CHAPTER FOUR
ANIKA
A psychologist, Robert Plutchik, has his own theory of human emotions. Plutchik believed that humans can experience over 34,000 unique emotions, but ordinarily, they experience eight primary ones. These emotions include, anger, fear, sadness, joy, disgust, surprise, trust and anticipation.
A normal human being goes through a range of these emotions almost weekly. I used to be normal. I used to be able to feel deeply. It helped me in every aspect of my life. And now on my most days, I’m not even sure what I feel anymore. Except the constant overwhelming need to be normal again. To be seen as normal again.
My gaze is fixed to the ceiling in my living room when I hear the front door of my house being opened and shut successively. I stay in place, lying down with my hands crossed over my stomach. It’s comfortable. There’s a rerun of a show playing in the background on the TV. I turned the volume down a couple minutes ago to think.
I should probably be worried someone just walked in through the locked front door of my house, but then the person appears in the peripheral of my vision and I know I was right to relax.
“Nika,” my mother calls, walking towards me. I don’t move and soon enough she’s standing over me, her lips curved in a small frown. “You didn’t hear the door?”
“I heard it.”
“And you didn’t feel the need to check who it was? You live here alone, baby, you should be more careful. What are you even doing lying down like that?” she asks.
“Communing.”
“With?”
“Spirits,” I deadpan.
My mother doesn’t even miss a beat, “Oh well make sure to tell the ghost of your dead grandfather that I’m still angry with him for blowing up all our money and leaving me and mother in debt after his death.”
“He says he’s sorry and that you should look on the bright side,” I say with a smile, sitting up and swinging my feet to the ground.
“What bright side?”
“His actions led you here to the States and then you met daddy and fell in love,” I say cheerfully, rising to my feet and place a kiss on her cheek. “Now you have three wonderful, beautiful children.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” my mom says with a smile,
Technically she only has one biological child. Me. Mom didn’t give birth to my elder brother and sister, but she cares for them and loves them like she did.
Priya Cameron is undoubtedly one of the best people anyone will ever have the pleasure of meeting. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my mother. There really are people like that, with the purest souls that just put everyone at ease. She has this boundless grace and kindness, a quality that doesn’t exist in most people.
I certainly don’t think I possess that amount of goodness, despite how alike we look.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Cameron?” I question.
Mom takes off her purse, placing it on the couch before settling down into her.
“I haven’t seen you since this morning,” she replies simply.
I arch an eyebrow, “Are we in some weird co-dependency situation I wasn’t aware of. Surely you can go hours without seeing me, mum.”
“Not when I walk in here to find you, ‘communing with spirits’” she states, her expression serious.
“I was joking,” I laugh.
She follows me of course, right to the fridge where I grab a bottle of water.
“Seriously, mom, you’re acting like a helicopter parent,” I tease.
“Are you really?” mum questions.
“Am I what?” I ask, gulping down some of the water.
“Are you really okay?”
I pause for a millisecond. My heartbeat turns erratic in that second as I stare into my mothers’ eyes. And then I lie to her.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
She presses her lips together before running a hand through her hair. I lucked out in the genes department when it comes to hair. My mom’s Indian so she has thick, gorgeous black hair same as mine, although hers is way shorter. She cut it a couple years back because it was getting harder to maintain. Now it comes up to her shoulders.
Honestly I lucked out in the gene department when it comes to everything. I also have her smooth skin, although mine’s a couple shades lighter than hers. We both have big brown eyes.
Dad always says I’m her carbon copy. He likes to act annoyed about it but he’s got two other kids who look exactly like him, I’m sure that’s solid compensation.
“So why are you really here? I’m not saying your beautiful face isn’t always welcome but I had breakfast with you and dad this morning,” I question curiously.
She smiles which relaxes me as well. My mother’s my best friend. I tell her almost everything. She and I are super tight. Which is why I try even harder to act like I’m okay around her and my dad. If she knows something’s wrong, she’ll do just about anything to fix me and I don’t need her to do that. I can fix myself.
“You know how you’re unemployed?” mom questions.
“Ouch, mom. I’m not unemployed, I’m just taking a hiatus from working for a while.”
Technically, I’ve never really been employed. I’ve always bounced from work to work because I’m not the sort of person that’s ever really settled. I studied art in college and after that I sold my work online. It was good money and I could work from home while also enjoying my other hobbies. Then things changed and now I don’t really have anything I’m doing.
