by Sarah Smith
“Fucking hell,” he mutters.
“That’s a more succinct and colorful reaction than mine, but that’s how I felt on the inside.”
We walk to the cafeteria, and Callum buys me the biggest coffee they have.
“Thanks,” I say when he hands it to me. I stop a few doors down from Mom’s hospital room. “I just can’t believe she would lie to me about this. And for her to say she did it because I try to control her life, that’s just insane.”
Callum pulls his lips into his mouth. His eyes dart everywhere but me.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “I think she may have a point, Nikki.”
I stop mid-sip. “Excuse me?”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but all I’m saying is that I can sympathize a bit with what your mum is saying.”
I take a long sip of the muddy water that somehow passes off as hospital coffee.
He clears his throat. “I’m not saying what she did was right. It wasn’t. It was dangerous, and she absolutely shouldn’t have hidden it from you. But you can be pretty fierce and intimidating sometimes. I can understand why she was scared to tell you.”
Something in my chest tightens and drops to my feet. A familiar guardedness creeps back inside me. It’s that same feeling that used to consume me when we spent our first few weeks of acquaintance arguing and sabotaging each other.
“What are you talking about?”
His eyebrows pinch together. “Nikki, please don’t get defensive.”
I shake my head and start to walk forward, but he lays a gentle hand on my forearm, stopping me.
“Do you think I wasn’t paying attention all this time that we’ve been parked side by side? You made your mum take days off work. You were so diligent about her taking breaks every single day.” He runs his other hand through his hair. “Even when I would come over to your house those nights when we . . .”
An elderly woman in a walker passes by us in the hallway. We fall silent and flash her dual polite smiles.
Callum waits until she’s out of earshot before he starts speaking again. “Even on those nights your mum was gone from your place, you made sure she was doing some activity that you thought was good for her.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” I yank my arm from his grip. “I care about my mom, Callum. I want her to be safe and healthy. That makes me a bad person somehow?”
“No, that’s not—of course you’re not a bad person, Nikki. You’re one of the best people I know.”
Warmth surges up my chest, a direct counter to the anger mowing over my insides.
“All I’m saying is that you should try to understand what your mum was thinking when she made the decision to hide that from you. Maybe if you ease up a bit, she’ll be more open with you.”
“‘Ease up’? Callum, I really don’t need to be lectured by you.”
My hard tone echoes softly against the hallway walls. Just like that, any semblance of warmth inside me evaporates into thin air.
“I admit, I’m protective of my mom, but she’s literally all I have. Remember?”
My voice breaks on the last syllable of “remember.”
Callum’s eyes are alight with worry. “Nikki, I didn’t mean it like that.” He lifts his arm and moves like he’s going to reach for me, but then jerks it back to his side. “You have me too. You know that, don’t you?”
I bite down so hard, my jaw aches. “Do I, Callum? Because anyone who’s with me needs to support me, not criticize my relationship with my only living parent.” I take another gulp of coffee. It burns down my throat, sour as vinegar.
“Of course you do.” His low tone turns bitter.
“Well, right now it feels like all I have is someone who wants to fuck me, then judge me.”
I don’t mean the words I say or the angry tone I take. But my emotions are a dumpster fire after seeing Mom in the one place I never, ever wanted her to end up.
Something that looks a lot like shock jolts through Callum’s expression.
“Is that what you honestly think of me, Nikki? I’m just some piece of meat you shag? Nothing more?”
The truth? Not even close. My burst of jealousy yesterday, the ache I felt waking up next to him this morning, the hope that consumed me in the hot tub while I waited for him to say just how much he wanted me and only me . . . it’s all proof that Callum means so much more.
I bite the inside of my cheek, take a silent breath, then count to three.
“I can’t do this. My mom needs me.” I spin to the trash can and toss in my empty cup, just so I don’t have to look at him.
I turn in the direction of her room, but Callum’s hands find me once more, this time on both of my upper arms. He turns me to face him, eyes desperate. The frustration is bubbling within him. There’s invisible steam practically pumping out of his ears.
“How can you say that? After what we said to each other tonight? After last night? After—”
I shrug out of Callum’s hold. “Don’t.”
My attempt at a whisper comes off more like a bark. A trio of nurses down the hall shoot us confused stares. Callum drops his hands from my arms.
I gaze up at him, willing my voice to sound steady and calm. “Please. I have to go.”
He replies with silence, a stony look on his face. But then he blinks and I see it. Sadness and disappointment, all caused by me.
He spins away and walks down the hallway, not once looking back at me.
Chapter 17
How was work, anak?”
I drop the food truck keys on the dining room table and kick off my sneakers. Every day I’ve arrived home, and every day I’ve been greeted with the same question from Mom.
“It was good. Busy. Mrs. Tokushige’s nephew Kyle has been a big help though.”
