Love & Other Natural Disasters

by Misa Sugiura

  Dela says quietly, “I think I’ll leave you two to figure this out,” and starts to walk across the deck, but she’s waylaid by Willow, who has moved forward and planted herself directly in Dela’s path.

  “No, I don’t think you should go anywhere. This is the second girl you’ve stolen from me, and I think you should stay here and deal with the consequences.”

  Dela’s shoulders stiffen. “I didn’t steal anyone from you. Arden chose me. And Nozomi—”

  “And you!” Willow turns on me. “Cheating on me! How could you? At least Arden had the courtesy to break up with me before she hooked up with someone else.”

  “I—but it wasn’t—I thought . . .” I don’t have an excuse, so I go on the offensive. “You only started dating me to make Arden jealous!”

  “That was pretend! And it was your idea in the beginning, as I recall. I started dating you—actually for real dating you—because I liked you!”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Dela interrupts.

  “Nothing!” I yelp. “Nothing. It’s not impor—”

  But Willow says with an exasperated sigh, “Nozomi and I had this plan to fool everyone into thinking we were together.”

  “I really don’t think we need to—” I try again, but Dela silences me with a glare.

  “You were pretending that you were together?” she prompts Willow with mock politeness. Dread closes its icy fingers around my heart and lungs.

  “It started as a joke because everyone went nuts over this one photo we posted, and then . . . um . . .” Willow slows down, since, I guess, this part isn’t really flattering to her, either.

  “You wanted Arden to get jealous and go back to you,” Dela says, having figured it out herself. “Nice.”

  I feel like I’m trapped in a leaky barrel, plunging through boulder-studded rapids toward a giant waterfall. I have to do something. I have to get myself out of this nightmare before—

  “Oh, hi, Arden,” says Dela, her cheery voice practically bleeding irony. “Welcome to the party. Did you know about their little plan to break us up?”

  Aaaanndd over the waterfall I go.

  Willow whirls around as Arden rises slowly from the staircase like some kind of avenging angel. “No, Dela, I did not,” she says. “But I do now.” She gives me and Willow a look so deadly, I’m surprised we don’t burst into flames on the spot.

  “Nooo! No! No, no, no!” I hear myself shout, and even I wince a little at the shrillness in my voice. “You’ve got it all wrong! You weren’t supposed to break up! That was not the plan.” Not my plan, anyway. Willow gives me a slightly wild-eyed look but doesn’t say anything, so I plow ahead. “I mean, yes. Willow’s plan was to get you two to break up. But in my plan, you weren’t supposed to break up. My plan was supposed to end up with you two staying together and Willow falling in love with me!”

  All three girls are staring at me with their mouths open.

  Oh. Crap.

  This is not good.

  Dela is the first to speak. “Let me get this straight. Your plan was for Willow to catch feelings for you, but now you’re interested in me. Which can only mean that she didn’t fall for you, because if she had, you’d be with her.” Her expression shifts as she talks, as if she’s seeing a picture come gradually into focus. “So you’re hooking up with me to make yourself feel better because the girl you really want isn’t into you.” She looks at me and I can see the pain blooming in her eyes. “I’m your consolation prize. I’m your rebound hookup.”

  “No, that’s not it at all!” I protest. “She did catch feelings for me. But I’ve realized that you’re the one I want to be with. So you’re not a consolation prize. I was offered the grand prize trophy, but I chose you instead! And . . . that didn’t come out the way I meant it,” I finish feebly, when I see the expressions on everyone’s faces.

  “Hang on.” Arden looks at me and then at Dela, her brow furrowed. “Are you saying you’re into her?” She points at me. “Because that seems like pretty important information. Funny you didn’t mention it when we were talking earlier.”

  “They were practically having sex up here,” says Willow.

  “We were not!” says Dela hotly. “We weren’t even kissing!”

  “Whatever. You might as well have been,” says Willow. To me, she asks, “Is this for real? Are you breaking up with me right now?” Despite the scorn in her voice, she looks genuinely hurt, and remorse courses through me.

