, and Lucas was only just approaching seventeen. Initially, I didn’t think too much of the message, we often took in the other lost teens with no one to care for them.
I set about making up the fold-out couch in the small sunroom off the kitchen, trying to make it a space as comfortable and welcoming as possible.
I didn’t have too long to get everything ready before the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the newest arrival to our unofficial refuge.
Opening the door, I was met with a slightly tearful, absolutely stunning woman. She was a lofty 5'7 to my barely 5'1, wearing a faded vintage Rolling Stones shirt, ripped jeans, leather cuffs and a biker jacket. Her hair was jet black from cheap box dye, loosely pulled back and fastened with a clip, she looked down at me with deep blue eyes and lips painted fire engine red.
I tried not to melt under her gaze. The last thing she probably needed after a bad day was a stranger becoming smitten with her before so much as a hello, so I mentally pulled myself together, trying to ignore that something about her that told me she was special.
“You must be Lottie, I’m Stevie. Lucas said it would be okay if I crashed here for a few days.”
She had a quiet confidence about her, shifting her bag on her shoulder and giving me a soft smile with the introduction.
“Of course! Come on in and make yourself at home, you can stay as long as you need” I gestured for her to follow me down the narrow hall and helped her with her bags.
So it was that Stevie crossed over the threshold and into my life.
From that first day forward, Stevie became a firm fixture in our lives. She would stay on and off when she needed a break from her home life and was warmly welcomed into our group of friends.
We were the outcasts and the misfits, the street rats and ragamuffin rapscallions with no one to care where we were. Stevie was effortlessly cool, she carried herself with a ‘screw the world’ attitude but was fiercely loyal to her friends and seemed to have a level of self-confidence it seemed almost illegal for any one person to possess. At seventeen, she was also one of the older kids and a natural leader.
My initial intrigue grew into a full-blown crush, one I tried to quash. If there was one thing Stevie was clear on, it was that she did not do relationships. This combined with her being a little too cool for me, and the fact that everyone seemed to have a crush on her at some point or another, was enough for me to not risk ruining the friendship.
I did my best to push my feelings aside.
Eight months after she first arrived at our doorstep, a party was in full swing. It was not an uncommon affair, our tiny home was often overrun by the other teenagers with nowhere to go who were already exhausted by the turbulence of life, and parties just seemed to happen.
On this particular night, the music was pounding, the beat pulsing and reverberating through the space as people danced, mingled, and played games.
Somewhere outside a glass broke, and shouts rang out shortly after. I checked the clock, almost 1:00 am. Around the time neighbours would be calling in a noise complaint.
I always tried to disappear before things became too rowdy, especially if it was likely to be a police appearance.
I made my way outside. Stepping over people sitting and slumped on the floor in the lounge, ducking and weaving through dancers in the hall, then out the front door. Looping back down the narrow side alley that separated us from the neighbours, jumping the back fence and climbing onto the flat tin roof.
I’d already set up blankets and pillows earlier. A large flood torch and my book were also already waiting for me. This was my secret space, my escape for when things became too noisy or out of hand.
Just as I was settling in, there was a clammer from the back fence, followed shortly by someone clambering onto the roof.
Stevie.
“So this is where you’re always disappearing to! Got space for one more?” Her face beamed with a sly grin at having discovered my secret. Not waiting for an answer as she nestled close to me, one arm draping around my shoulder.
“Uh, sure” I was trying to hide the stutter that always flared when I was anxious, but it did nothing to hide my general awkwardness. My body flinched slightly at her touch, electric energy flowed from her fingers and it was all I could do not to lean into it. I was met with a look of concern, the smile fading slightly from her face as she studied me closely.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Her eyes searched deep into my own, even in the relative darkness I could feel their intensity, I felt as though she were able to see straight into my soul.
“No, no. It’s okay, I like you…I mean, I like being around you…I mean, you’re welcome, I just get a bit jumpy and weird sometimes.” Internally facepalming, Smooth, Lottie, real smooth.
“You are a bit of a weirdo, but I like that about you” Her eyes softened as the smile returned, shuffling back against the pillows and pulling me against her in a hug.
We spent hours up there, talking about books, music, and life in general. We stared at the stars and tried to point out the constellations and the planets we knew.
Eventually, we fell into a comfortable silence. Half asleep with our bodies tangled together.
I felt a kiss on the top of my forehead, causing my heart to skip a beat as I looked up at her.
“Where did that come from?” I tried to keep the tone light and friendly, but I was certain she would feel my heart pounding between us.
“I don’t know, you’re cute, sometimes I just want to kiss you. That okay?” It was both an incredibly sweet compliment, delivered completely matter-of-factly.
