Chapter 19 Present Day
CHAPTER 19
PRESENT DAY
July
My red-rimmed eyes feel like sawdust when I wake up at two a.m. to the sound of rummaging in the kitchen. Ciji curses downstairs. I debate going down to help find whatever she needs, but the idea of dealing with her sass in the early hours of the morning has me throwing my pillow over my head to muffle her noise. Before I know it, I’m drifting back to sleep.
When my alarm rings, my eyelids are puffy and my body sorely needs caffeine. Instead of taking my coffee out to the dock, I gulp it down at my desk. There’s no pleasure in it today. It’s too hot, scalding my tongue, but without it I know I’ll fall asleep.
A tap on the window startles me, and I turn to see Wes gesturing for me to come out. The sunlight is streaming behind him, but I shake my head no, pointing at my laptop’s glaring screen. Eleanor has me proofreading documents on a tight schedule. He gives me a small wave goodbye and leaves.
After grabbing a second cup of coffee, I crunch up on my father’s office chair and wonder how my father made work the epicentre of his life. I wish I could ask him what fuelled him to push forward in the face of unscalable mountains.
But I already know the answer. It’s the same thing keeping me going. I need to do this for my family, for my father. For their sacrifices.
I take a brief break, the bones in my hips clicking as I stand to pack Ciji’s lunch. Pasta leftovers instead of a sandwich. She’s groggy too when she comes downstairs, her face shiny and gaze bleary. Fortunately, she spares me her classic morning snark.
Once she’s gone to school, I settle back into my work chair. Luckily, my years in corporate law have conditioned me to ignore the lead in my limbs, the desert dryness of my eyes and the fuzz at the corners of my vision—even the warning migraine aura of visual snow can’t stop me. These headaches that I’ve dealt with ever since I finished high school are merely a footnote in the discomfort of pursuing excellence.
This is how it is at Gold )
I swipe the message off my screen as I head to the washroom; I’ll have to respond to him later. Even after my shower, I still feel like something from the Night of the Living Dead , but the olive sundress I unearth from my suitcase makes my eyes sparkle. Not that it matters what I look like. I am not dressing up for anyone, least of all Wes. Still, knowing I look good puts a pep in my step as I head downstairs to meet Ciji.
“I didn’t know we were serving looks today,” Ciji quips, looking down at her cut-offs and tank. “Was I supposed to dress up?”
“No, I’m just nervous about seeing people that I haven’t been around in a while.” I open the back door for her, goosebumps prickling my arms at the breeze. The heat has rolled off the lake, and white and grey clouds are forming over the distance. “Thought the dress would make me feel better about it.”
She takes in my vulnerability as we pass under a sprawling willow tree that marks the transition from our yard to the Forests’. “I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”
“Everyone is scared of something,” I say. There are at least fifteen people crowding around the Forests’ backyard. As we get closer, the buzz of people chattering and the scent of sweet barbecue wash over me, and maybe it’s nostalgia, but if I close my eyes, I swear I can smell my father’s mishkaki.
“Hey.” Wes breaks my reverie, waving us over to where he and his mom are standing at a picnic table. The phone in my purse vibrates. I should turn it off.
Ciji smiles back broadly at him, and I can’t help but mirror her. Wes is relaxed, in his element. He’s wearing a linen short-sleeved button-down that simultaneously screams summer barbecue while emphasizing the line of his broad shoulders.
Next to him, Ms. Forest is casual and comfortable in a pair of wide-legged jeans Ciji would tell me I’m not cool enough to wear.
“We were worried you weren’t going to make it.” Wes grins, genuine joy brightening his face. It’s enough to make me feel guilty for almost bailing.
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Ciji says, arching an eyebrow. “Anything to escape yet another sandwich.” Wes laughs.
Ms. Forest leans in for a quick hug, the scent of vanilla washing over me as I squeeze her back. “I’m so glad you could join us. And that you and Wes have reconnected,” she winks. “Maybe you’ll see each other in the city now.”
I raise my eyebrows at Wes. “You chose?”
Wes darts a look at his mother. “I’m still debating.”
Ms. Forest frowns. “You need to remind my boy that I don’t want him to make decisions based on me. My whole life is here, in Pike Bay, but it doesn’t mean I want that for my son.”
