by Sarah Skye
“What are you guys doing here?”
Dad fumbles with his sunglasses before shoving them in the chest pocket of his topcoat while Mom stands and folds her gloved hands in front of her. They both sport sad frowns on their faces.
“We’re here to apologize to you, anak.”
“What?”
Dad sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes sad. “Honey, you were right about Marco. All these years we were wrong about him.”
“Very, very wrong,” Mom adds.
I cross my arms and nod, annoyed that it took Marco harassing me the night before his wedding for them to finally see him for who he really was.
“I know us saying all that doesn’t magically make things better,” Mom says.
“You’re right. It doesn’t.”
The wind picks up, making the chill in the air even more bitter. I bet after seeing how upset I was last night at the hotel, Auntie Mayla called Mom to scold her and Dad and told them that they needed to make things right with me.
Dad huffs out a breath. “I fired Marco.”
“Are you serious?” I gawk at him, shocked.
He clenches his jaw. “Give me more credit than that, honey. I know you and I haven’t always gotten along, but do you really think I’m going to continue to employ the man who mistreated my daughter?”
I feel the slightest bit heartened at the protectiveness in his voice. When I look back at Mom, I notice her eyes are glistening with tears.
“We have a lot to make up for, Lily. I know we do. But we have to start somewhere. You’re our only child—our only baby. Let us try to set things right with you. Please?”
I quietly acknowledge that she’s right. I don’t want to maintain these strained relations with my parents forever. And if they’re willing to change for the better, I should meet them halfway.
“I’d like that,” I say softly.
Mom’s quivering lips stretch into a shaky smile as she walks over to me and pulls me into a tight hug. Then dad walks over and hugs us both. My eyes tear up as I enjoy the most wonderful group hug ever.
“Can we see your home art studio?” Mom asks while wiping her nose with a tissue.
“Oh. Sure.”
I’m thrown off. My parents haven’t once asked me about my artwork ever since I dropped out of law school and started teaching. I lead them inside the house and then to the garage, where my potter’s wheel and easel are. They slowly scan the various pottery pieces and the painted canvases I have drying on the shelves in the garage.
“This is very impressive,” Dad says while taking in the space.
“Oh wow.” Mom turns to me. “You sure you don’t want something bigger? We can help you buy a studio if you’d like. Something spacious so you can set it up just the way you want. That way you don’t have to do it all in your garage.”
I chuckle at her hopeful smile. I should have known she would go full-on interior designer on me.
I rest my hand on her arm. “I actually like the setup I’ve got. It’s cozy. I work better in a smaller space like this.”
I brace myself for her rebuttal, but she just smiles and nods once. “Okay. Then I like it too.”
She points to a sculpture drying in the corner of the garage. It’s a segment of waves crashing into each other.
“Wow. That’s stunning.”
My chest swells. “Thank you.”
“Can I buy it?”
I frown at her. “You want it?”
Smiling, she nods. “I’d like to display that in the house.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Just send me an invoice and I’ll send the payment to you right away.”
“How about this painting? Is it spoken for yet?” Dad points to an oil pastel landscape I finished months ago.
“You can have it, Dad.”
“I think it would look good at the office. Just send me an invoice too.”
I chuckle. “Will do.”
They stay for a cup of tea and ask me how work is going. We’ve never had a conversation this long about my work, and it feels nice to have them show genuine interest in what I do.
When they get up to leave, we do another group hug and I walk them to the door.
“Thanks, you guys. That meant a lot. Really.”
“No, honey. Thank you. For letting us into your life again when we’ve been so shortsighted for so long.”
Mom nods along with Dad’s assessment. “We’re lucky to have you, anak.”
We exchange I love you’s, they leave, and I text Auntie Mayla.
Me: Thank you for that.
Auntie Mayla: For what?
Me: For whatever you said to Mom and Dad to get them to come to my place and apologize for disapproving of my artist lifestyle for so long.
Me: I never thought I’d see the day when they took a genuine interest in my work.
Me: But it happened today because of you.
Just then Auntie Mayla calls me. “Darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t say anything to your mom or dad.”
“You didn’t?”
“Nope.”
That means they came to this place all on their own. My heart swells at the thought.
Auntie Mayla chuckles. “They finally came to their senses, didn’t they? They finally realized what a stellar kid they have? Finally!”
I smile.
“Well, since I have you on the phone, I may as well ask. Have you called Calder yet?”
My heart sinks. “Not yet.”
“I guess it’s only been a day. You should hear him out eventually.”
I exhale and try to think of a nice way of changing the subject. After spending all of today making up with my parents and Harmony, I don’t know if I have it in me for another emotionally charged conversation.
Mayla goes on when I don’t reply. “Anak, look at it this way. You made up with Harmony and your parents. You weren’t on the greatest terms with them. Did you ever think that would happen?”
“No,” I admit.
“Well, you were on much better terms with Calder for the entire time you knew him, right? Don’t you think he deserves the same chance to make up with you?”
She’s right. I owe him the chance to at least try to talk things out.
“Promise I’ll talk to him after I get off the phone with you,” I say.
