Chapter 13 Present Day
CHAPTER 13
PRESENT DAY
July
My table lamp is still on when the sun rises. The pillow is hard beneath my cheek. My book. I pry it off my face and wipe off a fleck of drool from the side of my lip. It’s six a.m. and the sun is battling to get through the window blinds and the larks are singing, begging me to get out on the bay. If I were a kid again, it’d be easy to hop into a boat without a care, but I have to work. A quick check of my email on my phone shows that I have two more zip files attached from Eleanor’s junior associate to review and summarize by this evening.
I put my phone down. Everything can wait until I have my morning coffee. Today I brew it over ice and top it with extra cream. I go out to sit on the dock, and as I look for Wes, I try to ignore the anticipation in my step.
I’m not surprised to find him already out in a lawn-green T-shirt, a red ball cap and rimmed sunglasses. An empty chair waits next to him on his dock. He’s expecting me. My heart flutters but I tell it to calm down. A coffee chit-chat in the morning is polite neighbour behaviour.
“You’re still an early riser,” I say as I take the deck chair next to him, facing the water. The glints of light flick off the soft ripples, kissing Wes’s cheekbones and the arch of his nose.
“Old habits die hard,” Wes says, scratching the back of his neck. It’s a simple gesture, but my eyes catch on the fold of his knuckles, the lines of veins on his hands, the way the muscles of his arm bunch. “Mornings are the best part of the day, anyway.”
I hum in acknowledgement. “It’s bright today.” I squint. “My eyes hurt from reading all night.”
“What did you read?”
“ The Viscount Who Loved Me ,” I say, turning pink, shielding my eyes from the sun.
His wry laugh tells me he remembers too. Then there’s darkness against my eyelids and a light pressure on my head. He’s given me his hat. The familiar faint smell of sunscreen mixed with rain washes over me.
He’s studying me when I open my eyes. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I look back out towards the waves. The water is high today, higher than I remember. I feel the sway of the current on the dock.
I realize I’m biting my lower lip when Wes asks, “What’s going on?”
Opening us back up has the potential to ruin me again. I pause, debating how much I want to divulge. But what comes out, layered with the fatigue of a never-ending inbox is, “Do you ever feel like you’re on a train and can’t get off?”
“Hmm.” He leans back against his chair, eyes unreadable underneath his sunglasses.
When he doesn’t answer further, I backtrack. “Sorry, that’s heavy for the morning.”
“No, it hit a little close, that’s all,” he says, thrumming his fingers against the armrest. Then they still, a wry smile twisting his lips. “That’s how I felt. Until I got in the conductor’s seat and crashed the train.”
“What do you mean?” I lean forward in my seat, a pit growing in my stomach. I’ve always been crash averse, always fearful of the consequences. But Wes somehow crashed the train and he not only survived, he seems happier for it.
He pulls off his sunglasses, meeting my intent gaze. I nod for him to continue.
“Well, after I finished my business degree, as you know I went to work for the same company as my dad. Nepotism and all that worked in my favour for once.”
“And you climbed up the ranks,” I guess. Wes had always worked hard.
“I did. A bit of elbow grease, grabbing drinks with the guys, the whole thing. I wanted to fit into that world, you know.”
A little sliver of ice wedges into my chest as I nod. I do know.
“It’s wild how quickly time seems to slip away,” Wes says. “I was leading this big deal between two massive tech companies. If I did it well, I would get a promotion, my MBA tuition paid and a massive bonus. But god, the teams on those companies had such sticks up their asses. They both had so much to gain if they just worked together, but all they cared about were the small wins. If they would get this share or this person on the board.”
I hum in acknowledgement. The grind to the top, the pressure to make everything a win, and dealing with personalities that make my head hurt. What he’s saying hits too close to home.
“I hadn’t taken a vacation in ages; my girlfriend at the time didn’t seem to care. She was planning her trip to Aruba with my bonus while I was working insane hours, having to pretend to enjoy after-hours drinks with the guys. An intern was out with us one time and one of the CEOs got handsy with her. I told him to let her go. I was called in for a meeting the next day. They were going to kick me off the deal.” His voice turns savage. “I quit and reported it to HR. My dad didn’t think I should have said anything. And my girlfriend broke up with me after I left the firm.”
The inappropriate CEO, a common story, but it hits somewhere tender. All the times I’ve smiled glibly when a boss says something offensive to me or a co-worker. I’ve forced myself to be immune to it, to ignore the pinch when my colleagues turn the other way for the sake of their careers and the guilt when I do the same to protect mine. But Wes wouldn’t. Wes didn’t .