“I know, Mom,” he says, exasperated. “Listen, let’s not make tonight about me. I haven’t told everyone about the job yet.” When Ms. Forest nods her head, he turns to Ciji. “How was the quiz?” he asks, before he notices the sharp shake of my head.
A storm cloud passes over her face. “Fine,” Ciji replies.
Ms. Forest immediately picks up on her monotone. “Sweetie, how about you help me with the lemonade inside?” She pulls Ciji’s arm into hers, steering her away. “I’m not sure if I put enough sugar in it.”
“Sorry,” Wes says, running a jerky hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize. It should have gone great.”
I stare off to where Ciji and Ms. Forest have disappeared into the house, raising my hands bewilderedly. “I don’t know. She came home super upset.”
“We’ll get on top of it before the next one,” Wes promises. “Do you want something to eat?”
On the picnic table are condiments, piles of burgers, bowls of red onions, tomatoes and cucumber. “A burger?” I ask. “I’m not super hungry though.” Despite not having eaten most of the day, my stomach feels full of stress.
“Want something to drink?” he asks.
I nod, realizing I haven’t drunk anything for hours. We walk to a drink dispenser filled with fruit punch and he fills me a glass, passing it to me. I gulp greedily, the sweetness on my tongue refreshing. “I could drink the whole gallon,” I say.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking at me bashfully. “Let me show you something before you fill up here.”
“Okay,” I say, giving the yard a quick scan. Ms. Forest is back out, pouring lemonade and mingling by the back door. Ciji’s propped under the willow tree, talking to a lanky teenage boy about her age with ebony hair.
“Do you know who that is?” I ask.
“I think he’s the son of one of my mom’s co-workers. Everett or something?” Wes says, raising his eyebrows when he sees my expression. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing they can get up to here.”
Mollified, I let him guide me inside. Since I’d last been here, the house has been upgraded. Solid oak floors have replaced the fading carpet, and the kitchen appliances are glistening stainless steel. As we enter the kitchen, the sharp and homey smell of ginger, garlic, coriander and pepper waft over me. A small platter resting on the new ceramic counter is filled with charred meat skewers.
“What’s this?” I ask hoarsely, as I pick one up.
“Mel told me it’s your favourite,” Wes says. “She sent me the recipe.”
I nod swiftly, trying to distract myself from the pressure building up behind my nose. “It is. I haven’t had it in years.”
Not since my dad died. It didn’t feel right to make it myself, to let myself taste relaxation and happiness. That Wes would ask for me, that my sister would remember, makes warmth radiate through my body.
“Shit,” Wes says, wiping a tear off my cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. You’ve seemed so stressed. I thought it would be nice for you to have a taste of home.”
“It is,” I say, inhaling, letting the scent of care seep into me. I then take a bite of the meat. It’s evenly spiced, mouth-wateringly tender. While it doesn’t have the same heavy cinnamon my dad preferred, it’s exactly what I need today. “It’s delicious.”
Wes is rapt as I finish the skewer. “I’m so glad.”
The way he stares at me makes me feel exposed, like the layers of composure I’ve wrapped myself in are coming undone. “You renovated,” I say, gesturing to the kitchen. Somehow, even with a makeover, the place feels lived in, in the best way. The fancy marble countertops sport a ceramic vase with fresh-cut flowers from the garden, a threadbare dishtowel with the embroidered CN Tower hangs from the dish rack—the same one that Wes and I had picked out for his mom during one of his visits to the city.
Wes says, “I wanted my mom to have a home, you know. A place that’s relaxing, not falling apart around her. We got it done, bit by bit, over the last few years.”
“You wanted to support her, even when you were away,” I say. It is so like Wes, to care for everyone’s needs but his own. My heart aches knowing that even after everything, he wants to look after me too. I just wish he’d done a better job back then.
“She didn’t need someone else abandoning her,” he says, eyes flashing. “I wanted her to know that I was thinking of her, doing what I could to help even if I was elsewhere. It felt good being here this summer. Even considering the job in Toronto feels like I’m abandoning her again.”
“You’re not your father, Wes,” I say softly, leaning back against the counter. “Even if you choose to leave for a job, you can always come back. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”
Wes takes a breath. “I want to take the job in Toronto,” he says. “I want to see what I can do, where I can grow in my career. But I can’t be like my dad again. I was so close to losing myself, I’m scared to risk it.”
“The middle ground is hardest to find,” I tell him. “It’s like walking a tightrope. Sometimes you veer too much to the left or to the right. But you were never like your father.”