I thank her, hang up, then pull up my text message chain with Calder.
Hey. Are you free anytime soon? I’d like to talk to you.
25
Calder
My phone buzzes and jolts me awake. I’m flat on my back on top of the bedspread. The blanket I’d been sitting under is in a heap beside me. My mouth has a sticky film sealing it shut, and I can feel graham cracker crumbs on my lips. When I reach blindly for the phone, I get a banana peel instead.
Christ, mate, is this what your rock bottom looks like? With a groan, I push aside a chocolate bar wrapper and lift the phone so I can see it.
Lily: Hey, are you free anytime soon? I’d like to talk to you.
All I can do is blink at what I’m reading. Am I free? What the fuck, Lily? Like you need to schedule an appointment with someone you called your boyfriend just 24 hours ago?
Twenty-four hours. God, how short a time to change so much.
I have no interest in playing it cool by giving her time before I respond. My thumbs fly over the keyboard.
Me: Of course. Fancy a drink? I could use one. Billy’s Sports Bar? Worked well for us the first time.
I nearly add a joke about her wearing the pink dress, but I think I’ve been enough of a jerk lately, and texts are no place for humor right now. As it is, there’s an eternal lag before:
Lily: Okay. I’ll be there in 2 hours.
I’m about to darken my phone when another bubble pops up.
Lily: But I’m not wearing that pink dress. :)
Lily: Sorry. I was just kidding. Probably not the time for humor, huh? Ugh. Sorry.
Lily: And now I’m texting too much. Great.
My heart thuds with nothing but hope that this is a good sign.
Me: We’ve talked about you saying sorry, I believe.
Me: Whatever you wear, I’ll not be able to keep my eyes off you. Can’t wait to see you, Professor.
A thumbs up appears over that message. Good enough for now, and anyway I’ve got to get going. I’ve got just enough time to go for a run, shower, and pressure-wash the sweaters off my teeth. Perfect. I roll out of bed and go for my clothes. As I’m pulling on my trainers, I get a call.
“Ready for tomorrow night?” Nate greets me.
My stomach churns, only slightly from the carb overload. “Aye, no doubt. But, erm, Lily and I have both been a bit feverish today. If…”
He growls. “If you have to go have a bloody IV of fluid, inject bovine testosterone, sit in a sweatbox, or be so stoned on flu medicine that you’re seeing fairies dancing in your whisky, of course I understand. That’s how you were finishing that thought, right? Because if you, the face of our brand, aren’t there for the fucking launch party—”
I chuckle, selling my humor pretty well despite palming my forehead at the same time. “Whoa, whoa, ease up! Just taking the piss, mate! Christ, you need a sweatbox to unwind a bit. You think anything would stand in my way of this?”
“I’ll murder you in your sleep one day for giving me that heart attack, you arsehole,” he groans. “Oh, and by the way—we want you in full kilt.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Right. Dead by my hand, but first tomorrow. Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
I hang up and cinch my laces. Lily, please don’t let me down.
Two hours later, my sheets have been changed, my body is slightly less angry at me thanks to a short run, and I’m sitting in the same booth as the night she showed up and changed absolutely everything. Then, I was pondering how the hell to fake a girlfriend and land the Sonce contract. Now, I’ve got the contract and am trying to figure out what the hell I can do to keep my real girlfriend. How do you prove to someone you trust them? How do you say sorry for being an asshole, even though the other asshole totally had it coming?
How do you do a relationship right? That’s the real question, and the one I truly don’t know how to answer. I’ve never wanted to before this. Even with Carmen, I was too young and naive to worry much about doing things right. I just figured we fancied each other, we banged each other’s brains out, and so we were a good couple. Being a partner to someone was never something I thought about working for. For the first time in my life, I’m ready to work for something other than my career. I’m ready to work to be a proper partner, to give Lily what she needs and trust that she’s there for me, too.
As I’m sitting there, pondering all this and barely sipping a beer, my phone blares with a WhatsApp call. I’m acutely aware that I have three missed calls from the same number over the last two weeks, and so I sigh and answer it. “Can’t talk now.”
“And fuck off to you too,” Lucy returns promptly. “Why’d you answer if you cannae talk?”
I push my hand through my hair and twist my lips. “Didn’t want you to think I’d died. I know I’ve been a bit MIA lately.”
“Good plan, otherwise I’d be getting Mum to change the will in a heartbeat. Ah, no, Ma, I swear he didnae answer his phone. He must be dead in the gutter, trust me. Leave it all to your darling daughter, now that’s a good lass.” She laughs. “I don’t think that’s how it works, sadly.”
Lucy never fails to get me chuckling. “Fair enough. So what do you want?”
“I was calling to give you my best on Sonce. Nate Wallace, now there’s one of your mates I fancied back in the day.”
“Did you now?”
“Oh, aye, he was a troublemaker with a smile that’d melt any mother’s heart. What wasn’t to love? I’d have let him deflower me in the back of my Vauxhall and not minded the hip cramps, that’s for sure.”
I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. “Is this congratulations or torture?”
