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He + She

Page 8

by Michelle Warren


  Shea doesn’t answer right away, which is a good sign that she’s considering the proposition. I’m on edge, body rigid and barely breathing until she tweaks her lips back and forth and finally responds.

  Chapter 22

  She

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I know I shouldn’t accept, but I can’t help myself because the truth is that I want the chance to see Hew again. “Should we spit in our hands and shake on it or something?” I laugh.

  “Let’s not and say we did.” Hew crinkles his brow.

  It seems weird to walk away from each other without so much as a hug, though I know I’ve been the first to walk away every single time. This time, though, there’s a real possibility that I may not see him again. And even if it was true every other time before, I hadn’t taken the time to think it over. Those other times, I had left under duress. But this proposal is as frightening to me as it is a relief, which is why his offer is so enticing. I don’t have to make the big decision here; destiny will make it for me, just like she has with everything else in my life. I’ve learned there is only so much I can control anyway.

  “So, in two hours, I’m picking you up in one of two spots?” I slowly step away in the general direction of my car. Hew does the same but in the opposite direction. The pulling tension between us stretches like a rubber band pulled to the limit that at any moment could snap and break us apart forever, and it leaves my stomach unsettled and my heart sad.

  “Yes.” He settles his camera in his hand, and lifts the viewfinder to his squinting eye to take a final shot, like he doesn’t have enough photos of the girl-with-the-fake-name already. I remove my glasses and hat, revealing myself to him, and allow my hair to fall loose out of my braid. The shutter snaps, and I imagine this photo as a good-bye kiss, and for the first time, I offer a small smile for one of his photos. He can add me to the millions of other people he took photos of these past few days. After today, I may just be someone in the background among the crowd.

  “So, I’ll see you if I see you?” I clutch the rim of my hat, stepping away.

  Hew nods with sad eyes, turns like he can’t take any more, and finally walks away. When he turns the corner, melding into the tourists a hundred feet away, I sigh with confused relief, but immediately sense his absence, which instantly makes me long to be with him again.

  “You like him,” a voice calls from the fortune cookie factory. The manager stands at the entrance with his arms crossed, and he nods with a knowing smile. He must have been watching and listening all this time.

  “No. I mean, yes. The truth is I do—a lot—but I can’t.” I look around, searching for the correct words and settle on, “It’s complicated.”

  “Not complicated. Only you make it complicated. Life is simple. He likes you and you like him. My mother used to say coffee and love taste best when hot.”

  “Is that some kind of Chinese proverb or something?”

  “No, Ethiopian.”

  “But I was supposed to be married a few days ago. To someone else.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No.” I shake my head and look down, ashamed for how everything has played out.

  “Then there’s no complication. There is a reason you’re here and not where you planned to be. It’s simple,” he says so matter-of-factly that I want to believe him. That Hew and I met for a reason. That this whatever-it-is relationship is leading somewhere important. The shop owner diverts his attention, greeting a group of Dutch tourist who meander into his shop, and I’m left with my thoughts.

  I admit that I tend to make things complicated for myself and consider if this is the real issue. But the question is: Can I shove all the drama aside and jump headfirst into a lake of happiness? Would it, could it be that simple? I’ve dipped a toe in, feeling the warmth, and I know I want to submerge completely into Hew. When I don’t think too hard about it, of course.

  My heart says yes, but only because it’s clearly a stupid heart. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be here now. But everything else—my head, my past, my scars, my discarded mangled wedding dress in some San Francisco dumpster, and the thought of Bren and Luke—yell a resounding, “No!”

  I’m locked in a mental struggle when long fingers grip my arm tightly, nails digging into my skin. Wincing at the pain, I spin to find Luke staring down at me with furious, stormy blue eyes.

  I stop breathing. Involuntarily my body begins to convulse. He’s hunted me down. Of course, I should have known he would, but most importantly, I should have left as soon as I realized he was here. Stupid, stupid me.