I instinctively place a hand over his chest. He swallows, heart beating once and then twice, eyes dipping down to where I can feel his breath through the linen.
“And if I’m veering too far left or right, I’ll be able to ask you, won’t I?” The question on his lips alludes to a second one. Will we talk again when we’re back in the city? Will we be friends again? Will we be more?
Ginger and spice in my throat make my voice scratchy when I say, “Of course.”
After I devour another two skewers, Wes suggests we go back out to join the rest of the party. Outside the air is heavy. The humidity makes my vision blurry, the details blinking in and out between flashes of sparkling snow.
When my aura clears, I stiffen as distant figures loitering at the end of the dock transform into people I used to know. Stepping away from Wes, I take in the tall blond woman, her coral modal dress, her sharp cheekbones. Next to her is a man, broad with thick brown hair and the kind of lips you could only describe as decadent.
Jake and Andrea, all grown up. Mel would kill to see them. I would kill to be away from here.
When she spots us, Andrea’s smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes, as if she can hear what I’m thinking. Meanwhile, Jake grins easily, as he wipes his hand on his linen shorts and offers me a handshake. “Long time no see, Lia.”
“It has been,” I say, clasping his hand. Firm, not a second too long, the handshake of the corporate world. “Crazy. How have you both been?”
“Oh, you know. Not too much, just the regular happenings of over a decade.” His laugh is a refreshing drink after a hard day at work.
I find myself relaxing into Jake’s even-keeled voice. Aside from a quiet greeting, Andrea doesn’t say anything, keeping her arms crossed. Her eyes flit up and down me as if she doesn’t know where we stand.
It takes everything in me to not let myself return to the last time we spoke. The day all my nightmares came true. But today is a different day, even if the humid air feels almost as suffocating as it did back then. I do my best to smile at her. She gives me an almost friendly nod, and I tell myself that the past doesn’t matter anymore.
“Can I talk to you?” she murmurs to Wes. He nods, letting her pull him away. I hear her faintly ask, “What is she doing here?”
While they talk, Jake updates me on the time we’ve been apart. Business at Queen’s University and then law school in Vancouver before coming back to practise at a big family law firm in Toronto. When he tells me he doesn’t miss the backbreaking work of summer landscaping, but he does miss the company, I grin.
“Well, I’ve been in Toronto this entire time,” I say. “You didn’t look me up?”
Jake’s gaze shifts to the corner of the dock where Wes and Andrea are murmuring to each other. “I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.”
“Makes sense,” I say, my smile dropping. “So, why family law?”
“I like the complexity,” Jake says, growing brighter as he talks about work. “The thought needed for finalizing agreements, the times where being a good listener and orator can help change a bad situation.”
A heaviness weighs in my chest. It’s what I liked about it too. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t let my family dictate every one of my choices.
“I’m envious,” I admit. “That’s the best part of our work. I wish there was more of it in M&A. Truthfully, I have to say it’s the golden handcuffs holding me to my job.”
Jake laughed. “I mean, I get that. Those are some shiny handcuffs you guys in big law have. But my job does have some perks, if you know what I mean. Lots of ex-wives looking for a no-strings rebound.”
I snorted. “Have you changed at all?”
“I’m a consummate professional,” he says with fake outrage. “Everything is above board until the final line is signed.”
When Wes and Andrea return, Wes’s face is ashen, drawn in a way that tells me he’s troubled. When I look at him, he shakes his head imperceptibly but comes to stand by my side. A statement Andrea doesn’t miss as she steps next to her brother.
“Oh my god, Jake. You’re not talking about work again?” Andrea rolls her eyes. “He loves it so much.”
“My work is awesome, okay. But we can all talk shop when we’re back in Toronto,” Jake says. “Anyway, I’m going to grab a beer.” He strides off the dock.
Andrea frowns at Wes. “You’re not still considering leaving? You said you weren’t going to.”
“I’m still thinking about it. It might be the right choice, though,” Wes says.
“Of course you’re thinking that, now that she’s back,” she volleys, glaring at me. I want to shrink into a corner, but Wes grazes the back of his hand against mine.