  “No, no! I would never! I mean, um.” I falter, looking at Dela, who crosses her arms and cocks an eyebrow. “Not right now.”

  “Why not?” The pain is now threaded with bitterness. “Because I’m your grand prize trophy?”

  “Well, I mean. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I mumble, and honestly, I don’t know why she’s quite so upset about that part. What’s wrong with being wanted?

  “I’m not a prize to be won,” says Willow in dignified tones.

  “And what about me?” Arden demands. She looks at me and says, “Did you consider my feelings for even a second? You say you didn’t want me and Dela to break up, but that was only so you could get what you wanted. And now that you want something else, you’re okay with getting Dela to break up with—”

  “We broke up because of your feelings for Willow,” Dela interjects.

  “And your feelings for Nozomi had nothing to do with it? Right.” Arden scoffs.

  “Wait—you broke up?” Willow says to Arden. “Because of . . .” She places her hand on her chest.

  “Yes,” says Dela.

  Arden glares at Dela and says, “Partly.”

  Then it hits me. If I can get everyone to see what they’ve gained out of this, instead of what they’ve lost, maybe I can reverse some of the damage.

  “You know, this really isn’t so bad,” I say. Dela, Willow, and Arden look at me, united for the moment in disbelief. “Just hear me out, okay? This is all just a huge misunderstanding. It’s . . . it’s kind of comical, actually.” I attempt a lighthearted laugh. None of them laugh with me. That’s okay. Keep going. “I had such a crush on you, Willow, and I didn’t think someone like you would ever consider dating someone like me, so when that first photo got all those comments—pretending to be together seemed like a good way to put the idea in your head. It always works out in books and movies, right? Only I’ve realized—and I think you know this, too—we’re not right for each other. But Dela and I are. And Dela and Arden broke up with each other because”—Arden laser-eyes me—“partly because,” I amend myself hastily, “Arden still has feelings for you. And you’re not over Arden. You told me that.” Here, Arden looks at Willow, who blushes. “So . . . what if you two got back together? That’s what you want, isn’t it? And—and Dela and I can be together, which is what we want. See? It all works out. Everyone gets what they want, everyone’s happy. It’s like a real-life rom-com!”

  My voice has taken on a slightly hysterical pitch. But it really is the perfect romantic comedy plot. The heroine’s best-laid plans go awry, but in the end, everyone ends up in love and all’s well that ends well. I know, I know I said I wasn’t going to do this anymore, but I’m right this time.

  Please let me be right.

  Arden is staring at Willow, and Willow is looking at me with slightly less hostility than before. Yes! Please let her have heard my point. Please let her feelings for Arden win the day. Please let me not have screwed everything up.

  “Is that true?” Willow asks Arden. “Do you still . . . ?”

  Arden looks down and says, “Yes,” so softly I barely hear her.

  “And you’re . . . not . . . with Dela anymore?” Willow asks. She looks at me and Dela and adds pointedly, “I don’t want to sabotage anyone’s relationship.”

  “Let’s not forget that your whole plan was to sabotage me and Arden in the first place,” says Dela with equal pointedness.

  “We broke up like half an hour ago,” Arden confirms.

  “Hm.” Wil
low draws herself up to her full height and looks at me. “Well, I’m glad we never got serious. You and I are over.”

  I nod meekly.

  Then she says to Arden, “I’m leaving if you want to come with me.”

  Arden looks at me and Dela like we’re a pair of bugs she’d like to squash. “I don’t see any reason to stay,” she says, and she and Willow turn and glide to the staircase. I hear their heels clacking down the stairs; I look down and see them sweeping through the bamboo grove like the majestic fairy queens that they are, with their skirts sparkling and swirling behind them. And with a tiny pang of regret, I watch Willow as she follows Arden through the door and disappears into the museum. My dream of being her girlfriend really is over now.

  Which leaves me and Dela and a thousand paper wishes.