It’s only been a handful of days since she’s been released from the hospital, and already she’s got cabin fever. It was a struggle to convince her to stay home and rest, but thankfully, her doctor said a few days’ break from work was mandatory. She listened but has spent every day off busying herself with food prep. Each morning I wake up to chopped veggies, marinated wings, and lumpia, ready to load from the commercial kitchen into the truck. It’s like she’s working remotely in a weird way.
Instead of reminding her to ease up, I thank her each morning. If keeping busy is what makes her happy, then I need to let her do that.
I walk to the kitchen for water and fight off my instinct to pepper her with questions, like if she ate enough during the day and what her blood sugar readings were. Mom and Callum were right. If I want her to be open with me, I need to give her the space she deserves.
I manage a reasonable, “How are you feeling?”
She opens the freezer and peers inside. “Good. I just went down to the commercial kitchen and whipped up some extra orders of lumpia and wings in case you need them.”
She pulls out her blood sugar testing kit. She plops onto the nearby barstool, then pats the seat of the one next to her. When I sit, she goes through her evening routine of pricking her finger, dabbing it on a paper strip, then inserting it into the meter to get a reading of her glucose level. Ever since we had it out in the hospital room about her keeping her diabetes a secret, she’s made it a point to do her readings in the morning and evening in front of me.
The meter beeps and she turns it to me. “See? One hundred and seven. I had a snack a little while ago, so that’s pretty good.”
I pat her arm and smile at her. “That’s good, Mom. But you don’t always have to do it in front of me. I trust you.”
She glances up at me. “I know you do, but I want to show you that I’m not hiding anything. I’m taking care of myself. I feel good, I feel healthy, but I promise I will tell you if I’m feeling bad again.”
I slip my arm around
her and pull her into a side hug. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Her openness brings a much-needed level of comfort to our relationship. It means she’s working hard to repair the rift caused by her keeping her health status a secret. Each day I rein in my control freak tendencies when it comes to her health. There’s no need for me to micromanage now that we’re approaching each other with this new level of honesty.
But still, bits and pieces of our conversation from that night in the hospital float to the present, weighing on me like a cinder block.
You moved here for me. You gave up your job, your friends, your life in Oregon, your dreams to help me. I feel like such a burden on you sometimes.
She’s being open with me about what she’s going through. Now I need to be open with her.
I glance at her as she speedily puts away the kit. She starts to stand up from the stool, but my hand on her forearm stills her.
“Stay sitting for just one more sec, okay?”
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I sigh, then look her straight in the eyes. “Nothing. I just need you to know something. You didn’t ruin my life. When Dad got sick, I moved here without thinking twice about it. I moved here because I wanted to be with him and you. I won’t lie; it was hard leaving my job and friends behind. But it was worth it. I wanted to be where you and Dad were. And that’s true even now. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I want to stay here with you, okay? Never doubt that.”
Her eyes glisten under the bright lighting of the overhead fixture.
I squeeze her hand. “I mean it, Mom. I may not have envisioned my life to turn out like this, but I wouldn’t want it any other way, okay?”
She pulls me into a hug so tight, I can barely eke out a breath.
When she finally releases me, she wipes away the tears from her face, smiling.
“Stop feeling bad,” I say. “I need you to be your chipper self when you come back to the food truck tomorrow and at the Maui Food Festival this weekend.”
She beams, hopping up from the stool. “Oh, anak! I can’t wait. I’ve missed seeing the customers and spending all day cooking by the beach, smelling that salt air, hearing the waves crash right next to us. And the festival! I’ve been putting some finishing touches on the new fruit salad recipe I came up with. Here, let me show you.”
She mentions something about adding sprigs of mint just as my phone beeps with a text message. My heart jumps to my throat when I see it’s Callum.
Hi. Are you all right? How’s your mum? I haven’t heard from you.
This is the first time either one of us has reached out ever since our argument at the hospital. But it’s not like I haven’t thought of him. Every single night I fall asleep to Callum’s gorgeous face, his taste, the memory of his body pressed against mine. The pillow I shove between my legs is a sorry substitute, but it’s all I can manage.
Because to text him or call him would mean we’d have to talk about our argument, and I can’t handle the pain of that.
I stare at his text again. I’m lucky that we’ve been able to maintain our status quo of zero interaction while working side by side every day at the food truck. Whenever we make eye contact, Callum is always the first to look away. But it’s never enough to erase the emotion radiating from him like a bonfire. Sharing the same swath of dirt every day, working in our separate food trucks, just a handful of feet separating us, won’t hold up forever. We have to communicate at some point.
I look up at Mom, who’s dicing a mango at lightning speed, completely oblivious to the warring emotions taking place inside me.
I take a breath and reply.
Hey . . . sorry I haven’t messaged you, things have been busy. She’s good, thanks for asking. She feels well enough to be at the food truck tomorrow.
She leans over the counter to hand me a spoonful of mango salad to try. Again my phone dings.
CALLUM: I’m relieved to hear that. But what about you?
