Chapter 38 #2
I miss his smell, his smile—the tired one and the confident one. I miss his steady hold, and his overwhelming encouragement. I feel like I’ve been spinning off axis for the past seven days, but this was always the plan.
I was always going to be here, without him.
The short time before bed is the worst and best part of my days. It’s when the loneliness starts to sink in because it’s the only free moment in my day to think of them, to focus on them, though there’s an ache in my heart and a hollowness in my gut every hour of the day due to missing them.
We haven’t spoken since that morning I left Chicago. My dad checked in every few hours of my two-day drive and when I got to California and asked him why he suddenly decided to become a helicopter parent, he simply said, “ Kai asked me to .”
Communicating would only make things harder.
This is my life and that’s his. Did I indulge in the thought that it could’ve been mine too?
Sure. Am I still wanting it? Yes, absolutely, but I have responsibilities here.
Responsibilities to these kitchens I’m scheduled for and a responsibility to my dad to do something impressive with the life he’s given me.
I’m also responsible for living up to the James Beard Award I won.
Responsible to the editors who chose to feature me on the cover of their magazine.
This must be how Kai feels. Responsible to everyone else, constantly trying to do right by others, and rarely choosing things for himself.
He did make one selfish decision this summer though, and I’ve got to say, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Climbing into bed, I pull the covers up to my chest before checking my phone for the first time today.
There are a few texts waiting for me, but before I read any of them, I head straight to the Internet to find the results from Kai’s game this afternoon. Today was his second start since I left, and his last game wasn’t his best.
And judging by the headlines, today’s was worse.
The Warriors lost five to two, and Kai was pulled in the third inning.
A short video clip shows the moment he got pulled with my dad and him meeting on the mound.
They don’t zoom in enough for me to get a clear image of his face, but I can read Kai’s body language perfectly.
He’s upset. Not mad, but emotional. My dad gives him a nod and Kai jogs off the field, straight through the dugout, to the clubhouse, and out of the camera’s view.
That right there is my fault.
He’s not okay because of me.
And as much as I can pretend during work hours, I’m nowhere near okay either.
Tears are already burning the backs of my eyes when my attention falls to the framed photo Kai gave me for my birthday. Me with my head on his lap and his son asleep there on the couch too.
I miss them. I ache for them, and I’m mad at Kai for breaking me this way, for making me feel when I spent so much of my life unattached and untethered.
I hate that I love him so much.
So what’s the harm in one little text? One tiny text to remind him that I’m thinking of him.
I find my messages to do just that, but the time at the top of my phone blinds me with the realization that it’s almost three in the morning. It reminds me that Kai asked me not to give him any hope.
It reminds me that summer is over.
Regardless of the late hour, a text comes through from Chef Maven.
Maven: Sorry we haven’t crossed paths much this week! Meet me at the restaurant tomorrow morning for coffee and we can sit down and go over your ideas for the menu?
So much for that morning off I was hoping for. But it’s probably for the best that I don’t give myself time to think because thinking only leads to missing them.
Me: Sounds great. I’ll see you then.
Finally making my way into my other messages, I find texts from Kennedy, Isaiah, Indy, and my dad.
Nothing from Kai. His way to move on quicker, I guess.
I could be sick just thinking about it. Them with another woman in their lives, someone else loving Kai and Max the way I do. That’s what I should want for them, right? To have everything I can’t give them. Everything they deserve.
Then why am I laying here crying in bed at the thought?
This is his fault too. I never used to cry.
I never used to feel. Now it’s like a dam has been broken and it’s a non-stop flood pouring from my eyes when I’m not at work.
I never needed anyone before them and now I’m laying here, a desperate, sobbing mess in the middle of the night in the Hollywood Hills because there’s a baseball player in Chicago and his son who I miss. Who I love.
Who I can’t have because nothing about our lives aligns.
Blinking through the blurry tears, I find my dad’s text.
Dad: I’m sure you saw the game recap. Give me a call sometime so we can talk. I miss you, Millie.
I don’t hesitate, calling him, needing to hear his voice, needing someone to tell me I made the right decision by going back to work because right now it feels all wrong. I know he of all people will find what I’m doing impressive. He’ll find it worthwhile.
The phone rings until the call goes straight to voicemail because, of course it does. It’s the middle of the night.
“Hi, Dad,” I say into the receiver, clearing my throat in hopes he can’t tell I’m crying.
“Just calling to say hi and that I miss you. I really miss you. But things are going great here.” God, is my tone too telling that I’m full of shit?
“I have my interview with Food & Wine tomorrow afternoon, so... that’s exciting. Sorry about your game.”
I try so hard not to ask, but I can’t help myself.
“Is Kai okay? I hope he is.” I exhale a sad laugh.
“But I also hope he’s missing the shit out of me because I’m missing him.
And you. I miss you a lot, Dad. I wish you were here because I miss seeing your face.
I got used to it this summer, I guess. I used to be so much better at this whole traveling year-round thing.
” And I’m rambling. “Anyway, call me when you can, and I’ll be sure to answer. I love you. So much. Talk soon.”
Loneliness sinks in again as I hang up and lay in my quiet van where only the sound of my sobs can be heard.
I hate it here, but this quiet moment is the only place where I can be honest about that.
I find my texts again, hoping something from one of my friends will make my self-pity shut up for a second.
Kennedy: Checking in on you. How’s the restaurant? Isaiah won’t stop texting me about whether he should change his walk-out song and then proceeds to ask me what my favorite song is, you know, in case he wants to use it. And I miss you!
Finally, a genuine laugh escapes me.
Isaiah: Here with your daily dose of Max. He learned how to say “duck” yesterday but definitely pronounces his “Ds” as “Fs” so that was a fun treat to hear. I took a video for you. You’re missed, Hot Nanny.
He accompanies that with a video of Max sitting on his lap in the center of the Warriors’ clubhouse.
“Maxie, what is that?” Isaiah asks, pointing to the book they’re reading, which seems to be about a giant Mallard duck.
“A big fuck!” Max proclaims, so proud of himself.
The clubhouse erupts in laughter around him, and Max just sits there, clapping for himself, and the rest of the team joins in to cheer too.
Quickly, the camera pans to Kai, who is sitting in his locker stall shaking his head, a tiny smile fighting to break through before the video abruptly ends.
I watch it again with a smile on my face, catching Cody, Travis, and Kennedy all there, but then I pause the video on Kai.
Even when he’s sad, he’s devastatingly handsome.
I scroll down to Isaiah’s second text.
Isaiah: What do you think Kennedy’s favorite song is?
And lastly, a message from Indy.
Indy: We missed you and your desserts at family dinner tonight. But mostly we missed you! I wish you were going to be here next weekend.
Indy and Ryan are getting married next weekend. I wish my schedule allowed me to go, but I’ll send them a gift in my absence.
For the first time in my life I have friends. I have people I ache for, people I miss. People who are all within a thirty-minute drive of each other while I’m out here on the other side of the country, trying to make a name for myself in this career that I once revolved my entire life around.
I don’t know how so much could change in eight weeks.
It doesn’t seem possible. And it doesn’t seem reasonable to make rash decisions based on those short two months.
But the decision I made to come back to work, a decision based on years of hard work, feels like the wrong one.
But it also feels like a decision that I can’t change.
Climbing off the bed, I grab the framed picture Kai gave me for my birthday, bringing it to my bed. I leave it right there next to my pillow because I’m sad and pathetic and don’t know how to handle all these newfound emotions.
This picture is all I have of Kai and Max while I’m off chasing a dream that feels more like a nightmare the longer I’m away from them.