Her Perfect Storm

by A. M. Kusi

  “What do you like about teaching?” she asked, focusing back on the painting.

  “I love seeing the kids come alive when they finally understand something. I get kids from all walks of life, with different skill sets, and my challenge is to find a way to help them all understand the same thing. I feel like I am making a difference when I can get the unruliest, zoned-out kid to just engage. I keep a grading system for the school, but the kids get their papers back with positive feedback and critiques, nothing else. I worked with the school board to give them options for evaluating and reporting the students.” Ethan leaned forward in his seat. “I never tested well as a child. And some of my kids know the facts, but when it comes to tests, they blank.” She was smiling at him. “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just listening. Go on,” she said.

  “I give them choices; they can do an open-book test in the room, a hands-on model to show me they get it, or an oral presentation to just me, rather than in front of the whole class.”

  “You really care about your students, huh?” she asked.

  “Of course I do. Teenagers make decisions that can affect their entire lives. I want to do my part and help them take advantage of what this country offers them.”

  “Aren’t you missing the first two weeks of school to be here?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but when your best friend decides to get married, you gotta put everything on hold. I have my class covered until I get back.”

  She nodded. “Friends and family do seem to be important to you. What was your life like in Ghana before you came here?”

  “It wasn’t bad. We always had food on the table, clothes, and a place to sleep. We just didn’t have money for anything else.” He paused. Those days had been so far from what life was like now. “My father won the Green Card Lottery to come here when I was in high school, and we got to join him.”

  “The lottery?” Isa asked.

  “It’s a pool you enter, and every year they draw a certain number of visas to be approved, allowing immigration to the United States. You go through an application process, thorough background check, and only a handful of people ever get in. We were lucky.”

  “I never knew about that. So, what happened next? Coming to a foreign country as a teenager must have been a culture shock.”

  “Yup. My accent was much heavier then, so that took some adjusting.” He smiled, remembering the first day he’d met his friends. Life in a foreign country with people speaking a different language was a huge adjustment. Throw in the culture of an American high school and he’d quickly learned just how contrasting his life here would be. The first two lessons he’d learned rather quickly were that American women didn’t like to be told they had gained weight—a compliment in his culture—and when someone called him “silly” they didn’t mean it as the highly offensive insult it was in Ghana.

  “I met Jax and River in high school on the soccer team. Finding them as friends made my transition easier,” he answered.

  “What about your parents? What do they do?”

  “My mom is a professor and my father an accountant.”

  “So, you take after your mother?” She smiled.

  “I guess,” he said, thinking back to the dark shadow that hovered over their first few years in the States. He frowned, crossing his arms and taking a deep breath.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, jarring him back to the present.

  “Just remembering.”

  “Now who is giving vague answers?” she teased.

  He smiled. “My father has his PhD. He went to work for a big company when we got here as a CFO. My mom worked as a secretary for the main guy there. Things seemed great for a while. My parents were able to buy a house, and both got cars. I could go to soccer camp, and my sister got to take some music classes that she wanted—things we never would have been able to afford before.”

  He cleared his throat and took a moment to settle the anger that still burned his gut at the memories. “My mother was asked to stay later and later, which was fine. She was getting paid overtime. I remember hearing my parents arguing over it though, which was unlike them. My parents almost never fought.”

  “Did she have an affair?” Isa asked.

  Ethan was shocked at her question. His anger rose. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed. I have a father who likes to stay late and go on business trips frequently without my mother. He always comes home with someone else’s perfume on his clothes,” she explained, not meeting his gaze.

  Her confession explained so much about her hesitation to trust in monogamy. Anger sloshed, coating his insides, at the example her father had left for her. The very man who was supposed to protect his child and lead by example. Of course she’d assumed the worst of his mother. That was her defense mechanism. He was beginning to see the fortress around her phobia of commitment crack. Isa had just shared something painful to him in confidence.

  “I’m sorry. I get kind of overprotective of the people I love.”

  She didn’t smile. Instead, she blinked a few times as her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Anger roiled again at the thought that he had hurt her. Ethan stood and went to her, his hands itching to hold her. She didn’t turn around.

  The brown face looked back at him from the canvas with strong cheekbones and fierce black eyes that seemed to penetrate his soul. It was his face with blue lines alternating over the picture, creating an ethereal effect. She made him appear like a warrior.

  Is this how she sees me?

  He placed his hand on her waist. Stepping closer so that only an inch separated them, he felt her tense. Could she hear his thundering heartbeat? The familiar sparks of their connection nearly brought him to his knees. He rested his head on her shoulder next to her ear and whispered, “I’m sorry,” feeling the goose bumps on her arms erupt as soon as he breathed the words. The sweet smell of peonies took over his senses, conflicting with the hot, sensual urges that racked his body from her closeness.

