This was Nicholai’s cousin, there was no doubt in my mind. I was surprised, however, when Mag wound her arms around his muscled torso, grinning out at us from beneath the arm he draped over her.
“Hi!” he greeted us, waving a soapy brush. “I’m Nic’s cousin, you must be Mika, and ...”
“Marc,” Marcus supplied again.
Clay was older than Nicholai, easily, but Mag was only a few years older than me. For some reason, this had a calming effect on me. My smile was an easy and graceful movement—it seemed to become easier and easier with each time it appeared. Clay assessed me in a very similar way to Mag.
“Can I get either of you two a drink?” he asked. “You’re going to have to wait a few years for the alcohol, but I have soda and juice.”
“We’re fine,” I said quickly, but Marcus was walking to the kitchen, where Mag had untangled herself from Clay to attend to what seemed to be the makings of a salad.
“It’s better if you season the lettuce before you add it,” he told her, stepping right up beside her and reaching over Clay to wash his hands in the sink.
She looked surprised, and I couldn’t help the snort of amusement that burst out of me. Clay’s eyes twinkled as he glanced from Marcus, to me. I decided that I liked the twinkling.
“Here,” Marcus took the pile of freshly-cut lettuce from Mag, needing to actually nudge her hands from the cutting board. He dumped it all in a bowl, reached over to another board which had sliced lemon and lime on it, most likely for mixing into drinks. He took a small wedge of lemon, squeezed it over the lettuce, and then ground salt and pepper over the lemon juice. To my surprise, he then took the bowl to the sink, covered the top of it with his hand, and tipped it upside down, shaking it. After he was done shaking the bowl, he set it back on the table and motioned Mag toward it.
“Go on,” he urged, oblivious to the fact that Mag was trying not to laugh at him. “Try it!”
She plucked a piece of lettuce and bit into it, grinning. He rocked back on his heels, looking proud of himself. They waited. He didn’t move.
“It’s … so much better,” she finally said.
Clay chuckled. “How about I show you to the patio and you can supervise the fryer?” he asked. “We have some hungry people out there. I’ve been making Dylan stand guard so that nobody gets into it early.”
“Sure!” Marcus exclaimed, giving me a quick thumbs up as he strode past, ready to tackle … guard duty.
Once he was out of the door, I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.
“Nice guy you got there,” Mag remarked, smiling even wider than before.
“He’s my friend. He was supposed to pretend to be my boyfriend so that I wouldn’t feel so out of place here, with people I didn’t know.”
She nodded, barely even blinking an eye. “Well, how about I be your pretend boyfriend instead? I think your old one sucks.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s go and say hello to Nic, huh?”
Just like that, the sick, swirling nervousness was back. I swallowed. Nodded. Tried to move toward the door. Mag was at my side in a second, her arm casually slung over my shoulders. She steered me outside, where people were filtering through an undercover patio area with a huge dining table, an outdoor fridge, and the fryer. Beyond the curtain of streamers, hanging lanterns and decorations, the rest of the crowd was milling around the boxy backyard. There were a few kids splashing around an equally-boxy pool, despite the fall weather. The sun was still high in the sky, but lights had been strung up all around the yard, chairs dragged out from the patio and arranged in circles. There were so many people, it wasn’t hard to wonder why the party had been forced outside.
It wasn’t hard to find Nicholai. He was in the centre of a circle, everybody turned toward him, quietly listening to what he had to say. He seemed to be the youngest in the group, but each of them were still hanging off his words—not that I found that fact surprising. It was there in his voice, the command to be heard. People didn’t have a choice, they listened when he spoke, gave when he asked.
