CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
For the first time, we’re not spit out into a broom closet or abandoned room or any other manner of isolated space.
Valentin and I step out hand-in-hand into what has to be her bedroom.
I’ve only known her for a few months, but I can see this place has her all over it.
Clean white walls, cream linens, plants in every spare corner, a bookshelf overflowing with novels boasting foiled covers and sprayed edges.
Despite the window to her room being closed, we’re greeted with the noise of flowing traffic and other sounds of a city waking up.
“That no one’s realized?” I ask. “Sure, the fair is in another dimension. It’s possible that no time has passed here at all.”
Relief floods her face, before being replaced by set determination. “I’m going to call out sick today.”
I sit down on the edge of her bed. The smell of the flowers growing right outside her sill is intoxicating.
The sight of the Ferry Building in the foreground of the Bay Bridge a revelation, and I’m consumed by it, the realization that I’m here; I’m back where it all started, not in the same time, but at least the same place.
It took one step, like I was always just next door, and simply had to knock to be invited inside.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell her, my own voice sounding distant.
She gives me a funny look, all while typing away furiously on her screen. “Are you insane?” She swipes on something and holds her phone to her ear. “We’ve got some calls to make.”
The timeline around my hand has left a deep red line, like a knife cut through my palm.
The blue is quickly fading to silver, and I know I should let it go.
But it stays wound there as Valentin fusses over me, muttering something about shock as she brews me a cup of tea and sets me outside on her quaint balcony, overlooking the pier.
The city is vibrant, alive; there are so many stories playing out down there.
A man walks down the street holding a bouquet of flowers.
An hour later, a child is in the same place, studying something on the pavement that flashes seductively, before their mother pulls them up by the arm and scurries away.
There are families, and businesspeople, and dogwalkers, and cars.
On several occasions, I look over my shoulder expecting to see Beam there, but it’s empty space.
“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Valentin says, appearing behind me.
“They?” I ask, for an instant, expecting the ghosts to drift through the walls.
She smiles. “Who do you think?”
I knew they were coming, but nothing could have prepared me for when Novalie walks through the door with my mother on her arm.
“Ryka,” Ma says, gasping as I rush into her arms.
We’re tears and exclamations, Novalie, my mom, and me.
And it’s as though I haven’t lived hundreds of years longer than them, that we’re still two kids hugging my mom after watching a terrifying movie on a weeknight.
But my mom is so frail, thin skin stretched across bone.
And Nova…she’s got greys in her hair and wrinkles exactly where I’d expect, permanent markers of her contagious laughter.
They’re touching my face, my arms, and I’m reaching out to them in turn, desperate to hold them, unable to believe that what I’ve dreamed of is in front of me.
It’s so hard to cling to the present as it passes by, but I’ve never been more here.
“Val gave me a quick summary on the phone,” Novalie says. “I couldn’t even believe it – I still don’t understand. She said it’s your story to tell but that I had to bring aunty.”
“That was quick,” I laugh.
“We would both drop everything to see you, Ryka,” Novalie says. “It wasn’t quick enough.”
My smile falters. Valentin steps in, placing a hand on my back. “Let’s sit down; we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
One would easily be able to tell that we grew up in a household of fairy tales because neither Ma nor Nova bat an eye as Val and I tell them about what’s passed.
Maybe it’s something about having a daughter and a best friend vanish from a hospital in the middle of the night that opens your mind up to the impossible.
They listen intently, leaning forward, awed at the descriptions of the carousel, the eclipse, the ghosts.
I let Val talk about Everest and Calliope, falling silent as Nova peppers her daughter with questions about the time gods.
The initial presence I felt upon their arrival fades through this conversation.
The string wrapped around my hand pulses, and I become unmoored, restless, caged in by the concrete walls and aching for the clear night sky.
And the pain…the pain in my body throbs with each passing mention of the fair.
When Nova plays with the tassel of her tie-dye dress, I expect Geneva to ask the fair for a replica.