“You and Jake are always abandoning me here. Why isn’t home good enough for you?” she asks, her tone breaking sharply. “Why am I not good enough for you?” This is an old grievance that she’s been carrying. Suddenly I am both frozen and hot, here but gone. I take a step away from Wes but he follows me. “I don’t understand. No matter how wrong she is for you, no matter how destroyed you were when she left, you can’t seem to stay away,” Andrea continues.
My eyebrows gather and a chill settles on my skin as I look back and forth between them. Wes was the one who destroyed me .
“Andrea. Cut it out,” Wes says firmly. “We’ve talked about this already.”
They’ve talked about this before. Their relationship got to go on, ticking forward in the way I’d imagined Wes and mine would, unharmed by a demolition bomb.
I pull out my phone to hide the cracking of my composure, only to be greeted by endless notifications from Eleanor. A gusty breeze whips through us, bringing with it a grey cloud that shields the sun, and I shiver.
“It feels like a storm is coming in,” I say.
Andrea starts at my voice as if she’s forgotten I’m here, opening and closing her mouth ineffectually. Finally, she mutters a quick, “Sorry, it’s just a lot.”
“Sure,” I say, the rubber band around my skull tightening. “I need to head back.”
“I’ll come with you.” Wes traipses on the dock behind me as I stride away. “You okay?” he asks as he catches up.
My lips twist in a brittle smile. “You were destroyed?”
A shadow shifts over his eyes, but he doesn’t lie to me. “Of course I was. How could I not be?”
I stop, letting the wind whip through me, the sensation amplifying my anguish. The rain starts in a drizzle, as if to wash his admission away. But nothing can hide the hard planes of his face, the truth on his lips. We both broke something fundamental in each other. But he’s repaired now and I’m still forever carrying the burden of our mistakes. “If you were destroyed, imagine how I felt. My entire world fell apart that summer,” I whisper.
This time, when I walk off the dock, he doesn’t follow me. I squint, the pain in my head weighing my eyelids down. Fuck.
It’s the trifecta for a migraine. Stress, exhaustion and the swift pressure of a summer storm.
I need to tell Ciji I’m leaving. I push through the throng—so many people I don’t know or recognize. It’s clear that I am fully out of Wes’s world and the idea that we could resurrect our friendship was laughable.
Most of the crowd bustles inside as the storm arrives. I find Ciji at the side of the house with the dark-haired boy she was talking to earlier. He’s leaning down, staring intently at her, despite the drizzle becoming droplets. She doesn’t notice me, enraptured in a recipe for teenage heartbreak.
If my head wasn’t pounding, I would lay down some ground rules and embarrass her the way her mother would want me to. Instead, I settle for silently approaching and calling her name as the boy reaches for her shoulder. She jerks back as if she’s been caught red-handed, almost tripping on a tree root. He dips his chin in acknowledgment, backing away without an introduction, and I make note to follow up on him later.
“I’m heading in,” I say. “You can stay for another hour if you like. I have to catch up on work.” The words taste like vomit.
Once Ciji’s composed, the blush and starstruck gaze recede into her usual skeptical look. “You look a little green,” she says.
“It’s the dress,” I lie, turning back towards our cottage. It’s not the dress. It’s everything. Wes, the mishkaki, the conversation on the dock, the past and secrets we keep circling, my inability to keep him out.
Everything is pushing me off the tightrope I’ve carefully learned to manoeuvre, and there is no soft landing waiting for me.
The house is dark and cool when I enter, the heat collected during the day dispersed through the cracked windows. My head is heavy, with a pulsing through my left eye. I should get to my computer, but the idea of sitting in front of the screen is intolerable. Instead, I drag myself upstairs, letting my dress crumple by the side of the bed as I blearily throw on a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt, place my phone on the nightstand and take a second to just sit.
When my phone pings yet again, I scroll through my messages, but the light is blinding so I put it back down. From what I managed to read, the gist is clear. I need to get back to work before it’s too late. I force myself to type: Going to be behind schedule re: a draft, but will have the final by the deadline , and click send.
Hopefully that’ll give me a few hours of leeway. But still, I have to keep going.
When I stand up, the world swivels on its axis and I shake. I place a hand on the bed to steady myself and then hear thunder rumbling outside.
Storms always lay heavily on my head, my chest, but some of that must be Pavlovian after so many years. I tell myself my brain is stronger than my body. It has to be, I decide, as I take a few stumbling steps out of my room only to be rewarded by my vision tunnelling.
I slump down on the coarse rug in the hallway upstairs.