  “I forget that not everyone’s family is as fucked up as mine. I’m the one who’s sorry.” She trembled and took a step forward, out of his reach, still not turning to face him.

  He wanted to know what she meant. He wanted to know all the ways in which she had been hurt so that he could kiss her scars. That urge to protect her reared its head again, begging for the names of anyone who would dare tarnish this mystical creature.

  Chapter 8

  “What happened next?” Isa did what he had become accustomed to in their short acquaintance, and drove the conversation back to him.

  “Some time passed and I walked in on a shouting match. Next thing I know, I hear my father screaming about killing his boss. Apparently their employer thought he could demand my mother perform other types of services for him. He told her, if she refused, he would fire her and my father, and make sure he never worked again in the state.” He fisted his hands by his sides. His body tensed at the recollection. He had felt powerless at the time to protect his mother and give her the retribution she deserved.

  “What did your mother do?” Isa asked tentatively.

  “She told him that if he thought he could manipulate her because she was a dumb immigrant, he had another thing coming.”

  “What happened?” she asked, finally turning to him.

  “They were fired. My father was blacklisted. He had to become an accountant—well, a CPA. My mother went to college and became a professor. We lost the house and the cars. Mom and Dad stayed in the city because they knew I had made friends and was doing well. They sacrificed so much for me. It took several years, but they are doing well now.”

  “I’m glad to hear they are better.” She smiled, making something flutter in his belly. A moment passed as they looked into each other’s eyes. He searched for the source of the thread that wound its
elf around them, pulling and tangling with electric moments and unspoken wants. She shifted uncomfortably, fear flashing in her eyes, breaking the spell.

  He motioned to the painting behind her. “That might be the most beautiful piece of art I have ever seen. And it may be because my face is on it.” He laughed, lightening the mood.

  “Well, it could be better. It’s silly, I know.”

  “Ahh, a perfectionist,” he said, with more realization.

  “I’d say I’m a realist.”

  “How much?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she said, sarcastically.

  “I’m not,” he defended. Why would she think that? Why was giving this woman a compliment, or showing interest in her, the surest way to piss her off? His anger and frustration swelled once more.

  She took a deep breath, and something crossed her face. Was that . . . vulnerability?

  “I, uh, was going to give it to you as a gift,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s a gift.”

  ***

  “Oh. Thank you,” he said, appearing embarrassed. “I’m volunteering to be your muse anytime.” He winked at her. “Why don’t you sell your paintings?”

  “I just don’t think they are good enough for someone to pay money for them. I see what I can do to improve on every single one. I also put so much emotion into each piece that it feels like it is a part of me that I would be putting out there for all to see and criticize. I don’t think I could handle that.”

  “So, what you’re really saying is, you’re not good enough,” he said bluntly.

  She sucked in a quick breath, his words an arrow shot through her chest. How did he do that? He saw through all the facade. He saw her. Her throat felt thick, and her legs wobbly.

  “Maybe I’m not,” she admitted, almost in a whisper. She had never been this vulnerable with a man before and she should have been terrified, but she wasn’t. That meant something.

  He bit his bottom lip and she remembered what that mouth had felt like on hers. As he leaned his head towards her, her eyes widened and her breath hitched. He was going to kiss her and no one else was around. That would be breaking the rules. It would mean he wasn’t pretending anymore.

  He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and she could feel her body leaning into him. His smell permeated the air: soap and pine. He hesitated, considering her. Something new flashed in his eyes as he stared back at her. Compassion? He tugged on something in her hair and he pulled the used paintbrush from where she had forgotten it in her messy bun as he stepped away.

  He wasn’t going to kiss her after all. This was just pretend. He knew it wasn’t worth the risk, just as much as she did. They would never work because he wanted a wife and a family with someone who could be reliable, committed, and vulnerable—three things she was not capable of.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking the brush from him. But she couldn’t stop the disappointment that bled from her voice.

  ***

  They cleaned up and left the painting there to dry. The ride back to the inn was quiet. When Isa had whispered she wasn’t good enough, Ethan wasn’t sure if she was aware she’d said it aloud. How was he supposed to respond to that? He couldn’t convince another person they were worth something—that had to come from within. A lesson he’d gleaned from his students.

  Once they got back, he was glad to see their friends were all busy with tasks. He had time to relax in his room until dinner, so he called his mother. “Hey, Mom,” he said when she picked up.

  “Wo ho te sen?” she asked in Twi.

  “I’m well.”

  “Sounds like something is on your mind,” she probed.

  He sighed and asked, “How did you know Dad was the one for you?”

  “Ahh, worrying you won’t find a good match?”

  “I thought it would be simpler to sort out. Like it would click and I would just know.”

  “Your father and I balance each other out. We both wanted the same things in life. We were friends long before we became anything more. He was there through the tough times, showing up in all the ways I needed him to. In return, I was there for him too. Marriage is a partnership.”