She cackles into the phone. “Well it was meant to be a bit of both, but you’ve got the voice of a man who’s got a load of worries on his mind. What’s making you so grumpy?”
She’s two years younger than me and thousands of miles away, but my sister’s question is an invitation to talk that I didn’t know I needed. Every way I’ve turned the situation over in my mind has yielded nothing but more complications, and this isn’t the kind of thing you go crying to your mates about over a pint. But Lucy was always a good listener, smart enough to call out bullshit but kind enough to comfort me, too.
I pop in my headphones, set the phone on the table, and have a long pull of beer before saying, “If you must know, I’m in a bit of a… situation.”
“I see. Well, you’re not one to be in debt to the mob. Is it opioids? Prostitutes? Gambling?”
“Christ, woman, no, nothing like all that,” I grumble.
Lucy huffs. “What do I know? They’re all easy vices to fall into!”
“It’s a woman, Luce. It’s… relationship problems.”
There’s a long pause before: “Relationship? Fucking hell, I’d have been less shocked if it was whores.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s it, we’re done. Forget I said anything. Go about your day casting spells and eating toads, you wee witch.”
“Shut it and tell me all, you giant wanker.”
We both laugh.
“Her name is Lily,” I begin after a beat, and then spill it all in broad strokes, ending with the disaster of last night and, “She’s meant to be meeting me soon, but I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say to her.”
“How about you’re madly in love with her and you want to father all her babies, so can she please look past you being a daft oaf just this once?”
“That’s the gist of it, yeah, but I need a bit of a gentler phrasing to make it easier to hear, don’t you think? Ugh, I don’t know how to do this. You know I’m not the guy who falls in love.”
“You did, once.”
“Yeah, and look where that got me. Fat lot of good the whole relationship thing is.”
“You better watch that lying. It’ll give you wrinkles, pretty-boy.”
I smile and shake my head. “I hate when you’re right.”
“So what’re you gonna do?”
“Tell her the truth, I guess. Messy though it might be.”
Lucy squeals and claps. “That’s a good lad. Can’t wait to hear the happy ending. Call me soon?”
“Promise.”
I pull out the earbuds and check the time. Lily’s running late, no text as a heads up. With a deep inhale and exhale, I refuse to set another fucking timer. She’ll be here. We’ll work it out.
But, like last night, she’s not here. And when an hour has gone and I’m still alone, the exhale isn’t nearly as calm anymore. I stab her contact on my phone and put it to my ear. Voicemail. Fuck that. I dial again—twice. On the fourth try, I growl into the phone,
“I’m sat here wondering if you’re hurt—or if you’ve stood me up. If you’re not dead, can you please just fucking let me know?”
Two minutes later, I get a bloody text:
Lily: I’m not dead.
Me: Why are you doing this? You’ve stood me up and left me waiting twice now, Professor.
No reply.
I dial again and wait through another round of ringing to say, “If there’s a grand gesture I can make, let me make it. If there’s a thing I need to hear, let me hear it. But we’re not done here, not yet. And while it’s clear by now you’re content to let me go alone tomorrow night, I don’t care. I’ve got things to tell you, Lily Maldonado, and I’m a patient man. You know it’s true—you’ve seen me hold a pose for an hour straight. Giving you space to get sorted I can and will respect. It would be decent of you to give me a wee bit of consideration as well, though. I want to hear from you the second you have wor
ds for me. Until then, just know I’m waiting—and I’m here for you.”
When I set the phone on the table, I’m somehow calmer. Yes, tomorrow is going to look terrible. Nate will murder me twice now, but what matters most is that I’m there. If I don’t think about giving a speech to hundreds of people without her lovely face to focus on, and if I don’t think of what kind of excuse I need to make for her absence, then it’s all alright. I’ve said something. It might be half of what I need to say, but it gives me a sense of control in this chaos.
I love her. I’ll tell her. Will she likely tell me to fuck off? Yes. Do I care?
No. For her, it’ll be worth it.
26
Lily
My hands shake as I try to grip the steering wheel of my parked car. After a few failed attempts to hold onto it, I drop my hands in my lap. Another sob shudders through me. I don’t even know why I’m attempting to drive. I’m not in any condition to. I’m crying so hard I can’t even see in front of me.
Calder’s words that I overheard minutes ago as he sat in that booth—our booth—at Billy’s Sports Bar echo in my head.
You know I’m not the guy who falls in love… Fat lot of good the whole relationship thing is.
I wasn’t meant to hear him. He was clearly talking on the phone with someone else. But still…
I can’t deny what he said. He was speaking openly and honestly about his feelings, about love, about how he feels about being in a relationship…
My head spins. That spot in my chest where my heart used to be is an empty, throbbing hole.
Calder doesn’t love me. Because he’s not the kind of guy who falls in love. He said so himself.
I let his admission tumble over and over in my head. It doesn’t matter how long it silently plays. It kills the same every single time.
When I heard him say those words as I stood just a few feet behind him, it landed like a kick to the gut. For a second, I was frozen in shock. But then the tears came, and I wasn’t just going to stand there and sob in public. I didn’t want anyone to see me break down, especially not Calder.