  “What the hell are you doing? Do you know what I had to do to find you?”

  He doesn’t even bother with pleasantries. Did I expect him to? Everything from the beginning has been about him, but back then I was too naive to spot his overbearing narcissism.

  Words of response struggle in my mouth, slip back down my throat, choking me. I jerk and struggle to get away, but he only clenches my arm tighter.

  “It’s so like you to take off across the country and then stand here like you have nothing to say,” he says through gritted teeth.

  Finally I manage to twist free. “I have nothing else to say except take a fucking hint. I don’t want to be around you!” I push him back. “I flew across the country to get away from you. Don’t actions speak louder than words?”

  Then he laughs low with that cockiness that gives me the shivers, sending my body into a sweaty, nervous mess. “When will you get it, babe? You can’t run from me, just like you can’t run from your past. You chose me over Bren, and now we’re stuck together forever. I never let anything I want go and you know that.”

  He smiles in a way that reminds me of Bren. It used to make my heart melt, but now it only turns my stomach in a gale of acidy waves. Luke thinks he owns me. He’s always treated me this way. In the beginning it was endearing and attentive, but it quickly escalated into a need to control, manipulate, and sometimes, on those extra-special moments, I earned a heavy-handed slap across the jaw and or the random scar that I’d like to forget.

  “Like hell we are!” I take off running, practically knocking down an elderly group of Chinese men who are doing little to help my situation. They don’t even look at me—or at Luke—and our violent exchange. I drop my new flamingo-colored hat and shiny sunglasses, but manage to cling to my purse and fortune cookies. The bags bob in time with the rapid stomping of my fleeting feet.

  Turning the corner onto the busy main street, I slip because I’m wearing the imported silk slippers; they weren’t meant for epic chases on foot. Luke uses it to his advantage to close the distance between us and as he does, my heart punches at my chest with anxiety and I pump my arms harder at my sides. The more I’ve found my independence and tried to pull away, the more he’s tried to cling to me, intensifying our meetings. I kick off the shoes and take flight again in my bare feet. My heels, pads, and toes grip the concrete, each hurried step feels like running on sandpaper, each hard breath a slice of a razor.

  “Help! Someone call the police!” I point back to Luke as I run past a group of tourists, but they appear dazed at my request. I don’t stop to explain, I keep moving; my getaway is the only thing that will keep me safe. The next time he hits me, I may not wake up. I weave around cars, street vendors, down alleys, and behind dumpsters. I’ve been through this neighborhood several times already, so I need to use this advantage because Luke has long legs, endurance, and strength on his side. And knowing him as well as I know myself, he wouldn’t come all this way just to let me get away now. He won’t willingly ever let me go.

  My saving grace appears in the form of the shop I bought clothes from on my first day. The shop owner’s eyes widen as I near. Somehow, I’m sure her face mirrors my own—panic.

  “Please help me!” I grab her small pale hands and plead, and look over my shoulder, sucking in ragged breaths. Luke hasn’t spotted me yet, his gaze searches farther down the road, where I should be at this point.
r />   She nods her head without questioning me or looking for the danger, and quickly pulls me inside. “Go hide behind the counter,” she urges. On hands and knees, I make my way around the counter as she drops the metal gate to the front of her shop and locks it, severing us from the sounds of the passing cars, the tourists snapping photos, and most importantly, Luke.

  I’m pressed against a wall between a trash bin and several cardboard boxes of merchandise, hyperventilating as my muscles quake. Compressing myself into a tight ball, I try to calm myself. I drop my head to my knees and cry hysterically because I know that everything that has happened has been my fault. Everything from that first night years ago changed my life in a way I could no longer control.

  “Can I call someone for you?”

  A hand gently presses on my shoulder. I jolt and look up to see the shop owner practically in tears herself.

  I shake my head and wipe my damp face. “No. Thank you. For helping me. Thank you.” Each word fights to leave my quivering mouth. I whimper at how close I came to losing myself again and close my eyes, wishing for everything to be better.

