Chapter 44
“I met Evette at freshman orientation.” My dad has a faraway expression, and I can tell he might be in some unreachable place right now.
“I spotted her immediately—not just because we were the only Asian kids there, but because she was so beautiful.” He looks at me then.
“You look so much like her. It’s…” His voice trails off as he glances away and takes a deep breath. “It’s a trip.”
I know I look like my mom and it’s something that I’ve always been grateful for—to have her features live on in me. But now I look at my dad and see some of myself in him, too. And that is a trip, as well.
“I remember what she was wearing that day,” he says with a smile.
“It was the early eighties, you know? Everyone in art school thought they were either a hippie or a punk. I veered toward punk myself. A suburban kid with something to prove. But Eve—she was uniquely herself. She wore this oversized T-shirt that she had hand-painted herself, with little red shorts. It’s really hard to explain.
Her hair was so long—like yours—and wavy and glinted in the sun. It was difficult not to notice her.”
Photos of Mom when she was young are all around my house, so I can picture this outfit exactly. A cold clenching feeling comes over me. I suddenly feel her absence so acutely that it’s hard to breathe normally.
“Anyway, I felt like I was pretty cool, so I swaggered over to her during our lunch break. We were outside and she was fanning herself under a tree with a paper fan she made. It was hot out. So, I brought her a pop from the vending machine. At first, she was friendly and maybe even flirty with me. But when I introduced myself—Matthew Lee—she suddenly turned ice-cold.”
“Because you were her fated,” I said weakly.
He nodded. “And she iced me out for weeks. I had no idea why. I had such a crush on her. I thought, maybe she didn’t want to be hanging out with one of the only other Asian kids in our program.
Or she thought I was too dorky. Not talented enough.
Because Evette was just so cool, man.” For a second, he looks boyish, lost in time.
He leans forward, his hands clasped together, his voice low and urgent.
“But she couldn’t deny our chemistry. And I was persistent.
It would probably be considered a ‘red flag’ on TikTok today.
” I laugh without thinking, and there is a twinkle in his eye in response.
He continues, “So after a few weeks, she gave me a chance.”
“Where was your first date?” The question slips out, I can’t help it. I am sucked into the story, thirsty for every drop of new information about Mom.
He groans a little. “Oh, I was so embarrassing. I was trying to impress her, so I invited her to my…show.”
“Like, an art show?”
“No.” He can’t even look at me. “My…band’s…rock show.”
“Oh. Oh, no.”
We make eye contact for a second and start laughing. It loosens me up. I realize that I’ve been absolutely still—coiled, and tense.
“Yeah. Despite that, she somehow went on a second date with me. And then a third…and, well, we…our feelings got big fast. Soon after that, she told me everything—all about past lives and fateds and all that. And I believed her, because everything was great for a while. We spent four years together at art school—grueling schedules that required so many all-nighters. Being broke and eating saltines and butter for breakfast. You bond with people when your relationship is forged in fire, you know? I thought we could face anything…Then Eve got pregnant. It was earlier than planned, clearly, and we weren’t married so your grandparents were furious.
But once you were born, they were all in. ”
Then comes the pause.
My voice quakes. “But you weren’t.”
His head drops down. “Cassia, I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make up for…
anything.” He finds the courage to look up, and his eyes are red-rimmed.
“But what I can tell you is that I was young and freaked out and didn’t have the tools to become the man I needed to be.
And that when I was gone long enough, I felt like I no longer deserved a place in your life.
Then when Evette died, it just seemed cruel to attempt to take her place. ”
Both of us are crying now.
“I did love you both. I still…I still think about you all the time. Cold comfort, I know. But it’s true. You were never forgotten. And neither is your mother.” He pauses to look at me, his eyes roaming over my face again. “Seeing you is such a gift. It’s like time travel.”
I need to take giant gulps of air to breathe, and he watches me with misery before standing up. A few seconds later, he returns with a box of tissue. I take one and wipe at my eyes. “So, it’s true? You were her fated and despite that, you still left us. Her.”
He nods, suddenly looking all of his sixty-plus years. “Yes.”
