Chapter 30
THIRTY
KAIRI
“Is that the best female surfer in the whole continent?” My dad’s loud voice booms as he opens his front door and greets me with a hug.
He’s dressed in dark shorts and a white T-shirt, his hair pulled back into a ponytail
“You mean the best female surfer in the whole world,” my mother corrects, coming in for a hug of her own just as I release him.
“Happy Birthday, Mom,” I say, giving her an extra hard hug before pulling back.
Her long blonde hair is tied back in a half-up-half-down style, and she’s wearing a beautiful royal blue maxi dress that adds to her whimsical look.
“You look stunning as ever,” I say, looping my arm through hers.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she says, patting my hand. “I can’t believe I’m turning twenty-nine again.”
My dad snorts and leads us inside the house. “You’ve been celebrating your twenty-ninth birthday for almost twenty years now,” he points out. “What’s there not to believe?”
“Hush, you,” she says, but her tone is light. “You should be glad I’m not shrivelling up right before your eyes yet.”
My dad walks over, placing his hands on her hips and looking her in the eye with a gentle smile.
“Even if you shrivelled up into a little old old lady, lost all your teeth, and your hair fell out, I would just close my eyes and continue loving you, my darling.”
My jaw drops open and I can’t hold back the cackle that escapes from my lips. My mother joins in shortly after and my dad looks between us with so much pride it makes me laugh even harder.
“I’ve missed you guys,” I say, wiping at my happy tears.
“You should visit more,” my mom says, giving my hand a squeeze. “We talk about you every day.”
“I’m sorry we missed your first competition of the season,” My dad adds. “Your mother wasn’t feeling too well.”
I glance at her, my brow furrowing. “You’re okay though, right?” I ask.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says, waving me off. “It was a stomach bug.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Okay good.”
They walk me over to the kitchen where a homemade pie sits in the centre of the island.
I take a seat, looking around at the familiar Scandinavian way my mother likes to decorate her spaces.
Everything in this home is functional while remaining clutter-free, making each room appear so much larger than they truly are.
I could never pull off something like this if I had my own house.
Every piece of furniture is handcrafted and imported straight from the Swedish town she grew up in.
Decorating this place has been a way to keep a piece of her old life, in all its calming simplicity, despite the chaos that comes with having a pro surfer husband and now daughter.
“How was the competition?” my dad asks. “I was planning to watch the recording tonight, but I saw your team came in first. Congratulations.”
I smile, but I can tell it doesn’t meet my eyes just from one look at my parents. Both of their smiles drop as they look at me, and when they look at each other with concern.
“Did something happen?” My mother asks in a gentle voice, rubbing calming circles along my back.
“You can tell us,” my father reassures me.
I take a deep shaky breath and tell them all about Stephen Kozak and how he scored me, and I also tell them about being called a mixed-bread by someone on The Rip Raiders.
Both of them look so upset by the end of it, I’m almost positive my mom is going to burst into tears, while my dad looks like he wants to punch something.
“I’m glad your coach is doing what he needs to do to get that judge fired,” My dad says. “But I hope he addresses that boy from the other surf team for his racist remark.”
I nod. “He said he would.”
“It must have hurt to have him call you that,” my mother says, pulling me in for another hug. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with that.”
“It’s oka—”
“It’s not,” my father interrupts. “I fear I have not done a good job preparing you for the kind of favouritism, and racism you will experience—not just in the competitive world, but also in real life.”
My mother squeezes my shoulders in comforting reassurance before she walks off to grab us each a plate of her birthday pie.
“You are mixed, that is true, but to be called a mixed-breed, or to refer to yourself as one, is bad on many levels, my daughter.”
“I know,” I murmur, watching as my mother cuts the pie. “I just wish I wasn’t getting so much hatred from both sides, it’s so confusing…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be anymore.”
My dad sighs, pulling me into one of his famous bear hugs. “You are you—a perfect mix of your mother and me, created out of our love for each other,” he says. “You do not need a label to tell you who you are, or where you belong in this world, my sweet girl.”
And that’s all it takes for my tears to start flowing. Somehow, my dad always knows the right things to say when I’m in need of self-affirmations. He holds me tight as I break down in his arms, and within seconds my mom joins the hug, crying alongside me.
What a blessing it is to have parents who feel not only the joyful moments with me, but the painful ones too.
“You guys are the best parents on this planet” I say between sobs. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Oh, my sweet girl.” My mother sniffles as she strokes my hair. “You deserve more.”
We hug for a long while, until the sobs stop wracking my body, and our stomachs begin to growl.
“I think that means it’s time for pie,” my mother says, kissing the side of my head before she retrieves our pie plates and hands one to each of us. “It’s called rabarberpaj in Swedish.”
“What does that mean?” I ask as I cut into a piece with my fork.
“Rhubarb Pie,” she says. “I used to eat this so much when I was pregnant with you, my doctor would get so mad when he’d see my blood sugar levels.”
“It’s true,” my dad says, already halfway through his pie. “But your mom never listened to what they said when it came to this pie. It was non-negotiable.”
I giggle as I take my first bite. “Wow, that tastes so sweet!”
She brightens instantly. “A sweet pie, for my sweet girl,” she says, putting her plate on the counter and turning to face me. “Now, tell me, who is this guy you mentioned defending you at the competition?”
My face flushes and I turn away trying to hide it.
“Ah, ah.” she says, grabbing onto my arm and turning me back to face her. “I know that look better than anyone. You have feelings for him.”
I let out a defeated sigh and sit down on a nearby stool, placing my pie plate next to hers.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He’s my friend—one of my best friends—it feels wrong to want him.”
My dad walks away, muttering something about not wanting to hear about his little girl and boys, leaving me and my mom alone to talk about Colton. She takes a seat in the stool next to me and takes my hand, rubbing soothing shapes with her thumb.
“Does he have feelings for you?”
I nod. “He told me he loves me,” I whisper.
“Oh, ?lskling,” she says, using the Swedish word for darling. “I think you know deep down how you feel about him, you just need to find the strength inside to tell him.”
“I think you’re right,” I say, playing with my fingers. “But what if it doesn’t work out?”
She smiles knowingly. “I had the same fear when I first started falling for your father.”
My brows jump up in surprise. “You did?”
“Mhm,” she nods. “But I remember thinking to myself, ‘Maja, what if being afraid to tell him how you feel is what stops you from living your dream life?’,” she says. “So the very next day, I marched up to him and told him how I feel.”
“And what did he say?”
She smiles to herself as she recalls the memory. “He said he already knew, and that he loved me too. He’d been waiting for me to work up the courage to admit it to myself and to him.”
I take a deep sigh. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll lose him, and not just as a boyfriend but also as my best friend.”
She nods. “That’s true, but think of all the things you could gain if it does work out,” she replies. “Isn’t it worth the risk?”
And for the first time since realizing I’d quickly fallen in love with Colton Harrison, I finally feel brave enough to tell him.