Chapter 18
I would so love to say that I wasn’t in my right mind when I put on Mom’s visor, sunglasses, and a mask and got back into my car.
But the truth is, I was completely in my right mind.
In fact, I would even go so far as to say that I can’t remember the last time I had such clarity.
Everything seems stark, all the edges around me sharpened into minute detail, and my mind is clean and undisturbed, like still water, all my thoughts focused into one single tiny pinprick of a thought: Stop Haven.
The moment I start up my car, I am transported back to my high school years.
The truth is, I’ve done this so often that I can just sit back and let muscle memory take over.
The number of times I drove to Haven’s house back then, under the blanket of nightfall, and just sat in my car and watched her house.
I don’t know what I was hoping for back then.
Part of me wanted to catch her doing something bad, I guess, but the other part of me became enamored of her home life, so different from mine.
Her adoring parents. A home full of love and laughter, loud and bright.
The thing is, I used to have a habit of driving to Haven’s and watching her.
I never told anyone. And it wasn’t out of control or anything.
Eventually, I managed to break that habit.
Nighttime would come and I would grapple with myself and manage to keep myself at home, manage to stop myself from climbing into my car and driving the now-familiar route over to Haven’s.
It was hard at first, but it got easier, and of course it became easier still once I graduated and was able to move to the East Coast. I healed myself. I did that. And now . . .
No. This time, it’s different. I’m not just going to Haven’s to watch her aimlessly.
I’m going there with a purpose. I grip the wheel tightly as I drive.
The houses around my parents’ house in San Gabriel can’t ever be accused of being extravagant, but they’re nice enough.
It’s a safe neighborhood, and I’ve always liked the feel of it.
But then I cross over to San Marino, and suddenly it’s ostentatious mansions all around, with expansive front yards and elaborate Greek fountains, as though climate change weren’t an actual thing.
Focus, I tell myself. I go over the list of things I’m supposed to do when I get there.
Okay, so for one thing, I need to get evidence that Haven is full of shit.
Back in school, Dani never quite believed me when I told her all the bad stuff Haven had done to me, and of course she didn’t, because Haven always made sure to cover her tracks.
It was on me to prove it, and look what happened when I failed.
But I know better now. I’m going to find proof.
And how do I do that? By proving that her dad’s in perfect health and she made up all that stuff about him having COVID to gain sympathy.
That’s a good plan, right? I can’t even tell anymore.
For another, maybe I’ll be able to get proof that Haven is a bad person some other way. Like if I could . . .
Nope, I’m drawing a blank on this one. All I can think of is if I stole in and grabbed her phone or something, but that is definitely over my head.
They make it look so easy in movies, breaking into people’s houses.
Somehow, everyone in the movies knows how to pick locks, and every lock is a manual one that can be picked.
Or everyone knows how to hack into phones and computers and do cool stuff like clone them.
Well, I don’t know how to do any of that, so I have no idea what I’d need to do to prove that Haven is lying.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch her doing something like kicking a stray cat or something.
I snort at the thought. The sad thing is, I can totally envision Haven doing that.
I park my car down the street from Haven’s house in case she recognizes it from school.
It’s been a relatively warm day, but nights in SoCal are always chilly, and this one’s no exception.
I’m wearing a hoodie, and I wrap my arms around myself as I walk down the street.
Halfway down, I realize that wearing a visor and sunglasses at night will probably attract more attention, so I scurry back to my car and dump them in the back seat.
Instead, I pull my hood over my head and hope that the mask I’m wearing will render me somewhat unrecognizable.
I keep my head down as I walk, focusing on keeping my breathing even.
Haven’s house is one of the smaller ones on this street, but it’s still much bigger than mine, and much, much nicer.
Despite the fact that we’re in a pandemic and I’m sure no landscaper has been over here for months, the front lawn remains aggressively manicured.
I slow down as I approach, my heart rate quickening.
I feel painfully noticeable, sticking out in the silence.
Why are these stupid streets so well lit?
Back in San Gabriel, I can barely see where I’m walking at night, but here, the streetlamps are as bright as flood lights.
I check my surroundings to make sure there’s no one else around, then I duck into a gap in the hedges and walk closer still to Haven’s house.
I’ve never been this close to the house before; back in high school, I always just sat in my car.
But now that I have a clear goal, I know that I can’t sit back passively, waiting for something to happen.
I need to make it happen. I approach slowly, my breath roaring in my ears, so heavy that my mask moves with each inhale and exhale.
I hate this stupid mask, the way it makes my face so warm and moist and makes me smell my own breath, but I’m also grateful for the way it hides my face.
I reach the side of the house. There’s a gate that presumably leads to the backyard, and a few trash cans next to it.
Now what? I retrace my steps, circling to the front of the house, and I’ve just reached a large picture window when I catch a figure moving inside the house, less than five feet away from me.
I suck in a shocked gasp through my teeth, and if not for the pane of glass separating me and the other person, they would’ve heard me for sure.
My instincts scream at me to duck down below the windowsill, but I make myself freeze instead, fearful that any slight movement might catch their eye.
It’s Haven’s dad. He’s sitting on a lounge chair that is now familiar to me because I’ve seen it so many times in Haven’s posts.
It’s his favorite reading chair. There are so many videos and photos of him sitting in it, looking out the window, or reading on it, or sipping a cup of coffee.
And every single time, there’s always a gentle smile playing on his lips, and he looks so at peace, a man who knows that he’s been blessed with a good life and wants to savor every moment.
I’ve seen comments referring to him as Asian Santa, and I have to agree.
Mr. Lee looks—there’s no other word for it—jolly.
But now, he’s visibly diminished. His once rotund belly has shrunk; his barrel chest is thin.
His sweater hangs loosely on him. His face was round on Haven’s Instagram, but now it’s gaunt, his chin pointy instead of soft.
On any other man, the weight loss might have looked okay—good, even—but on Mr. Lee, it looks wrong, like someone’s stabbed a straw into him and sucked out everything jolly about him.
He looks tired and old, and every breath he takes seems labored.
I have only seen him in person a handful of times, on parents’ day at school or when Haven performed onstage, but because of Haven’s Instagram, I feel like I know Mr. Lee, and the sight of him now, so greatly reduced in stature, physically hurts me to look at.
I’m not a monster; my fight isn’t against Mr. Lee. I don’t want to see him like this.
And, I realize with a sinking feeling in my stomach, this proves that Haven was telling the truth about her dad getting COVID.
Part of my mind tries to tell me that he might be sick with something else, that maybe it’s the flu or something, but I know that it’s just grasping at straws.
And so what if it’s a different disease and not COVID? He’s still deserving of empathy.
As soon as I realize this, the rage descends once more.
Why can’t anything go my way, just once?
I really needed this. I needed to prove that Haven is evil.
Just this one time. And the universe can’t even give that to me.
I have nothing. No job, no prospects. I have one tiny book deal and no publicist now that I can’t pay Sarah, which means my book will simply sink into obscurity, leaving me with truly nothing.
And Haven, sweet, beautiful Haven, has been blessed with everything, and still, it isn’t enough for her.
Still, she wants to take from me. Why? She was the one who reached out and offered that olive branch, and I’ve stuck to my end of the bargain, haven’t I?
I’ve moved on, focused on other things, but still she keeps clawing me back into this abyss where we end up destroying each other.
What more do I have to do to get her out of my life?