“Which is the same thing as unemployed,” she argues dryly.
I pout, “That’s mean. You know I’m good. I’ve got enough money saved up to be okay.”
“It’s not about being good. It’s about being a young upstanding member of society with a job.”
I sigh, “Alright, lay it on me. What have you got?”
She beams before heading into the living room. I follow her there and she reaches into her Chanel purse which I got for her a couple years ago to show me a flier.
“I went out for lunch with some of my friends at Stanley’s and he says he’s looking for a new manager to work at his restaurant.”
“Mom, I have no experience working at restaurants,” I state.
“Sure but you can do anything, Nika. You’re great at adapting and it’ll be a nice way for you to pass the time.”
“I do a lot of things to pass time,” I argue. “I’m always at the country club and I hang out with my friends and I watch a lot of TV shows.”
“You sound like a bum,” she interrupts.
“Damn,” I laugh a little surprised. “You’re really laying into me today.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You were always happiest when you were painting,” she murmurs.
My smile drops, “Mom...”
We have an unspoken rule. Nobody mentions the fact that I stopped painting.
“I just want you find that spark again.”
“Mom, I’m fine. I promise,” I tell her.
“Okay honey, I believe you. So what do you think about working at Stanley’s?”
“I think not,” I reply. “But I love you for trying. I’ll figure my shit out eventually. I promise.”
She smiles, before reaching forward to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ears.
“My beautiful baby. You’ve grown up so much,” she says. “Now I just need to marry you off.”
“When you find the groom let me know.”
Mom laughs, “I’ll get out of your hair. Your dad’s waiting for me at home.”
“Tell him I love him. And I love you too.”
“ Ami tumake Bhalobashi .” she says softly in Bengali. It simply translates to I love you.
My mom’s from West Bengal in India, a city called Kolkata. But she resided in Mumbai for most of her formative years. Her dad was a rich businessman there until his business went under. He was declared bankrupt and then he passed away from a heart attack. Mom’s told us all about him. She also spoke about how hard it was for them after his death. She was only 16. Her mother decided to relocate to the states with her. And then she started a new life over here. But I know she misses her home.
I’m going to take her there one day. I want to see it too. Mumbai, Kolkata. Where she grew up, our origins. Although I understand, I have a hard time speaking Bengali. It’s not mom’s fault, she tried but it’s never really stuck with me. I’m really disconnected from the Indian part of my heritage but I’ll find that connection again.
One day. It seems so far away.
I follow my mom out of the kitchen to the living room where she grabs her purse.
“Bye mom. Let’s try to keep our interactions to once a day, okay? I’m actually really worried we could be codependent.”
She laughs, “Bye, smartass.”
Once she’s out the door, I heave a relieved breath. Another successful day spent pretending that I don’t feel like I’m drowning. I know I should ask for help. I have the most supportive, loving family ever. They’d be there for me in a heartbeat.
I guess a part of me is just scared. That they’d look at me different. I’ve always been a generally happy child. I did everything that was expected of me. My grades in school were fine and I never really got into a lot of trouble. My thing was more harmless pranks, odd hobbies and the occasional adrenaline chase.
To some extent, my parents handle both Emilia and Carson like they’re glasses just waiting to break. Which is understandable considering how things have been in the past. They might have broken once before but they’ve also being strong to put themselves back together.
I on the other hand have never broken. And I have no plans on doing so.
Because I don’t think I’m as strong as them. I wouldn’t even know where to begin putting myself back together.
***
I pull up to the construction site for the new community center, my boots crunching on the gravel as I step out of the car. The air smells of fresh concrete and wood. I weave through the clusters of workers and scattered blueprints until I spot Carson. He’s deep in conversation with one of the construction workers, a grizzled man in a neon vest who’s gesturing toward the building that’s rapidly coming together.
“I’m telling you, Mr. Cameron,” the worker says, his voice carrying over the hum of machinery, “If we keep this pace, we’re wrapping up in two months at most.”
Carson’s eyes gleam. He nods, his tone clipped and confident. I pause at the edge of their circle, taking in my brother’s appearance after the day’s work. He’s wearing black jeans and a blue shirt, his dirty blonde hair is slightly disheveled. He looks okay though, although I can tell the strain of all the work is starting to get to him.