“All of that sounds hard,” I say, putting my coffee mug down. But my ears echo, girlfriend at the time . Does he have a girlfriend now?
“What part? The quitting? That was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. My breakup? It was easy to let go of someone who didn’t love me without all the bells and whistles.” Wes scoffs, his voice wrangled in a way I’ve never heard. “What’s hard is now. I figured out what I’m not, but now I have to figure out what I am.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I’ve spent so long becoming the person I thought I should be. Successful, driven at first, until I realized I had lost myself at the end. I’m scared to go back there, to be far away from home and forget where I came from again.”
“I understand,” I say, closing my eyes. When I open them, he’s looking at me like I’m his oracle, the way he used to when we were younger. Something in me shifts, and for a moment, I become the brave girl I used to be. “That time wasn’t wasted, Wes. It’s a journey, figuring out who we really are. You need to do what feels right to you, but don’t make a choice based on fear.”
A small, sad smile curves his lips. “Is that what you did?” Our gaze catches for a heartbeat, and then I drop my eyes to the planks of the dock. I chose the harder path, contorted myself into who everyone needed me to be, trying to be the glue keeping our family together. “You used to want to make a difference,” Wes said.
He’s right. I spent college volunteering with legal aid and then did internships in family law.
I’d loved it. Helping families split amicably, in a way that didn’t leave the ends raw and ragged. Navigating resources and entitlements for those barely keeping steady in a turbulent world. But as my mother put it, knowing so much about people’s private business, about the dark side of humanity, would cast its own shadow on my future. Family law could be well-paid, but the parts that I loved meant that I would never be wealthy, would never reach the pillars of financial success that my parents aspired to for me.
When Gold & Wright offered me a summer position the last year of law school, my father’s wan eyes came back to life. I had to say yes. And then when they offered me an articling position and a full-time job, I couldn’t say no to the guarantee of future success.
My parents had come to the country with nothing, dreaming of security. They passed on a need to always do more and be more. I thought that throwing myself into work would make them happy. But now I’m here, no end in sight, my father gone and my mother constantly wanting more from Mel and me. We’ll never be enough for her. My efforts are for naught.
The bay mists in front of me. I blink back a tear.
“I’m sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t mean—”
“To imply that what I do has no meaning?” I force a laugh into my voice. He’d probably been working in a glass tower parallel to mine. So high up that we couldn’t see what really mattered anymore.
Wes’s hand twitches as if to reach out to me, but before he does, a rumble courses through the dock.
Ciji jogs up in her Converse shoes, jean shorts and a mustard tank top that probably skirts the edge of the school dress code. “Good morning,” she calls. The wind tosses her hair and a glimmer of a smile plays on her lips. I let out a sigh of relief. At least some of her angst has cleared since last night.
“Hey, Ciji,” I say, swallowing down my bubbling emotions. Wes pulls his worried gaze from me and smiles at her.
“Can a friend come over for dinner today? After tutoring,” Ciji says.
My parents would never have let me have friends over on a school night, especially not if I had just failed a course. But I’m not them, and maybe it would be good for Ciji to be distracted while her mother recovers from surgery. I reply, “Sure. As long as they’re not staying too late. It is still a school night.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out. “We’re just going to hang out and stuff. It’s fine.”
“Okay,” I say, looking back at Wes for reassurance.
Ciji follows my gaze, her smile warming as she turns to him. “You can stay for dinner too, if you want.”
“Maybe.” Wes’s gaze is clouded as he hesitantly glances back at me. Somehow, I manage to appear impassive, even though part of me is clamouring for more, more, more of his company. The rest of me wants him—and the reminder of what I’ve lost—gone.
“You’re welcome to join,” I say.
His eyes clear. “I’ll plan for it, then.” Wes unravels from the chair, stretching up. I don’t let myself look at the golden gap between his shirt and the glinting button that tops his shorts, but I can’t stop from watching him as he walks away. He holds his back straighter now than he did when he was a teen, and I wish I could walk towards my future with the same courage.
“Thanks, Lia,” Ciji says, her tone unusually soft. She shifts her gaze so I can’t catch her eyes.
Thinking she’s worried about her mom, I stand up to place a reassuring arm on her shoulder, but she immediately stiffens and pulls away. I examine her, trying to understand what’s going on, but she’s as mysterious to me as the bottom of the ocean.