One of the men shifted when we were only a few steps away from their group, and I noticed Jen standing beside Nicholai. My stomach cramped, my feet halting. Beside me, Mag also paused. I wanted to turn around and run, but I couldn’t. She was still holding on to me, and then it was too late, because Jen had glanced up, and we were looking at each other. Cool blue eyes, painted blue nails clutched around a champagne glass. Her hair was twisted into a bun at the base of her neck, her makeup subtle and beautiful, her lips a dewy pink. Those pink lips parted when she saw me—a mixture of confusion and shock passing over her features. I watched—barely aware of Mag beside me anymore—as Jen processed my presence. This was my third encounter with her, but it seemed like the most important. It was a turning point of some kind—the point where she realised that I was more than Nicholai’s patient. More than a file, more than a ghost in a waiting room confined to business hours.
I waited for her to turn on Nicholai, to squeeze his arm and whisper something. To glare at him. To storm off.
She did nothing.
20
Wet
Mag finally spoke up, after Jen continued to stare at me and I continued to stay frozen.
“You’ve met Jen?” she asked quietly, sounding surprised, though she quickly added. “I mean of course you have. You’re Nic’s friend and she’s his … shadow.” She laughed. “Poor Nic. Come on.”
Poor Nic?
I didn’t have time to ask: we were already breaking into the circle. Whatever Nicholai had been saying died, and his eyes collided with mine, drawing me an involuntary step closer. Mag released me; the others ceased to exist. Nicholai didn’t greet me, or smile. He just looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. I couldn’t tell if he was happy to see me or not, until he stepped forward, his hands on my upper arms, warm and strong.
“Mika.” One word, nothing else. Even though he didn’t say anything out loud, I still felt the question there, hanging between us.
Are you okay?
I nodded, and the smile finally broke across his face. It was full, dizzying, too brilliant to look at, the little indentations appearing either side of his cheeks … so I turned away, focussing on Mag. Her eyes were flitting between Nicholai and me, but she quickly schooled her expression as I turned to her, switching her smile to me.
“Mika brought a friend,” she spoke up, gesturing toward the deep fryer, where Marcus was standing with Clay and two other guys.
One of them appeared to be around Nicholai’s age, and the other appeared older, in his late fifties maybe. He stood tall, his shoulders straightened out proudly, his clothes ironed with an almost military precision. He was fit, for his age, his hair starting to pepper with grey. His featured were sharp and handsome, similar enough that I suspected him to be another relative. He was listening to Marcus talk with genuine interest, and I immediately liked him for that, because the others were starting to look a little bored.
“You brought a friend?” Nicholai finally asked, and his hands dropped from my arms.
Guilt bled into me, but I quickly pushed it away. Nicholai might have touched me like he owned me, but he didn’t own me. Besides, he had a girlfriend.
“Yes, I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to come alone.”
Nicholai quickly flicked his eyes back to me, and his blank expression softened, his eyes turning velvety.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m really happy you could make it. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone. It looks like your friend has already introduced himself.”
I scoffed a little, and heard a similar sound from Mag, who I had decided I liked, for no reason other than her ceaseless smile. Nicholai turned, his hand falling to my back, just between my shoulder blades.
“Everyone, this is my friend Mika. She’s not old enough to drink, which means she’s not old enough to hit on. I’m talking about you, Gary.” Nicholai pointed his finger at an older man, who l
aughed and winked at me, though even as he did so his arm made its way around the waist of the elderly woman to his left—clearly his wife.
I smiled. Nobody seemed to care that I was only eighteen, but the age difference between them and Nicholai put him much closer to my age than to theirs, so they might not have found it odd at all.
“Mika,” Nicholai continued, his hand falling an inch lower on my back. I wasn’t sure why, until I realised that I had taken a step closer to him. I could now feel the heat of him burning into my side. “You already know Jen. This is my uncle Gary, his wife Sue, their son Stephen…” The rest of what he said was lost in a garble of names and relations.
I nodded at them all, offering a quiet hello after Nicholai finished listing them.
“You’re not spending Thanksgiving with your family this year, love?” Gary asked.
The question was innocent, but it sent a wave of confusion sweeping through me. I couldn’t place meaning to the word family anymore. I tried to conjure an image, but nothing came.
Family.