I clear my throat, my face heating even though he can’t see me. We’re miles apart right now, and he can still tell I’m deflecting.
ME: I’m fine.
CALLUM: Liar.
I don’t want to fight via text, so I set my phone down on the counter and help Mom with the fruit salad. Another few minutes pass before my phone buzzes with two new text alerts.
CALLUM: Sorry. I just miss you.
The next message is a photo of Lemon sitting on his couch, looking up at the camera.
CALLUM: Lemon misses you too. She wants to know if you’d like to come over and cuddle her, because she’s sick of the big guys with the strange accents.
My heart melts on the spot.
ME: I would love that.
CALLUM: Then come over. Please. Promise I won’t bring up anything upsetting . . . I just want to be close to you, hold you . . . anything to make you feel better.
With those words, I’m convinced. Callum somehow knows exactly what I need even when I refuse to say it.
ME: On my way
* * *
• • •
When Callum opens the door to his condo, all I can focus on is his face. It’s marred with worried wrinkles.
“Hi,” I say softly, unsure if I should apologize before stepping foot in his home. The last time we were face-to-face this close, we were arguing at the hospital. I owe him a sorry for how I lashed out, for sure.
“Come on in,” he says.
I follow him inside to the kitchen counter, where two bottles of sparkling white wine sit. I’m about to ask what’s the occasion, but he turns to me, gently grabbing my hand in his.
“I’m so sorry for what I said at the hospital. I was out of line. You were stressed out, and I should have just supported you instead of arguing with you.”
My chest clenches. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too. And also . . .”
His eyebrows knit as he gazes at me, his eyes full of kindness and worry.
“You were right,” I finally blurt. “About me needing to ease up on my mom. I have been, and she’s been more open with me. Things are so much better between us.”
The warmest smile pulls at his beautiful peach lips. “That makes me so happy to hear, Nikki.” A long moment passes, and his mouth turns down. “About the other things we said . . . at the hospital . . .”
The memory of me hurtfully reducing him to a fuck buddy and nothing more is front and center in my mind. I’m practically on fire with how embarrassed I am for calling him that. But I don’t want to rehash that now, not when it’s been nearly a week since that night at the hospital, and our biggest competition—against each other—is just days away. I want this time with him to be as untainted with the complications of reality as possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really.”
He nods his understanding. “How are you feeling? Really feeling?”
Instead of answering, I let go of his hand and wrap my arms around his torso. I burrow my face into his chest as he slips his arms around me. The warmth is intoxicating, more powerful than any alcohol or drug. If only I could stay locked in Callum’s embrace forever. Life would be so much easier.
“I just . . . I feel so much better when I’m with you,” I whisper into his skin.
He presses his nose into my hair and takes a deep breath. “Same.”
I lean back so I can look up at his face. “I know . . . I know we have so much to talk about . . .”
I stop short before I can speak and ruin everything. So much is hanging heavy in the air between us. Our relationship in its current state is an awkward limbo between bedfellows and something more. It’s bound to change with the festival this weekend and when one of us has to move from our spot in Makena . . . and then whenever Callum moves back to Chicago. But I don’t want to think about any of that. All I want to
do is have this evening together and exist in this perfect bubble we’ve created. Reality can wait a little bit longer.
“I just . . . I can’t . . .” My voice wobbles and my eyes water.
Callum presses his lips against mine, quieting me instantly. After a long beat, he pulls away. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about any of that. I told you I wanted to help you feel better.”
He glances to the bottles on the counter. “How about a sparkling wine drinking contest and a few episodes of The Office to take your mind off things?”
My smile is one of joy and relief. He knows me so well. I blink away the tears and nod. “That sounds perfect.”
We each grab a bottle, pop the corks off, then settle on the couch. Lemon crawls out from under the coffee table and hops on my lap.
“Hey, my girl.” I pat her pregnant tummy as Callum powers on the TV. “How has she been this past week with you and Finn? She looks like she’s ready to pop.”
“She’s made herself right at home. She’s even started sleeping in Finn’s bed with him.”
“Good thing Finn doesn’t hate cats.”
“He’s got a soft spot for them, just like me.”
I down a sip of the wine. “How did you explain the arrangement with the cat? You know, since we’re still keeping you and me under wraps.”
Callum stares at the TV screen, jaw tight. “I told him I’m fostering cats from the vet’s office periodically.” He clears his throat. “He seems to buy it.”
“I’m so glad,” I say quietly.
Episodes queued up, we settle into our go-to position on the couch: Callum in the corner, me cuddled under his arm, Lemon tucked between us. We make it two episodes before both of our bottles are nearly empty. I sneak a glance at Callum, and my heart thuds.
Perfection.
It’s the one word I’ve been searching for all day—these past few days actually. Every day I’ve been without Callum, it’s felt like something is missing. But now that we’re together, it’s clear. He’s my lost piece. When I’m with him, everything’s right. Everything’s perfect.
