Chapter 50
The fallout from the fire keeps me blessedly preoccupied for the next couple weeks.
Calls with our insurance company. Rescheduling everything from the days we closed.
Researching contractors with Marcella’s help—she does not recommend her own—and stress breathing into a paper bag when the first estimates come in.
We set up a remote-working situation for everyone and fumble through our first few Zoom meetings.
We hold readings in Halmoni’s home office, and we slowly get back on our feet as we wait for the insurance company to approve our rebuilding costs.
It takes all I have to keep it together during the day.
The nights, however, are given over to despair.
Lots of Elliott Smith on my record player while drinking wine and scrolling through Ellis’s Instagram.
Betty even feels bad for me—she stops biting me when I feed her and has gotten into the habit of perching on the back of the sofa while I camp out there evenings and weekends, the Park women under strict instructions to give me space.
After about a month of nonstop work and evenings ruminating on my mistakes, Mar convinces me to go on her family summer trip to Catalina Island in late August.
“Being forced to hang out with kids on a vacation is the best distraction,” Mar says on the beach as she slathers Mica with sunblock as thick as frosting. “There is no relaxing, no time for your brain to obsess. You are, instead, in a tornado of chaos.”
Mica kicks sand into my face as he runs off down to the water. I spit it out and can’t help laughing. “I hate you.”
“I love you,” Mar says matter-of-factly.
We spend the next few days getting sunburned, eating copious amounts of ice cream, and spending evenings playing Go Fish by the bonfire. All of it reminds me of Ellis for no reason.
But then, on our last morning there, it’s raining and we stand together on the hotel wraparound porch, staring at the downpour.
“This is so weird,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time it rained in the summer.”
“It’s what I miss most about Minnesota,” says Logan fondly. “Thunderstorms and rain to cleanse the stifling hot summer days.”
“Remember when we used to streak through the quad?” Mar says with a grin.
“What’s streak?” ask both kids simultaneously.
Before anyone can answer, I tag them and yell, “You’re it!” Then I bolt out into the rain, running through the meadow. I feel the water wash over me like a new beginning.
—
After coming back from Catalina, I start to spend some of my evenings at Halmoni’s or bringing dinner to Marcella at her new restaurant, where she has declared she may have to live until it actually opens in a month.
And my playlists no longer exclusively make me want to weep.
A couple weeks later it’s Saturday and I hop on my bike for the first time since the fire.
But when I’m almost to the coffee shop, I decide to take a detour.
I pass by the spot where Ellis and I met and feel a familiar pang in my ribs.
Rolling down a concrete culvert on a bike as my meet-cute should’ve been a more obvious foreshadowing.
When I near the gates that lead to the park, I slow down. I hop off my bike and lock it against the fence.
Even though it’s a little uncomfortably warm out, the park is full of people.
I see two teens reading a pile of manga on a bench.
A couple walking together, holding hands, deep in animated conversation.
Three older Asian men walk by briskly holding hiking poles, decked out head to toe in North Face.
Kids running through the meadow, dogs happily sniffing blooming sage blossoms with butterflies flying overhead.
I take a picture and type a text to Daniel. Your legacy, bro. I don’t send it, but maybe someday. I like to think we’ll get there.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and head to my bike. With Mar out of commission getting ready for her opening, I decide to ride by myself that day. And I go where the wind takes me.
—
“I swear my stapler was moved,” I hear Lila say with a suspicious sniff.
“Everything was moved,” Shreya says as she places a potted plant on her desk. “Can you please help Matteo grab the files?”
The office is open again, after the most blessedly hiccup-free renovation ever experienced in L.A.
I’ve been plying Marcella with wine and time in Halmoni’s massage chair to assuage my guilt.
It’s well into September, but summer shows no signs of slowing down.
But we’re finally settled in and the AC is blasting.
We all head upstairs together, passing by the newly constructed reading room and conference room.
At my insistence, we’ve made necessary technical and design updates.
No more stuffy floral patterns and heavy furniture—instead everything is furnished in blond wood with pops of warm colors. More rugs, less carpet.