“Did being fated mean nothing to you?” I shake my head. “I know the dad aspect freaked you out, but what about the fated part? You knew it was real. You were willing to break up life after life of fated love?”
What he says next is careful, deliberate. “The thing is, Cassia…Fated loves? That’s your family’s religion. It isn’t mine. I just loved your mom. And that love was so intense—I believe that we loved each other in other lives. But in this life, I wasn’t brave enough to stick around.”
The honesty floors me. He’s not trying to make excuses. There’s still so much I want to ask him, but I am completely drained. My eyes feel sticky, my skin dry as a bone, and my brain has left planet Earth. He must see it in my face because he asks, “Did you fly here overnight?”
“Yeah. I slept a little on the plane, but I probably need to find a hotel to crash at for a bit.”
“No, no. Stay. We have a guest room. It’s always ready because Rachel is…She’s like that,” he says with a smile.
“I couldn’t impose,” I say automatically, absolutely mortified at the idea of wearing out my welcome. “I have a rental car and am fine with a hotel.” I’m already up, grabbing my purse.
But he’s up, too, and he looks at me with urgency. “Please, Cassia. I couldn’t…I can’t send you out like this, so upset. I want to know you’re close and safe.”
The sturdiness of that statement throws me off-balance. It’s so dad-like. “Are you sure? What about Rachel…”
“She wants you to stay,” he says. “I’ve already talked to her about it. She’s put out towels and a scented candle by now.”
I laugh, a kind of laugh that comes from delirium and a softening of resolve. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
The happiness in his eyes feels like a gift.
—
Rachel does indeed have the guest room ready for me.
The spare but cozy room has a small bedside sconce with an adorable gingham-patterned pleated lampshade.
The comforter is fluffy and white and there is an abundance of pillows on the bed.
A set of plush sunny-yellow towels are set on the end of the bed.
There’s even a bud vase with a single daisy in it on the nightstand.
It’s complicated to think of my dad’s new wife taking care of me.
After a quick routine in the adjoining bathroom I fall into bed like dead weight.
My phone has been on Do Not Disturb and I finally look at it.
Unsurprisingly, I have a slew of missed texts and calls from my family.
A conspicuous lack of any from Daniel. I put my phone face down on the nightstand, plug it in.
These are all tomorrow problems.
When I wake up, I am completely disoriented. Sunlight is streaming in through the shades, and I feel like I’ve slept one hundred years. I look at the time—it’s five p.m. Holy crap.
After I put myself together, I head downstairs. It’s quiet and I wonder if Matthew and Rachel are home. It’s Tuesday, they might be at work. But when I step into the kitchen, I see a woman sitting at the kitchen table, on her laptop. She doesn’t notice me right away, so I clear my throat. “Hi.”
Her eyes fly up to me. “Oh, hi!” The woman, who I’m assuming is Rachel, is around my dad’s age.
And whoever I imagined set up my cozy guest room is not this woman.
She’s got a graphic tattoo on her right bicep and bone structure that would make a sculptor cry, dark brown skin, and a bleached-blond pixie cut.
In other words: She looks way too cool to be married to my dad. She gets up quickly, wearing a vintage Stones tee over black jeans. “You must be Cassia. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Rachel.” She is warm and comfortable with me, but keeps her distance, a little indication of good boundaries.
“Hi, Rachel, thanks so much for letting me crash upstairs. I’ll be out of your hair soon,” I say, rubbing my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans.
She shakes her head. “Not at all, please stay as long as you’d like. Matt—he’d love that.”
“Is he around?”
“He’s just on his way back from the pizza place—he went out to grab some dinner for us.” She walks over to the fridge. “Would you like a drink? Water or wine? Beer?”
“I’ll take a glass of wine, thanks,” I say, still hovering in the doorway, really needing that drink.
“Please sit,” she says. “Red or white?”
“Red, please.” I take a seat at the round wood table set into a nook in the sunny kitchen. I look around and notice more photographs—cityscapes and portraits of people. “Are you the photographer?” I ask in an attempt at polite conversation.
Rummaging in a cupboard, Rachel says, “Oh, no. That’s Matt.