Family.
Who was my family?
My vision swam before me, nausea rolling up through my stomach to the back of my throat. I was panicking, just like that, the emotion swooping through me with a violent, unstoppable intention. Nicholai’s hand dipped from my back to my waist, suddenly supporting my weight. I could make out Jen’s face, though it multiplied into several faces before snapping back into one. Her features tightened. I could barely hold focus.
“Gary!” Mag chastised. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“I made her come,” Nicholai interrupted, before Gary could respond. “Told her she didn’t have a choice. Who’s ready to eat? Looks like the turkey is finally done.”
There were a chorus of responses that all blurred into one single, indistinct sound. My head was swimming and I wasn’t sure I could move. I must have been standing there like a zombie, but all of my focus and attention had been directed inward, to the spiral that was attempting to take hold of my body.
“Why don’t you get something to eat?” I heard Nicholai ask someone, as the others all started to shuffle over to the fryer.
“I’ll wait for you,” a familiar voice replied. She sounded … off. Jen, I realised—but there was something wrong with her.
“Go on,” I heard Mag mutter. “You distract the others, I’ll stay here with Mika.”
“Grey,” I found myself muttering, the word a little garbled on my lips. “My name is Grey.”
“No, I’ve got her.” Nicholai shifted, his hands on either side of my face, his entire body turning to block out the rest of the gathering.
Behind me, there was a pool fence; before me, Nicholai. His hands were blocking whoever or whatever stood to either side of me. It was just him.
“Focus, Mika.” His tone had softened, the volume quiet and calming.
I focussed on his face before quickly stepping away from him, shaking my head.
“I’m fine!” It was a little too loud, so I worked to quieten my tone, forcing a smile to my lips. “Sorry—I’m fine. I’m going to get something to eat.”
I quickly brushed past him, seeking out Marcus in the patio. He was handing out plates. A quick glance over my shoulder showed that Nicholai was walking towards us with Mag and Jen. Jen was hanging onto his arm, her eyes riveted to me. He didn’t even seem to realise that she was there—his attention was directed toward Mag as they spoke quietly.
“Everything okay?” Marcus asked me, stuffing a plate into my hand. It was already loaded with food.
“Wow.” I kept the fake smile in place. “This looks amazing!”
I didn’t even know which foods were on my plate. They were just blurs of colour. Orange, brown, green, red. Had Nicholai focussed me, as he had been intending, or had I dragged myself back from the brink without his help? I still wasn’t sure.
“I freaked out,” I admitted, as Marcus glanced from me to Nicholai for the fourth time since I had approached him.
“Why?” He took my arm, leading me a few steps away from the table that the food had been laid out on.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m uncomfortable because Jen is here.”
“He hasn’t looked at her once.”
“Since when have you been paying attention?” I looked up at him, my eyebrows arching in surprise.
He grinned, the answer on his lips when Clay appeared behind him, pushing a beer into his hand.
“You deserve it, dude.”
Marcus clinked his beer to Clay’s, and then they both turned to me.
“You don’t deserve it,” Clay told me, his bright eyes still twinkling. “You didn’t do any cooking.”
For just a moment, my fake smile relaxed into something marginally more genuine.
“That’s fair,” I agreed, taking the beer from Marcus and sipping it. “But he’s with me, so ...”
Clay laughed, and then glanced over his shoulder. “Nic! Don’t get me in trouble—I didn’t give it to her!”
He moved back to the patio, uncaring that he’d just caused Jen to drop Nicholai’s arm. Nicholai didn’t seem to notice; his attention was on the beer in my hand, a challenging glint sparking into his eyes.
Oh hell no, he was not going to come over here and tell me that I couldn’t drink. Defiantly, I took another sip. God, I hated beer. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he moved to the table, taking a plate from Clay. Jen was still standing where he had left her, but she wasn’t watching him, she was watching me.
