by Lydia Sharp
“It’s not even really about that,” Kai says. “Online classes are an option in college, too, and that’s no different from the homeschooling we’re doing now. I just want to be done with school after this. It’s enough.”
“So what do you want to do?”
Kai’s smile flickers toward his eyes. He takes my hand and we make our way toward his car, shuffling through wet, fallen leaves on the forest floor. “I’ve been thinking about going to visit my dad.”
The man who abandoned their family? Why would he want to see him? “Where is he?” I say instead. Kai hasn’t talked about him much, and there has to be a reason for that. His dad is probably just as much of a sore spot for him as my mother is for me. I’m not going to prod his open wounds.
“North of here,” he says.
There isn’t much more of the world that qualifies as “north of here.” But at the same time, Alaska is huge, and we’re near the southern coast. “North of here” doesn’t narrow it down, either. I wonder if maybe Kai doesn’t know his exact location.
“I haven’t seen him since he left last year,” Kai goes on. He’s speaking slowly, like he isn’t sure how to put words to his feelings. “And I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again. I can’t leave home long enough to take a trip. Mom and Hunter need my help.”
It’s never seemed fair to me that he has to pick up the pieces that his dad broke, but I get why he feels responsible. Both he and his twin brother, Hunter, switched to homeschooling after their dad left almost a year ago, so they could help out more with their brothers and sisters while their mom works double shifts to make up for the income that left with their dad. Kai and Hunter are the oldest of seven kids, there’s a nine-year gap between them and the next one, and the youngest is only two. There’s always something to clean around their house, or someone to feed, or some errand to run.
My mind clicks into a new gear, trying to figure out a way to make this work for him. “What if you went during summer break? After you’re done with school but before Hunter is too busy with college to handle things without you around. How long would you be gone?”
“Depends on the weather. Also depends on if I find him … It’s been so long since we talked.”
I swallow down the memory his words wrenched up from my gut—the last time I saw my mother. What was said. What wasn’t said. The lies she told before that. The lies I refused to tell from that day on.
“Okay, so. Totally doable if you go right after graduation. We can talk to Hunter about it tonight, start getting everything in order that needs to be done before you go.”
“Don’t worry about all that. I can handle it, okay?” He squeezes my hand and swings it between us. “I’ll figure it out. I just needed to vent, talk about it with someone who won’t tell me I’m crazy for wanting to go.”
I get it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. He’s always quick to help me. Why can’t I do the same for him? I bump my shoulder against him, forcing his next step sideways. “Remember what you told me the day we met?”
A boyish grin slides onto his face. Of course he remembers.
“I dropped one of my bags in the driveway—”
“One of your many bags—” he teases.
“And you picked it up for me and said—”
“‘Welcome home,’” he finishes with me. “You looked so lost, Gabi.”
“That’s because I was lost. I didn’t know which door was mine.” Kai and I live in the same side-by-side duplex along one of the many creeks and rivers running through the outskirts of Anchorage. Some would call that fate. I call it an extremely well-timed coincidence.
He didn’t just help me find the right door, though. He helped me turn a bad situation into a good one. He pulled me out of my self-pity and showed me how to have fun, over and over again.
“I was lost and you helped me,” I say. “So whatever I can do to help you prepare for this, I will. If you want to see your dad, you’re going to see your dad. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says through a laugh.
“Be careful,” I tease. “I could get used to hearing that phrase. You’ll spoil me.”
“You say that like being your eternal slave wouldn’t be my dream come true.” He leans back on a thick tree trunk and pulls me up tight against him. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Gabriella Flores?”
I’ve asked myself the same question before, about him. And maybe that’s why we’re so good together—we both feel lucky to have each other. When so many things were going wrong in my life, Kai was a glowing beacon of right.
After we’ve exhausted ourselves with kisses, the drive back home is quiet. No talking. No radio. Kai’s not even humming a song stuck in his head. This is a first. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, doesn’t even glance in my direction. He’s so deep in thought I think he’s forgotten I’m here.
“Kai?”
“Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm. You?”
“Yeah.” Maybe it was nothing.
He parks the old Subaru Outback he shares with Hunter in the double-wide driveway he shares with me, and then I follow him to his side of the duplex.
The scent of herbs and spices welcomes me with a hug. I navigate the living room floor littered with various toys and small children. Diesel, the Locklears’ geriatric malamute, lies among them, watching their every move. His dark eyes flick my way for a second, determine me neither a threat nor worth getting up to greet, then return to the Lego structure that’s about to topple. Diesel is huge and keeps constant watch over their family like a guard dog, but I’ve never once heard him bark, and anyone can quickly win him over with a belly rub. He’s a big softy.
One of the identical twin four-year-old girls looks up at me, wisps of a loosened ponytail falling into her face, and waves like I’m a hundred yards away instead of a couple of feet.
“Hi, Gabi!”
“Hi, uhm … sweetie.” I still can’t tell them apart sometimes.
Kai sheds his coat, hat, and shoes, then gives Diesel a quick scrub between the ears and goes to the kitchen to help his mom with dinner. “Need anything?” I say, raising my voice over the giggles of children.