“Your mom’s surgery will go well,” I try to reassure her. And as her neck bows down, I can see I’ve hit the mark. “Can I walk you to the bus?”
“Sure, whatever,” she says, trying to cover up the feelings she won’t share with me. I walk her silently to the bus and wait for her to be picked up, even though I’ll be late for my meeting.
At the end of our call, Eleanor says, “Don’t you love what we do? The sense of accomplishment makes you feel so alive.”
“Absolutely.” My wide grin hurts my lips. After an hour spent reviewing my latest shareholder agreement draft, the last thing I feel is alive. All I feel is the call of sunshine, wind, fresh grass and tossing waves.
When Eleanor finally disconnects, my smile fades. I’m starting to think it wasn’t worth cancelling my PTO for this.
I text the only person who I know gets it.
Norah: No way does work make me feel more fulfilled than lounging, E is out to lunch
Lia: I shouldn’t regret taking on this project right?
Norah: You’re efficient. You’ve got this. But also get your ass out of the house and enjoy your summer
Lia: Ugh I just GOTTA keep pushing through
Norah’s words keep ringing in my head as the transactional information in front of me becomes nonsense. My brain is still outside on the dock, stuck on the idea that what I’m doing here inside doesn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. I check my phone again and again. No updates yet on Shehla. Waiting while trying to work is its own kind of agony. I text Mel.
Lia: Any updates on Shehla?
Mel: No, not yet
Mel: You doing ok with Ciji??
Lia: Yeah. Guess I am
Mel: Figures. Everything comes easy for you
I put my phone down. Nothing comes easy for me. For the last decade, it’s felt like I’m in a constant battle against all my doubts and fears. Before, when we used to come up for the summers, the weeks spent in the sun always seemed to wipe those fears away. Time with Wes and Mel, with the water lapping against the shore, so far away from any worries about the future.
I quickly compile files that Eleanor’s assistant sent over, summarizing as if I’m an automaton, and send them back. I stare at my email. Refresh. Nothing. It’s a sign. Especially now that my stomach is rumbling. A quick perusal of the fridge shows me it is mostly stocked with frozen curries and samosas and sandwich materials, which is fine, but I feel weird defrosting food or making sandwiches to serve an unknown guest. Usually, the idea of cooking makes me balk, but I want Ciji’s night to be successful. Especially with the surgery today.
But I need to get ingredients. The quick way to go about it would be to force myself into Shehla Auntie’s car and drive ten minutes to the general store. But the forty-minute walk or twenty-minute paddle are solid alternatives. The waves are sparkling outside and I haven’t had a chance to take a boat out in years. I rub my hands together, already feeling the cool wind gliding over my skin. This is the best idea.
I change out of my Zoom-appropriate work blouse into a tank top and yoga pants and slather myself in sunscreen. Unlike my mother, whose internalized racism makes her worry about tanning, I’m more wary of premature cancer.
After wasting money on inflatable tubes that tore after a few uses, my parents never ended up buying anything more solid because we had free rein in the Forests’ garage. I still remember the entry code from punching it in so many times. Luckily, I’m spared from having to break and enter when I find Wes lying in the backyard on a lounge chair, his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and a well-worn pink book cradled in his hands. I stand above him, waiting to see if he’ll notice the shade. He’s engrossed. His capable fingers turn another page, but it’s stuck to the one below so he brings his fingers to his lips to wet them. I’m tempted to stand and watch, but the sane part of me reaches out, poking him in his bicep to get his attention. His firm bicep, lightly toasted from the sun.
“What are you reading?” I ask, breathless when he looks up.
His lips twist into a knowing smile, as if he’s been expecting me here all along. “You inspired me. I haven’t read one of these in ages.”
“I probably should read some new ones, but I forgot my e-reader.” Books, physical copies with crumpled pages and cracked spines, feel like magical relics. That’s why I prefer digital now. Sterile and electronic. So different from the way I used to read with Wes, giddy to share my favourite scenes. My pages bookmarked, his dog-eared.
“I have some new books you could borrow.” Wes stands, gesturing to his house. Something about tracing my fingers on his books seems dangerously intimate. The fact that he’d let me scares me even more. I swallow.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow one of the kayaks or something. I thought I’d go by the general store. Pick up something for dinner.”
“You’re not driving there?” He studies me, trying to excavate a secret.
I gesture to the water. “I want to get onto the bay. It’s been too long.” It rings true enough.
“I’ll come with you. We could take out the pedal boat.” He exhales, eyes widening hopefully. “Let’s go, Lia.”