  I wish for Hew.

  Chapter 23

  He

  Now that I’m standing in front of the Palace of Fine Arts, I’m certain I should have chosen the fortune cookie factory. But I was stupid enough to not only agree to this fifty-fifty chance meeting, but to also come up with the idea. Knowing what I know of Shea, this was the best chance I had for another day.

  But as I glance at my watch, twenty minutes past the time we agreed to meet, I’m nervous that I made the wrong decision all the way around. I should have taken her in my arms and kissed her the way I wanted and told her the truth—that I didn’t want to be away from her another second, even if it would have caused her to run in the other direction. If we have no other truths between us at this point, at least then she would have known my truth.

  I pace to the corner, thinking of her and all her kooky ways—her sweetness, her insanity—when added up, they equal an undeniably inspiring charisma, like pure sunshine, even when she’s crying. She’s the only girl I’ve ever met that the sun seems to follow, tethered like a balloon, always warming the space around her. And for someone who’s been left in the darkness so long, the warmth of her bright light feels so good, like radiant beams that I could lay out under and soak up forever.

  But even the sun burns, I remind myself as the seconds close in on forty-five minutes after our predetermined meeting time. With a deep sigh, I mentally give up on ever seeing her again and drag my suitcase to the edge of the park, lay it on its side, and sit down next to it to look out at the palace dome, and the families and tourists enjoying it.

  Shea’s not coming; not to this location. I chose unwisely, or she chickened out and chose not to drive to either spot. Either way, I feel a little lost when the real sun dips behind the clouds, painting the sky in an array of pastels. Somehow it’s symbolic of losing my sunshine. Just as the last bit of the blazing orb kisses the arc of the palace dome, a car’s horn blares behind me.

  “Hew! Let’s get going. We’re losing the light!”

  I whip my head so quickly in the voice’s direction that my neck may crack. At the curb of the nearest street, Shea waves to me from a vintage cream-colored Italian Fiat convertible.

  I stand immediately and stare, beyond shocked that’s she’s here, that I waited, that she showed, that destiny worked in my favor—our favor. Maybe she’s not a bitch, after all. A huge smile splits my face and I charge her, dragging my suitcase and duffel bag behind me.

  “I think our appointment was for an hour ago, Miss Whatever-your-name-is.” I throw my bags in the trunk and slam it shut, then quickly jump into the passenger seat. When I shut the door, Shea is tying her hair into a low loose bun. With her hair pulled from her face, her scar is more prominent. And it’s all I can do not to reach out and trace it, to try to rub it away.

  “Sorry I’m late, hit a little traffic. I figured that if it were destiny, you’d still be here. And you are.” She finishes fussing with her hair and rewards me with a crooked smile, though looking a little disheveled.

  “I am.” I stretch my arm over the back of her seat, anxious to be stuck anywhere with this girl. “So, where to next? Your favorite part of California?”

  Chapter 24

  She

  When Hew jumps into the passenger seat, a relief I haven’t felt in years sweeps over me. Somehow, by managing to escape Luke and finding Hew here waiting for me, despite being late, I’ve decided that things will be better from here on out. At least I’ll take the happiness wherever I can find it. Whether it’s laughing with the almost-complete stranger next to me, or with someone that I know. What difference does it really make if I’m happy? I want the good minutes of the day to take over the bad in this fight, so who cares how it happens, or who I’m with as long as I cultivate smiles when urged in that direction.

  I stayed at Pearl’s shop in Chinatown longer than I wanted. That was her name, Pearl, which matched her perfectly with her white hair that seemed iridescent in color, and her skin, pale gray and rough like the outside of a dry oyster shell. After I had calmed somewhat, she guided me to her apartment above her shop and force-fed me hot green tea and something called tang er duo. And though she spoke to me in Chinese the entire time, with her elderly mother nodding and pointing a crooked finger at me while we sat in their cramped kitchen, its walls papered with tiny flowers, I complied because I hadn’t gotten myself together emotionally yet.