There was something incomplete about her in that moment. She was a woman in love, and it had emptied her completely. Her eyes were hollow, her smile perfectly straight. I suddenly didn’t find her so colourful. I remembered the brush of her coat as she had breezed past me down by the beach, and the perfectly manicured nails that she had tapped against the table as we had waited for Nicholai at the cafe. The haunting residue of her laughter no longer lingered in my memory. I was seeing her for exactly what she was: a woman in love with a man who did not love her in return.
“Let’s go sit with the others,” Marcus suggested, nodding his head in the direction of a circle of chairs. Clay was already seated, along with several others.
I spotted a few people our own age, and a few of the older couples that had been milling around the food while it was being cooked and brought out.
Marcus seemed to know them all by name already, which was impressive. He introduced them all to me, dropping his arm around my shoulders when one of them looked at me with what seemed to be interest. He would have been Marcus’s age—a year my junior. He had surfer’s hair, a broad smile, and red cheeks, though it didn’t give him a youthful appearance. He seemed to be sunburnt, more than anything.
“She’s taken,” Marcus warned him jokingly, pointing his re-claimed beer at the other guy’s face.
The guy laughed, and we settled into the circle—Marcus claiming a chair while I sat down on the grass at his feet. I felt more secure on the ground.
People mostly ignored me, focussing on the other faces that were at their eye-level. It was comforting, and I was gradually able to focus on my food. It grew a little darker as I finished eating, and the conversation became rowdier. Someone had set up an outdoor heater—though it hadn’t yet been turned on—and I could feel that the warm weather was about to break. The humidity had been thickening, a storm on the cusp of spilling over. Nobody seemed to care. Drinks were passed around, and I realised that Nicholai was nowhere to be seen.
I stood, casting my eyes around the people, making sure that I hadn’t missed him. Marcus was busy laughing with Clay, and I spotted Mag at the back door to the house. The rest of the yard was mostly deserted, as everyone seemed to have traded in their outfits for swimwear and were hanging out in the tiny, fenced-off pool area. I hopped over a few plastic cups and beer bottles, making my way over to Mag. She caught sight of me and smiled.
“Want to come in the pool, Mika?”
“Oh,”
I paused, having been about to ask where Nicholai was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring anything to wear.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand. “I have a bikini you can borrow. Let’s go.”
She grabbed my hand and started to drag me inside, releasing me once we got to the staircase, just past the kitchen.
“Do you know where Nicholai is?” I asked, as we reached the top of the staircase.
“Fighting with Jen.” Mag cringed, turning and giving me a small shrug.
I wanted to ask what they were fighting about, or if it happened regularly, but it wasn’t any of my business, so I just nodded. She led me to a bathroom and then disappeared, reappearing with a yellow bikini.
“Will this do?” she asked, holding it up.
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to swim. I could sense the storm coming, even if none of the others cared, and I didn’t particularly feel like slotting into their half-sized pool with so many other people, half of them already drunk.
“Thanks!” I called after her, as she disappeared down the hall.
“Don’t mention it!” she called back, and I turned to face the window.
It was even darker outside than when I had come into the house only moments before. The clouds were swelling in the sky, blocking out the dying sunlight. It was a strange sight: as though night-time was insisting on arriving early, driving the light from the sky through sheer, tumultuous will. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes from the sight, and I knew that I stood there for too long, staring, before a loud splash from below finally stirred me into action.
I fumbled with my dress, my eyes still on the window. What was it with me and windows? I was always expecting some kind of answer every time I stared out of one; some kind of explanation for the life I found myself in. No answers ever came, though, only busyness or quiet: the absence of anything, or the overcrowded noise of the world. I was searching for my own space, I supposed, but I didn’t belong in the noise, and there was an internal screaming inside me that despised the quiet. There had to be some kind of middle ground, some kind of scene that I could look at and enjoy. Some kind of vision that didn’t cause a restless anxiety to spring up inside me. I thought of the house, then, on the cliffs. The creeping vines and the lighthouse feature.
I Am Grey Page 20