He’s been alternating between overseeing the construction and taking care of his company over the past couple of months. It’s a lot but it’s something he cares about and he’s been very determined about making it work.
As if sensing my presence, he turns, a slow smile spread across his face.
“Hey, munchkin,” he says, his voice softening as he steps forward.
I rise a little to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, his familiar warmth washing over me.
“Hey, Bubba,” I reply. “You look like shit.”
He smirks, “Why must you lie to me, little sister? You and I both know I always look amazing.”
“Please,” I say, my eyes rolling.
“To what do I owe this visit?”
“I heard you were in town and I wanted to check on you,” I say on a shrug.
He grins, eyes gleaming, “You just love me so much, don’t you, munchkin?”
“Don’t make me regret coming here, Carson. I’ll crack a brick on your head,” I threaten, although my tone is light.
“Easy, tiger,” he chuckles. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”
He says his goodbyes to the worker before leading me to his makeshift office. It’s a repurposed shipping container transformed into a workplace with a desk and chairs. There are blueprints and coffee cups scattered about, there’s also a couple files and Carson’s laptop sitting on the desk.
Inside Carson closes the door behind us and leans against the metal wall, his eyes briefly falling shut.
“You good, Bubba?” I ask gently, moving to take a seat.
“Yeah I’m fine,” he replies, eyes opening. “Just a little tired.”
“I can tell. Try to take a break once in a while okay?”
“I will once it’s over. Don’t worry, that’ll be soon.”
“This place is really coming together,” I state. “Which is incredible considering how big it is.”
“Yep. Seven months of non-stop construction, a shit load of money and a hell of a lot of determination will do that. All of which are courtesy of the wonderful big shot, Nathan Wolfe.”
It’s hard to miss the edge of sarcasm at the end of that statement. He really doesn’t like this guy which says a lot considering they’ve been working together for months. Carson’s friendly, charming and he still hasn’t warmed up to him. Which makes it pretty clear how difficult Mr. Nathan Wolfe’s personality must be.
“So where’s your mysterious asshole billionaire partner?” I ask, my gaze moving over the office.
“He moved into town a couple days ago actually. He should be around here somewhere. Wanna meet him?”
“No, I’m good,” I state. “I should go anyway. I just came to make sure you’re alive. Have you had lunch?”
Carson’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the door. We trade a look before he looks up at the door.
“Who’s there?” my brother questions.
“Wolfe,” is the gruff reply.
It’s only one word, said in a deep sexy masculine voice. A panty dropping voice.
“Come in,” Carson says after a moment. “Looks like you’re going to meet him after all.”
I sit up straighter, suddenly curious about the elusive man I’ve heard so much about. If he sounds like that then he’s most certainly hot. Hot people have hot voices. It’s like biology. The door knob turns and he walks in. My mouth nearly drops open at the sight of him.
Holy damn .
Biology wins again. Nathan Wolfe is all man, from head to toe. Long well-groomed brown hair that falls to his shoulders. Dark eyes under furrowed frowns, broad shoulders. He’s wearing a suit, sans jacket, the white shirt clings to his arms, his muscles on show.
Then he stares in my direction. Even his lips are sexy, although they’re currently pressed into a scowl I get the feeling is his default considering what I’ve heard about him.
Wait. Hold on a minute.
I take another look at him and this time my mouth really does drop open. I practically jump out of my chair.
“You,” I say accusingly.
He doesn’t even flinch. The scowl on his face stays perfectly intact as he looks at my face, not a hint of recognition in his eyes. There’s not much in his eyes at all. Dead dark eyes staring straight at me.
I haven’t seen him in over a year. But I know he fucking remembers me.
I notice my brother staring between us curiously. After a long moment, he speaks, “You two know each other?”
“No,” I blurt out unconvincingly.
He stays quiet. Good. No reason to tell my brother what led to our first encounter. I’d rather he never finds out about that at all.
The air in the room is thick with tension and I know I’m going to have to give Carson a better story. But I’m finding it a little hard to think about that right now. Not when he’s standing right in front of me after a year of imagining his face pinned to a dart board.
I was wrong in thinking I had lost the ability to feel things deeply anymore. Because as I stare at his face it all comes rushing back. Intense feelings that practically brim to the surface.
I feel more than I’ve felt in over a year. And the most powerful of them all.
Hate.