  I turn to Dela hopefully. “So. It’s just us, then. That’s what we both wanted, right?”

  But Dela says, “No, Nozomi. This is not what I wanted. I mean, it’s not—” She runs her fingers through her hair and looks at me sadly. “I’m not sure I want that anymore. You lied to me, you manipulated me and Arden—and Willow. You set up this whole scheme without ever thinking about how anyone else would feel.”

  “I did, though,” I protest. “I did think about how you would feel! And Arden. And Willow. I thought about it a lot!” This was all about everyone’s feelings. I built my entire plan around people’s feelings!

  “If you call trying to engineer our breakup—”

  “YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BREAK UP!” I shout. “How much clearer can I make this? You and Arden breaking up was Willow’s plan! In my plan, you were supposed to stay together! It was supposed to be a happy ending for everyone. And it still can be—it’s just different from what we expected. Better than expected! I only wanted everyone to be happy! Why isn’t that good enough?”

  “Because you lied,” she shouts back. And then she hurls my words back at me: “How much clearer can I make this?”

  “It’s not like I concocted some evil, twisted plot to break people’s hearts. It wasn’t mean-spirited lying. It was just fake dating,” I mutter. “People do it all the time in rom-coms.”

  “Life! Isn’t! A rom-com! What part of that do you not understand?” says Dela. “Real life isn’t a story starring you and your feelings and whatever feelings you make up for other people. It involves other people, and other people’s real feelings, and you don’t get to control any of that. When you make up your little stories to control people’s feelings, you end up hurting them. They start to hope for things, instead of preparing for the biggest loss of their lives. It’s the worst feeling in the world to be betrayed like that, Nozomi. And if you don’t like it, if you can’t accept that you’ve hurt people, then too bad for you.”

  It takes me a second to get it. I look at her, still wounded and grieving and still fighting ghosts. Of course that’s where her mind went. She couldn’t help it.

  But that’s not where we are. This situation is about Dela, me, Arden, and Willow, and yes, it’s horrible and painful and awkward, but it’s not fair to try to make me feel even more guilty because she’s still mad at her mom. I didn’t lie about dying.

  It occurs to me that maybe I’m not the only one stuck in a story I’m telling myself. And that maybe that’s what she needs to hear. I remember what she said that first time we really talked, about not protecting her feelings. Well. Okay, then. Let’s do this.

  “No, Dela, it’s too bad for you,” I say. “Because you’ve given up. It sucks what happened to your mom, and I get why you feel betrayed. But you’re letting it poison the rest of your life. You won’t let anything good or hopeful come in. You’re a pessimist and a cynic and you see yourself as this, like, victim of this terrible tragic story, and yeah, it’s sad, but you don’t have to make everything revolve around it. Stop wallowing in your tragedy and stop taking it out on everyone else and start living your life!”

  Which is the meanest thing I’ve ever said to anyone, and I immediately regret every word of it, but she turns and storms off before I can apologize, and I’m left alone on the roof with the wishing fire flickering merrily away in its glass bowl.

  The rest of the evening feels like an out-of-body experience. I watch myself as I walk back into the museum and take up my post at the bottom of the ramp to the second floor. I look on as I smile and lead gala guests around the museum and encourage them to look at a glass cube as art that changes depending on where it is, and where you stand when you look at it. Most people buy it, or at least pretend to; one guest just guffaws and thanks me for the best BS explanation of contemporary artwork he’s heard in a long time. “That’s all modern art is, if you ask me,” he says, lowering his voice. “Bullshit masquerading as high culture.” He looks down at his tuxedo, and then at all the fancy people in their fancy clothes, and adds, “That pretty much sums up all of us here—myself included!” and wanders off in search of a champagne refill, laughing uproariously at his own joke.

  41

  IT’S THREE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON AND I’m still in my room with the shades drawn when Max taps on my door and says, “Hey. Stephen and Lance want to know if you’re alive in there.”

  I groan and pull the covers over my head.