“No, thanks, I got this,” he calls back to me.
I busy myself studying the family photographs lined up along the fireplace’s mantel. Their father is in most of them, looking happy and content with the children he later abandoned. Kai doesn’t usually seem too broken up over his dad’s absence, not even bitter over how dramatically it changed his daily routine. I’ve wanted to ask Kai why he left them, what went wrong. But it never seems like the right time. He’s over it. Why would I dampen his positive spirit with bad memories?
Mrs. Locklear steps out from the kitchen. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, and she’s holding a sauce-covered wooden spoon. She catches a drip before it falls, then licks her fingertip. “Gabi, hi,” she says. “Excuse the mess.” She herds the children into the dining area and sets up a couple of booster seats. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” She waves a hand at nothing. “You’re practically family.”
Family. I’m not even sure what that word means anymore. Everywhere I look, families are broken, pieces of them floating here and there, sometimes thousands of miles apart.
Hunter thumps down the stairs, piggybacking his two-year-old brother. He nods to me in greeting and then starts setting the table. In the three months we’ve been neighbors, I can count on one hand the number of exchanges we’ve had. He doesn’t go out with me and Kai, so I only see him when I visit their side of the house, or if we both happen to be in the yard at the same time. Not because he’s purposely avoiding me, though. He’s never rude and doesn’t ignore me, but he isn’t the type to strike up a conversation or engage in small talk. Hunter and Kai were born from the same mother on the same day, but that’s the only thing that makes them twins. They aren
’t identical, on the outside or the inside. Hunter is taller than Kai and has a thicker build, with copper-tinged skin like their dad, and his brows are always knit together like he has bad news to deliver and can’t think of how to word it gently. Kai has laughter playing on his lips and soft eyes flecked with sunshine. Whenever I’m cold or missing home, all I have to do is look into his eyes and I’m back in SoCal, comfortable and warm.
Hunter sets an extra plate for me and pulls up an extra chair. Once we’re all seated, Kai right next to me, holding my hand under the table, I notice he’s still not as talkative as usual, letting his energetic younger siblings dominate the dinner conversation. He must still be thinking about visiting his dad.
After dinner, Kai and Hunter clean up the table and load the dishwasher. I ask if he needs help again, and again, Kai refuses.
“I may have grown up with a live-in maid,” I say, “but I am capable of helping.”
“You still have a maid,” Kai points out. “You’ve never washed a dish in your life.”
Whatever. “Then I’ll enlist one of your brothers or sisters to help—they’d do it if I offered them candy.”
“That’s bribery,” Kai says through a laugh. “You’re a bad influence.”
“Can’t be any worse than their older brother, who thinks it’s okay to jump nearly naked into a freezing lake.”
Hunter glances at Kai over his shoulder. “You’re still doing that?”
“It’s tradition!” Kai says.
“It’s also stupid.” I grab a wet dish towel and snap it at his back.
“Ow!” he yelps, then turns and spears me with a devilish grin. “So that’s how you wanna play, huh? All right, then. My turn.” He yanks the spray nozzle from the sink faucet, its hose following like a snake, and aims it at me.
I squeal, unsure if I should run or duck, at the same time that Mrs. Locklear enters the room. Her palms fly up. “Don’t you dare make a mess in my kitchen!”
Kai doesn’t move, still aiming the nozzle at me, as if he’s considering how much trouble he’s willing to get into for this.
Hunter takes it out of Kai’s hand, feeds the hose back into the faucet.
“I could have done that,” Kai says, the lines of his jaw hardening.
“I know.” Hunter shrugs. “But you didn’t.” He casually goes back to sorting silverware in the dishwasher cubby. Like nothing happened.
Kai doesn’t move.
“Go on,” their mother says. “Finish this so Gabi isn’t waiting on you.”
Kai’s face softens and he goes back to cleaning up. I mouth thank you to Mrs. Locklear and she gives me a wink.
Later, we laze about on the living room couch, giving Diesel belly rubs with our feet, watching surfing videos on my phone, and stealing kisses when Kai’s brothers and sisters aren’t looking. A few times I catch him staring at the pictures on the mantel, lost in memories that don’t include me. Too soon, Hunter ushers their three youngest siblings upstairs for baths and story time, giving Kai a look that clearly says “come on, we got work to do,” while their mom takes care of the other two, who are trying to talk their way out of going to bed. The post-dinner peace of a few moments ago is suddenly a postapocalyptic chaos. I reluctantly say good-bye and head home. A whole ten steps across the driveway.
I find Dad zonked out on the couch and the credits of a movie scrolling up the TV screen. I don’t have to wonder if my mother was in it; I only wonder which one of her movies he obsessed over this time.
Here we are, the ex-husband and daughter of the Marietta Cruz—Oscar winner, sex symbol, property of Home Wrecker Studios—trying to forget her and the only life we’ve ever known. We’ve stepped out of her spotlight—extremely far out of her spotlight. So far that even during the height of Anchorage’s tourist season over the summer, there was no finger pointing, no puzzled looks like they were trying to place a familiar face, no cell phones held out to snap a picture. Here, paparazzi is a foreign word. These people outside of LA, these normal people in the normal world, didn’t give a second glance to the fiftysomething divorcé and his un-noteworthy teenage daughter.