You didn’t know…?” But the question trails off as she realizes that Matthew and I don’t know each other at all.
She’s spared more awkwardness because he comes in through a back door then.
He’s carrying a pizza box and my mouth literally waters at the scent of cheese and meat.
He looks between Rachel and me with a small smile.
“Sorry I wasn’t here to introduce you,” he says to me, placing the box on the counter.
“It’s fine, we’re adults,” I say more sharply than I intend.
Rachel slides a glance at Matthew before handing me my glass of wine.
I thank her and she smiles at me, squeezes Matthew’s arm, and ducks out into the backyard.
Through the window, I can see her walk across their lawn to a large shed out back.
“It’s her studio,” Matthew says, answering my question for me. “Rachel’s an artist.”
“Like you,” I say. “She told me these photos are yours.”
He nods. “Yup. That’s what I studied in art school. I teach it now at the local community college.”
“They’re good,” I say in a voice that’s more matter-of-fact than complimentary.
“Thanks.” He moves the pizza onto the table and sits down across from me. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Like the dead.” I reach for the box, feral with hunger. He gets up quickly and grabs a couple plates and napkins to bring back to the table. We sit and eat for a bit before he asks, “You’re not married yet, right?”
This question is startling. “No, I’m not.”
“Have you found your fated?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “Is that why Sunny told you about me?”
“I’m not married,” I say. “But I did meet my fated. I knew about him for ten years, but I only just found him a couple months ago. His name is Daniel.”
Matthew smiles slightly. “Daniel. Is he…a good guy?” He’s testing out his dad reach here, I can tell.
“He’s a great guy,” I say.
“But?” he asks, gentle.
“He doesn’t know if he wants to have kids.”
“Ah,” he says softly, his eyes dropping. “That old story.” I know he’s thinking about himself.
“When Sunny found out, she felt like she owed it to Mom to tell me the truth about you guys,” I say, emotions bubbling to the surface again. “She’s been feeling guilty, and she thinks that I shouldn’t be with Daniel if I don’t want to be.”
Matthew’s quiet, eyes still on the floor, looking at his striped rug. “And do you? Want to be with him?”
My eyes fill up with tears. “I don’t know. I thought I did. Everything I’ve done…my entire life—it’s been circling around this one promise. That I would end up with the love of my life. But look at what happened with Mom? The saddest fucking ending to the saddest fucking love story.”
I hear him get up and suddenly I’m being engulfed in his arms. I want to push him away, but I don’t. I sob into his shirt, and over and over he says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I imagine this is what having a dad is like and it makes me cry harder.
“I don’t want to make the same mistake,” I whisper into his shirt.
“Oh, Cassia,” he says sadly. “Your mom didn’t make a mistake—I made the mistake. I left. I got scared. But your mom? She got you. The best ending.”
I don’t forgive him. But I let myself be comforted by him this one time. Once I stop crying, he hands me some tissues.
There’s a part of me that wants to lash out at him like a petulant teenager, to rage at him and defend my family business—our entire belief system. But other than Mar, there’s no one outside my family I can talk to about this. Freely and without any emotional ties to my family’s feelings.
And here’s my long-lost dad, who knows all about it.
“Things with Daniel are good. But.”
He waits for me to finish patiently. I appreciate it. “They’re good. But…not only did the whole baby thing throw me, but…there’s also someone else.”
I wait for shame to flood me, but I’m sitting here with someone who will never have any moral high ground over me. There’s something freeing about it. He nods and keeps his expression neutral, teetering on sympathetic.
“I am finding myself…questioning things. Nervous. It’s the first time since Mom died, where I feel like…my world has destabilized. I’ve always had this one thing, you know? This knowledge about my future, who I would end up with. Who I would be happy forever with.”
The “forever” hangs between us. He was supposed to be forever.
“And what would happen if you didn’t end up with Daniel?” he asks. And there, I see it, another flash of what he would have been like as a dad helping me through something. Homework. Friend drama. A broken heart. I wonder why he never had kids after me.
“I have no fucking idea what would happen,” I say with a broken laugh. “That’s the problem.”
For the first time, he allows himself a real smile with me. “Or maybe that’s the adventure.”