  “Okay, so that’s a yes,” he says. I hear him open the door. “Would this have anything to do with the drama from the gala?”

  “No.” How does he know? My weeping may have been tragic and pitiful last night, but I know it was silent. And I can’t imagine that anyone would have told him what happened.

  “Really? Because Stephen and I went looking for Willow to investigate reports that the shop was unstaffed, and we found her with Arden in that little back office.”

  This shocks me into peeking my head out. “What . . . were they . . . ?” Wow, that was fast. You’d think she’d have waited a little longer before flinging herself into Arden’s arms.

  “They were just talking, if that’s what you’re asking,” says Max drily. “Anyway, Willow said you knew.”

  “Oh.” Okay.

  “So did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And . . . is that why you’re in here shunning the daylight?”

  Ughh. “No. Not exactly.”

  “Then what the hell is going on? Whose life did you screw with this time?”

  Which reminds me of just what a huge, unfixable mess I’ve made, and the weeping starts again. I pull my covers back over my head, and Max says, “Hey, I was just kidding! I was kidding, Zo, I’m sorry!”

  “Go away,” I say.

  I feel his hand on my back. “I’m sorry. Really.” And then he sighs and says, “I’ll listen if you want to talk.”

  “You’re gonna laugh. You’ll say I told you so.”

  “I promise I won’t,” he says. “Just tell me.”

  So I do, because I’m the world’s biggest sucker when he’s nice to me. By the time I’m finished, his face is buried in his hands and he’s muttering unintelligibly to himself.

  “Don’t. Say it,” I snap as he takes a breath to speak.

  “I wasn’t going to,” he says irritably. “But I will say that you better tell Dad and Stephen about all of this because Dad is seriously considering texting Mrs. Hsu about how she needs to talk to her daughter about respecting relationship boundaries.”

  “What!? Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?” There’s very little Max could have said that would have gotten me out of bed quite as fast as this.

  I send him out and get dressed. He was right about how this would come to bite me in the ass. Dad in don’t-you-mess-with-my-offspring mode is not a pretty sight, and I would be mortified if he got into it with Mrs. Hsu.

  And Dela was right, too. I did see myself as the heroine of my own movie, where no one had their own stories outside of how those stories affected mine. This thing with Dad is just another example of how my plans—and now, their collapse—have affected other people in ways I never thought about, because I was so f
ocused on myself and what I wanted.

  Thirty minutes later, Max has gone to Baba’s house to Baba-sit, and Dad, Stephen, Lance, and I are sitting around the kitchen table with beers (them) and a bottle of small-batch ginger ale (me). They look at me expectantly. It’s excruciating, but I tell them everything, all the way up until a couple of hours ago.

  “Honey, I’m sorry.” Lance reaches across the table and gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze.

  “Am I a terrible person?”

  “You’re a teenager,” says Dad, thus winning the award for Least Comforting Thing to Say to Me Right Now.

  “It’s hard to remember that pursuing your own happiness can hurt other people. Especially when there’s nothing wrong with the thing you want,” says Stephen. “I’m just sad that things are so hard between you and Dela.”

  “Me too,” I say miserably. “What do I do now?”

  “Have you tried apologizing?” asks Lance.

  “She won’t talk to me. She told me to leave her alone.”

  “Sweetheart.” The look on Dad’s face, the empathy in his voice, nearly makes me cry.

  “And did you?” asks Stephen.

  “First I told her that I wasn’t going to give up that easy, and that I was going to text her every day until we talked.”

  All three men wince. “Oh, honey,” says Lance. “She blocked you, didn’t she.” A bell dings and he goes to the counter to punch down a mound of bread dough that’s been rising in a covered bowl.

  “I thought that it would show her how much I cared and how much I wanted to work things out.”

  “Of course you did,” Dad says. “My little engine that could.” He reaches out and smooths my hair, and that makes me feel a little better. “It’s exactly what I would have done,” he adds, which makes me feel a little worse. Have I really sunk to his level?

  “What if I wrote her a letter? I could apologize and explain everything.”