  “That’s what I want,” he admitted.

  “Don’t you worry. I’m having tea with your sister’s friend, Sarah Boateng, on Saturday.”

  Ethan’s belly twisted with mixed emotions. He was making moves he had no right to with a woman who was so completely opposite while his mother was going to all that trouble for him. It made his shoulders heavy with guilt. It felt wrong.

  “Thank you,” was all he could say.

  “Anything for my son. Now, you go enjoy your time with your friends. Tell River and his fiancée we send our best wishes for a happy marriage,” she said.

  “I will. Bye, Ma.”

  “Bye.”

  Ethan ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed. Running his hands over his face, he let out a long exhale. What was he doing? He’d always welcomed the help of those he most valued and respected in choosing a mate. Why did it feel so unsettling in his gut? And what gave him the right to see Isa as being any more than his date for the next several days? They had something between them—there was no denying that. Her touch burned his body in places he hadn’t known were flammable. Being with her would surely engulf him.

  No. Isa was a catastrophic fire that would surely leave only soot and ash in her wake. From now on, he had to remind himself that this was all pretend. No matter how much he wanted to obliterate the faltering wall between them. No matter how she blushed and reacted to his closeness. No matter how strong his urges were. He couldn’t afford to light the match she would use to destroy him and everything he and his family had worked for.

  ***

  As Ethan met his friends for dinner, he searched for Isa, but did not find her. They had everything set up outside again, only this time, they sat around a firepit.

  “Hey, my man,” River said.

  “Enjoy your day off?” Jax taunted.

  “Yeah. It was fun.”

  Ethan picked up a plate and began to hungrily fill it with food from the buffet: barbecue chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad, burgers, fried rice, rolls, and fruit.

  “So fun you tired Isa out, huh? I thought she was supposed to be taking it easy?” Jax’s innuendo was clear.

  Isa was still nowhere to be found. Worry clenched his gut. Had she overdone it? Was she avoiding him? He wasn’t sure why the thought bothered him so much.

  “Did you guys get everything done you needed to today?” Ethan asked, changing the subject.

  He stayed and conversed with his friends for a little while, waiting to see if Isa was going to come out. When she never did, he fixed another plate with a little bit of everything before Ella and Harper put the food away. Jax and River started clearing the mess and doing the dishes in the kitchen. There was something about seeing his big tough friend, wearing a pink wrap with a sleeping Mila on his chest, that made Ethan respect him even more.

  “Nice. I like the pink,” he joked, pouring some hot water into a mug with some peppermint tea that Ella had on the counter. He added a spoonful of honey.

  “It’s not pink; it’s salmon,” Jax said, his voice going an octave deeper as he said it.

  “Whatever you say.” Ethan smirked, putting his hand out to caress the baby’s tiny sleeping head. “Now you have two women to boss you around.”

  Jax smiled genuinely. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, you’re the one making tea and bringing food to your girl in bed.” He nodded, motioning to the plate Ethan had prepared.

  My girl. The words sent a prickling sensation down his spine.

  “This? Nah, man. It’s for my midnight snack, when I get hungry later,” Ethan dismissed him, pretending he was unaffected.

  “Yeah? Since when
do you drink tea?” Jax asked accusatorially.

  “Since now.” Ethan smiled, picking up his offerings and heading out of the room.

  “Hey, what about these dishes?” River yelled after him.

  Ethan took the stairs to the suites before stopping at Isa’s. He knocked softly. He could hear her feet shuffling towards the door, and his heart rate picked up.

  He was just checking in on her, like the doctor had ordered.

  Isa opened the door, surprise painting her face, before she worried her bottom lip. “What are you doing here?”

  He motioned to his full hands. “Checking on my patient. I brought you some sustenance.”

  She hesitated a moment and then opened the door so he could enter. He walked past her, getting the sweet whiff of peonies. The whole room smelled like her. He set the food and hot tea on the small coffee table.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, standing warily by the door after she shut it.

  “It’s what I would do if you were my girlfriend,” he said, as her mouth parted. She was like a bonfire on a cold night. His body begged him to get closer to the heat source. “It’s what pretend boyfriends do,” he clarified.

  Disappointment coupled with relief flashed across her features. Was she as mixed up about whatever this was between them as he was?

  “Right. Well, thank you.” She crossed her arms in front of her as if it would protect her from their palpable chemistry.

  Ethan walked towards her. She tensed as he got closer. The pull to her grew in strength with each step as he closed the gap between them.

  He stopped only inches from her. Hot embers of their attraction spit between them from the nearness, tempting him to move even closer. Desiring the lick of flames to scorch his skin from her touch just one more time, he reached out his hand to lightly graze her cheek. She leaned into him ever so slightly, as her lids grew heavy.

  “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything else? Is it your head?” he asked, concerned.