As Val brings us a new beverage, I wait for Keshav to request his tea, annoyed that he can’t brew it to his taste.
And whenever someone laughs, I feel cold, because when I search the room, I don’t see Everest and his sunshine smile.
Ma watches me carefully, as though she can sense the deep sadness eating me up inside, and I desperately try to relieve myself of this desolate spirit that’s got me by the throat.
“You really did end up there,” Novalie says, squeezing my hand. “I always knew you did.”
“That’s true,” Ma says, smiling at her fondly.
“Even when I filed that missing person’s report, and she helped look for you.
She told me you were okay, that it was the only reason she was alive.
It took a while to get there, but I had to believe her in the end.
It’s the only way I could imagine going on. ”
“I’m so sorry, Ma,” I say. “I’m sorry for all the pain it’s caused. I wish I’d left behind a message or something. You didn’t deserve not knowing. And Baba…”
“It’s okay,” Ma says, rubbing my hand.
“It’s not,” I say. “I left you all alone.”
Ma looks surprised. “I haven’t been alone, Ryka. Not at all. Yes, it’s hard without your father, but I’ve adjusted. Nova here comes by every week, and the neighbors and I still have tambola nights.”
“Val takes her to all her medical appointments at UCSF,” Nova adds. “We would never let her be alone.”
Relief washes through me, but it’s still tinged with something bitter. “But I should have been the one here taking care of you.”
“Your father and I did not have you to be our caretaker, Ryka,” Ma says, smiling sadly. “We raised you to be a strong woman who lives her life on her own terms. Even if that took you away from us. We lived our lives in the way that suited us best, and we’ve built our support system along the way.”
She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, the way she used to when I was young.
Ma is fighting back tears despite her wobbly smile.
“You are exactly who we hoped you would be. And it puts much of me at ease now, hearing about your life. What I think doesn’t matter, though; did you enjoy your time there? Did they take care of you?”
“They did,” I tell her through a small laugh, overwhelmed by a surge of adoration for the people who made sure I was more than okay when I was at my lowest. The family that loved me when I least deserved it, through every poor decision.
“And I did have fun, some of the best times of my life. I’ve collected so much research on time and dimensions – I even applied our surgical techniques on the carousel. ”
Nova guffaws. “Did you try training the ghosts, as well?”
“You can’t train them to do anything,” I assure her.
“But I missed this place. I kept wondering what it would be like to be here…” I trail off, trying to find the words for how I’m feeling.
It’s surreal, sitting here in front of them, like they are phantoms instead of people.
The same otherworldly haze persists around me.
Nothing feels tangible or solid, and a part of my mind keeps untethering from my body no matter how hard I try to be present.
I keep expecting to see a ghost emerge from the lower levels or to hear Everest calling my name.
I wrangle back an unexpected sob. “I never knew if I was in the right place.”
Ma and Nova are looking at me with indiscernible expressions.
Ma says, “Most people are lucky enough to find one life where they’re loved, Ryka.
With your heart and soul, it doesn’t surprise me that you have found another.
It’s hard for all of us to have to share you – but that doesn’t mean you have to tear yourself apart.
It’s a unique kind of pain to love and know that you will never have enough time with that love.
But you are enough. We love you when you’re here, and when you’re not. ”
My throat constricts, and I know if I try to speak, I’ll emit an ungodly sound that’ll puncture this moment. Instead I nod, then rub Nova’s knee. “Tell me everything about you.”
We spend a few more hours catching up, all while the afternoon fades to early evening, painting the skies pink and purple.
I learn about Nova’s granddaughter, Esther, Ma’s burgeoning friendship with the building’s gardener, the latest gossip at the hospital.
Ma’s lungs start acting up, so she goes to lie down in Val’s bedroom for a while, leaving me outside with Nova.
Val pours us each a glass of wine before leaving to call her wife, who is out of town with Esther.
It should be divine, being here with the people I’ve waited forever to see again, but it’s claustrophobic.