Chapter 29 Sam #2
He looks out at the surf. His expression sobers, and after a long while, he says, “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong here?”
It takes her a moment to understand that he means here, in Angel City, in this country.
She sits with his question for a moment, unsure how to answer.
All she has ever known is this city. Every bit of it flows through her veins, even the dirt, the concrete, the mess, the endless imperfections, the parts that are hard to love.
It is her home in every sense of the word.
How can someone not belong to a place that is their home?
“My mother told me,” she starts to answer, “that I was a baby when we first came over, so I always try to picture myself that small, being carried on the bow of a ship.” She shrugs.
“I don’t know. My mother chose the name Connie for herself, to fit in.
Even changed her last name from Su to Sun, to make it more Western.
She’s struggled sometimes, I think. But all I remember is here.
That’s as close to belonging as possible, isn’t it? ”
He murmurs in half-hearted agreement. “I remember life before this,” he says. “But I was older than you when I came here.”
She feels a flash of envy so bone-deep that it hurts.
It catches her off guard. Where had that come from?
They have never talked about their earliest years; as far as she is concerned, their lives began when they met each other.
She hasn’t thought much about what it might feel like to remember another home, had no idea that she wishes she did.
“Do you miss it?” she asks him, nodding out at the sea.
He says nothing, which is its own answer, but after a while, he gives her a quick little smile. “You made it easier,” he says, and her heart pulls tight.
They sit back against the rocks, Ari propped up on his arms, Sam resting gently against his shoulder.
She is wearing a white summer dress today, and Ari is in a flowy shirt and trousers that he now rolls up to his elbows and knees.
She braids sea daisies into her dark locks and wonders when to tell him, where she should even start.
Waves foam nearby. Moisture dampens the hems of her dress.
She buries her feet in the wet sand and senses the structure of the shifting water and salt and earth, idly pictures their geometries in her head.
Their chatter comes and goes, returning to the surface as it always does, to things they’ve learned or watched, opinions they have about the world.
Soon, their conversation falls away completely, giving way to a comfortable silence.
It is the way they have always been, and yet, under the surface, Sam knows that something between them is about to change forever.
Now and then, she leans forward to run her fingers through the idling water.
As she does, she glances over at Ari, who watches the ocean as if he can see something along the horizon.
Secretly, she hopes she can catch him looking at her again.
She memorizes him in this instance, his wild dark curls and exquisite eyes, the line of his jaw, the dreaming expression.
And deep down, she knows this is the right moment. She takes a breath, steadies herself.
But he speaks first.
“Sam,” Ari says in a soft voice. “Sam, I’m leaving Angel City.”
Her giddiness, the flutter in her chest, her unfurling heart. All of it cuts off, and Sam fights to keep the shock off her face. He is leaving her.
“Oh?” she says, sitting up, fighting to keep her voice normal. “Why? When?”
“I’ll still be around, now and then.” He swallows, as if the words are difficult for him to say. “But I’ll be traveling a lot.”
This can’t be happening. Her prepared speech vanishes from her mind, and her thoughts flutter in dismay, lost.
“Where are you going?” she asks faintly. “What for?”
Again, no true answer. His jaw is tight. “I’m going to hate not seeing you every day,” he says quietly.
She had been prepared to tell him everything, but he had come here to say goodbye.
A fresh breeze comes through. Sam’s braided hair streams sideways, and a few sea daisies drop into Ari’s lap. He picks up one of the flowers. There is an unspoken conversation in his eyes, something that might never come out. An emotion wells in Sam’s chest until it becomes unbearable.
Maybe she can still say it. Maybe she can still find some way to tie him to her.
“Hey,” she suddenly says, turning to him.
Now they are very close to each other. His gaze wanders her face, and she thinks maybe he’s trying to memorize her in the same way she did with him.
If she wanted to, if she didn’t care about the ramifications of it, she could lean forward and close the gap between them without even shifting from her spot.
Tell him.
But she can already see him pulling away, his heart closing right as hers is opening up. She tries to let the truth of everything spill out, but the words won’t come.
The moment is lost now, never to return. Her courage is gone.
“Ari,” she says instead. “Don’t forget about me, okay?”
He must sense something broken in her voice, hear the farewell in her words, because he looks at her through his lashes with grieving eyes. Perhaps he doesn’t know what’s happening to her—that she too has taken an irreversible step down a path—but he knows how she feels.
“Okay,” he manages to say.
His breath stirs against her skin. She feels like she’s breaking apart.
“Promise me, Ari,” she says.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tucks the sea daisy in his hand behind her ear, then touches her cheek gently.
A curious calmness settles in her chest, some invisible caress telling her that everything is going to be okay.
Her skin tingles. She leans a little closer.
He studies her eyes, her lips. There is an indescribable yearning in his gaze, something he wants to say but can’t.
Kiss me, she thinks sadly. Just once, before we go.
But he doesn’t lean forward. They stay suspended before each other instead, both aching, neither selfish enough to close the gap.
“I promise,” Ari whispers.
He drops his hand, and Sam looks away, taking a deep breath of salty air and trying not to cry.
The direction of the sun has started to shift, and everything in her heart wants to stop the march of time.
She leans her head against his shoulder, and he leans toward her in return, resting his chin on her head, pressing his lips to her hair.
Quietly, she knows they are both lying. She won’t see him again for a long time.
And he doesn’t realize yet that the wide-eyed Sam he has always known is about to disappear forever.
But in this moment, they both feel a sense of loss that threads them together, makes them afraid to move from this spot until the sun has started to set.
People make promises to one another that they will stay in touch their whole lives, that nothing will change.
Then they grow up, move away, and let go.
It will be five years before they cross paths again. When they do, Sam will think back on this moment and wonder if there was anything she could have done to change the outcome, if things might have turned out differently had she told him, if they could have found another way.
But there is no other way. The next time they meet, they will be standing on opposite sides of a chasm. They will look at each other and wonder:
How will you hurt me?
What are you thinking?
What have you done?