It’s a makeover signaling a shift into the future. A future that will always include fated loves, because that is still real. I may have chosen another path, but this is a path that will work for clients the same way it has worked for hundreds of years. In the end, I guess I am still a believer.
Halmoni’s office has also been updated. If mostly because, well, it’s my office now. My desk sits in the middle of the spacious room, with two overstuffed and bright chairs placed in front of it. The big window behind my desk looks over the newly landscaped garden—beautiful and meadow-like.
“Ready?” Halmoni asks as she sets her purse on the desk. Everyone nods.
We stand in front of the refurbished apothecary cabinet tucked into the corner of the office.
It’s still damaged, but Halabuji managed to put it back together so that the drawers are all intact and working.
He spent weeks meticulously replacing wood, sanding and staining it so that the damage was fairly well hidden.
We all step back and look at Halabuji’s handiwork and then at the office. The shift in the air, the next chapter of our agency—it is all palpable.
“Ready to fuck some shit up?” I say.
“Oh my god,” Emoni says with a headshake. Halmoni smacks my arm while Sunny cackles. Forty or not, I’ll always relish playing the brat of the family. I am my mother’s daughter, after all.
We call Matteo, Lila, and Shreya into the conference room.
Halmoni takes the seat at the head of the table and I sit on the other end, which has been left empty for me.
“We’re so happy to finally have the office back,” Halmoni says. “Thank you all for being so patient.”
Then Halmoni makes eye contact with me over the table. “And now that the office has been renovated, we also have a few changes we’d like to introduce.”
Curious looks are exchanged by everyone. Halmoni says, “This new office is a new beginning. As of today, I’ll be stepping down as president of One & Only, and Cassia will be taking my place. Emoni has also decided to retire.” Emoni smiles at us all.
Shreya gasps and even though I knew it was coming, hearing the words sends a thrill through me. Everyone starts talking at once and Halmoni shushes them with one stern look. “It’s been a long time coming. But it’s clear that Cassia is ready. You’re all in the best hands. And, Shreya?”
Shreya straightens, looking dazed. “Yes?”
“You’ll be the new director of operations. Sunny will stay in her role, but my sister and I will be leaving the rest up to you.”
Shreya’s mouth drops and I reach over to squeeze her hand. “You will be amazing.”
“I’m proud of everything we’ve done together,” Halmoni says, her voice perilously close to cracking. Lila and Matteo clutch each other. Seeing Halmoni cry would turn them into dust, I think. “I want to thank you all for being integral to One & Only’s success. We couldn’t do it without you.”
Before we can all burst into tears, Emoni and Halmoni stand up and give everyone hugs and goodbyes. “We still have to do casino night,” Emoni says to Matteo.
“If I hear any of you treat Cassia differently from me, I will ruin your life,” Halmoni says as her last words.
And then I’m left with a room full of staring employees.
I tell them to get back to work and we’ll have time to adjust to everything soon enough.
It’s a lot to take in—this level of responsibility.
I sit by myself in the conference room and feel the weight settle on my shoulders as I stare out the window overlooking the courtyard.
When we rebuilt the second story, Sunny and Emoni petitioned to also rehab the landscaping.
Thanks to them it’s been transformed into a tranquil space with blooming pale-barked palo verde trees and blue-green grasses lying low to the ground.
A water feature has been added, a little babbling creek running alongside the picnic table and benches set up there.
I go outside and sit down on one of the bright-yellow benches, its metal back rounded gracefully. It’s insanely comfortable and I find myself lying down on it, stretched out with my sandal-clad feet hanging off the end.
I gaze up at the fluttering desert willow leaves where sunlight filters through. The sky is that hazy powder blue specific to late summer in Los Angeles.
Something glimmers in the corner of my eye under the tree.
I walk over to it and find a small stone statue of a bird sitting in front of a low bush of yellow flowers, Feathery Cassia, almost obscured by the happy blooms. Not just any bird.
Betty. The combination of both these things makes my eyes water.
And I know it even before I see the words written under Betty’s little figure.
In Memory of Evette Park