  But when I finally did, I did so without the use of medication, which in itself was an challenging feat. I held it together because I couldn’t allow myself to drift away into never-care-land when I needed to be able to drive a car to pick up Hew. After that I needed to see him, be near him, and feel the security that he gives me.

  So now here I am, still running away from my past for a second time, but this time with a friend. Someone I want to be more than a friend for as long as it makes us happy, no matter the consequence and the guilt. I deserve to be happy.

  Making my getaway, I slam my foot on the gas and merge onto Highway 101, heading north. After traveling across the stunningly red Golden Gate Bridge and onto the winding highway between the mountains, I find a comfortable spot in traffic and glance over at Hew. He’s smiling. Not a big, toothy smile, but a cheeky one. Like the kind when you’re zoning out and thinking of something and you just smile unknowingly. It’s adorable. His thick hair flops back in forth in the wind, and he runs his fingers through it a several times. I don’t think it’s to make his hair look better, but more like a quirk or habit. After a few strokes, he settles back into his seat, his strong arms relaxed, lean thighs and legs stretched out. His head tips to one side and he glances back at me from under his dark eyelashes, and when he flashes me this sexy look he does incredibly well, I absolutely dissolve. I don’t even think he’s trying. God help me when he does.

  “What?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say as a heavy heat rises up from my stomach and through my chest to my neck, then floods my cheeks, because I realize that he just caught me checking him out. To divert his attention, I reach behind Hew’s seat while trying to stay in my lane, and grab a plastic bag and quickly drop it in his lap. “Can you open these for me?”

  “Sure.” He smirks and unties the plastic supermarket bag to reveal two smaller clear bags of fortune cookies. “Which would you like to try—the plain old regular, boring fortunes, or the super-awesome and sure-to-be-hysterical dirty fortunes?”

  I laugh. “Let’s go with . . .” I drag out my words as long as I can like a game show host because I can tell by the waggy-eyebrow-teenage-boy look that he’s giving me between glancing at him and the highway that he wants to open the dirty fortunes—of course. “The normal, plain old, boring fortunes.”

  “Boo!” he says with a whine. “I have a better idea.” He opens each small bag and dumps the contents of both into the larger supermarket bag. He
then twists the top, leaving a bit of air inside, and jumbles the plain and dirty fortunes around. “We’ll mix them up! A little bit of sweet, like you. And a little bit of dirty, like me.” He lowers his voice seductively.

  “I’m all for equal fortune-cookie rights.” Our little banter makes me sing inside. My smile is possibly bigger than my face right now.

  “Besides, I thought the dirty ones would make the drive more interesting. Who knows how long we’ll drive with you at the wheel.”

  “Yeah, I think we can drive to Alaska from here, or the tip of South America if I turn around and go the other direction. I’ve always wanted to see Cape Horn, or is it Cape Fear?”

  “Cape Fear is a movie and Cape Horn is technically an island at the end of Chile, so unless your Fiat can drive underwater, 007-style, like in those commercials, I think that might present a problem. We can, however, drive to Ushuaia, Argentina, which is considered the southernmost city in the world.”

  “Smarty-pants. How could you possibly know all that?”

  “Because I’ve always loved Martin Scorsese films, and I grew up obsessed with maps. Some boys played cops and robbers, I played nerd. I even made my mom cover the walls in my bedroom with maps.” Hew twists open the bag and takes out one fortune cookie, which he hands to me with instructions. “Remember to read your fortune and yell ‘in bed’ afterward.”

  “Okay.” I laugh, then take a bite, breaking the hard shell between my teeth. Half the cookie crumbles in my mouth, and my moist tongue captures the dry paper inside. I grab the small slip, which feels foreign in my mouth, and pull it out. Between juggling the steering wheel and navigating traffic, I read what’s inside. “You are very talented.”

 

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