The juxtaposition made me laugh.
“Yeah, Stevie, that’s okay. You’re pretty cute yourself, you know”
We kissed, softly at first, quickly turning deep and passionate. All my pent-up desires were suddenly unleashed and met with equal enthusiasm.
By the time the sun rose we were sleeping together, limbs intertwined and clothes askew. It was the first of many such evenings that lay ahead, and from then on, we would be inseparable.
That night was not our happily ever after. We were still two messy teens who didn’t quite know how to make our broken parts fit together.
I was an awkward, hopeless romantic who wore my heart on my sleeve and would do anything in the world to make those I loved happy. Desperately afraid of ever bringing even an iota of harm or becoming a disappointment.
Stevie was all high walls, barriers and trust issues. Fiercely loyal, she wouldn’t back down from a fight in aid of those she cared for, but she kept her emotions close to her chest. Desperately afraid of vulnerability lest she be hurt when people abandoned her, which she viewed as an inevitability.
Both of us with a higher-than-usual sex drive that neither knew what to do with.
Add in a lack of responsible adults, zero healthy role models and teenage hormones, and together we made a recipe for disaster.
Nonetheless, we were drawn to one another, and so we continued on.
We became best friends with benefits. No strings, no expectations.
We explored everything life had to offer together. We would go on road trips and adventures, we saw concerts, went to festivals, went on hikes, tried new foods, learnt new skills, and travelled to new places. If one of us wanted to try something, the other enthusiastically joined in, no questions asked.
When we were both single, this zest for life extended to our sexuality. We soon discovered the world of kinks, fetishes and BDSM — a world that offered new outlets for Stevie's mild sadism and love of control to play with my mild masochism and love of taking directions.
Occasionally we would try dating other people, with very little success. Each break-up found us together, sharing a bottle of Sailor Jerry spiced rum and joking about how the ex-of-the-day was doomed from the beginning.
We went on like this for years, but somewhere along the way we also started to grow up.
We both went off to university, Stevie following her love of animals into veterinary school, and me following my desire to help people into social work.
We learnt from the failures and mistakes of our past relationships and found new strategies to try to avoid causing or receiving the same heartaches. Albeit with a few rather notable exceptions.
We both sought out different homes that would allow us our own space, the nights of never-ending parties, drama and mess slowly becoming less compatible with our goals.
Throughout it all, we continued our unofficial pact, where the only thing off limits was labelling whatever we were as an official relationship or saying the three words that would shatter the delusion.
I love you.
The words didn’t pass my lips when I planned elaborate dinners for her.
They didn’t pass hers when she hunted down a first-edition copy of my favourite book.
They remained unspoken when I was rushed to the hospital after an altercation with the worst of my exes. She took time off work and stayed by my side the entire time I was there.
When she called me in tears from interstate the night before her father's funeral, I jumped on the next plane to be by her side and support her through. I gave her every word of comfort, condolence and support I could think of — except those three.
They were unspoken, but they were there. We found other ways to say them.
One of our favourites came from a text message out of the blue one evening.
I’m watching ‘Love, Actually’ and thought of you. What are you up to?
I smiled when I first received the message, not interpreting the underlying meaning, I responded with a joke.
Because I’m a hopeless romantic or are you about to call me a dork?
I was not prepared for the response I received.
Because whenever I see love or cute relationships and stuff I think of you. It’s always you…you dork.
It was the closest we had ever come to admitting the underlying feelings for one another, to acknowledging that this was not just a friendship.
After that, we would send each other random memes, love songs and images of love accompanied with the message “It’s always you”.
In November 2017, the results of Australia’s national same-sex marriage survey results were announced, paving the way for same-sex marriage to be legalised. The newspapers were filled with stories of the celebrations from the LGBTQ+ community.
It was almost without thought that I purchased one such paper and wrote our decree across it in thick, black Sharpie. I took a detour to drop it in her mailbox on my way to work, smiling to myself as I pictured her finding it. In my mind, I could already see her smiling and shaking her head at me.
Later that evening, my dinner preparations were interrupted by the doorbell.
I opened the door to see Stevie, still a lofty 5'7 to my barely 5'1, wearing tailored designer pants, a fitted blouse and a smartwatch. Her natural red hair looked freshly styled and she beamed down at me with deep blue eyes.
In her hands, she had a bouquet of roses, wrapped in the newspaper I had delivered to her earlier that morning.
“Lottie, it’s always been you, it’s always going to be you. I love you. Do you think maybe we should just admit it already?”
And so it was, fourteen years after I first opened my door to a stranger, that I opened the door to my future wife.
It’s always been her.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and show your support.
~Lottie