Except Kai. He noticed. And I can’t imagine what life in Alaska would be like if he hadn’t.
The front door slams and jolts me awake. A bleary-eyed glance at my cell phone tells me it’s nine a.m., which means Dad just left for work and he’s feeling grumpy, slamming doors—and now gunning it out of the driveway, engine roaring. As much as I hated seeing him go from hotshot “lawyer to the stars” to counter guy at the post office, at least it gives him a reason to get out of bed Monday through Saturday. He didn’t have to take a job in Anchorage. But when we first got here he wanted something to do that didn’t remind him of his old life, and even though he later found he hates the job, he’s not the kind of person to back out of a commitment.
Nope, that’s my mother’s forte. At least when it comes to relationships. Which forced us to leave SoCal, even if just for a year, to let the media find someone else’s life to publicly shred.
We moved into this neighborhood so people wouldn’t know how much money we really have, trying to blend in to average American life, but it didn’t take long for anyone looking to realize we’re living far below our means. Dad didn’t mind downgrading on the house, or his car, or even his job. It was other things he’d gotten used to that he just couldn’t give up, like a housekeeper. We’re also the only ones on this street who receive premade meals via a delivery service.
And Kai’s friends knew from the moment they saw me that something was off. Clothing I thought of as normal everyday wear was coined “fancy.” Fortunately, they didn’t pry into it too much. When they heard I’m from Southern California, the stigma took over. Apparently everyone there is rich and gorgeous and has a perfect life.
That’s like saying everyone in Alaska lives in igloos.
I scramble out of bed and tug on a pair of fuzzy socks, then send Kai a text on the way downstairs to the kitchen.
Good morning.
He immediately replies with a smiley face and a heart, arousing my senses quicker than a jolt of caffeine. Sleepiness evaporates from my mind and body like mountain mist at sunrise. But out of habit I pop a single-serve cup of instant into the coffeemaker. It’s Saturday and we have no plans except to be with each other. My favorite kind of day.
After breakfast, I go next door, and Hunter tells me Kai’s out back. I find him standing by the river that runs behind the strip of houses on our street, tugging at a fishing pole, a large plastic bucket next to his feet. He’s catching their dinner for tonight. He’s told me before that people technically aren’t allowed to fish here, but everyone does it anyway.
I step up behind Kai and wrap my arms around his solid torso, rest my head between his shoulder blades, inhale the crisp scent of cold mingling with his musk, soak up his warmth. A couple of whitefish splash around in the bucket. Evergreen-covered mountains in the distance surround us like guardians, allowing entrance only to those with the strongest will to survive.
Kai hums a tune I don’t recognize, making his chest vibrate. Then he tugs hard on the line, forcing me to back away. After he’s reeled in another plump, silvery whitefish and added it to the bucket, I ask, “Did someone teach you how to fish, or is it just something Alaskans are born knowing how to do?”
“My dad taught me,” he says.
I had a feeling.
After a long pause, he says, “I think I’ve got enough fish now. I’m gonna run these into the garage and get them prepped for Mom, then we can go catch a movie or something. Whatever you wanna do.” He reels in his empty line.
Clearly, he’s not up to talking about his dad. Not surprising, but I hoped he might clue me in a bit more, after telling me last night about his desire to see him. Baby steps it is, then. “Okay, but I get to pick the movie this time.”
He leaves the fishing reel on the ground, picks up the bucket by its handle, and we head across his backyard, toward the house. “What’
re you in the mood for?”
“Not zombies,” I say, thinking of our last movie date. “I’m all zombied out. No more gore for a while.”
“How about a rom-com?” he offers, even though he knows that I know he hates those.
“I’m not in the mood for fluff, either.”
“Okay …” He pauses for a moment, as if trying to read my mind. “I got it. An underdog turns superhero story. There has to be a new Marvel movie playing; there always is.”
“Ha, that’s perfect!” Leave it to Kai to figure out what I want when I don’t even know what I want. I step around the side of the house and onto the driveway, focusing on Kai instead of where I’m walking, and stumble into a soft, portly woman who smells like a whole bush of lilacs got shoved up my nose, branches and all. It’s both floral and woodsy. “I’m sorry, excuse me—”
“Aunt Claire?” Kai says, and his face explodes with a grin. He sets down the bucket of fish and tackles her with a hug.
“Kai, look at you!” she squeals. “You’ve grown at least two inches since last year, eh?”
I back away from their reunion, my presence feeling as welcome as the waiter forced to wear a sombrero and sing “Happy Birthday” to you.
“What are you doing here?” Kai says. “Mom didn’t say you were coming to visit.”
“She doesn’t know, sweet pea. I thought I’d surprise her, give her a load off for the next few weeks, what with”— she flicks a glance my way—“you know, this is a rough time of year.”
Kai nods, explaining nothing. “She’s doing better, but this will mean the world to her. Thank you.” He gives her another hug, then remembers I’m standing there. “Aunt Claire, this is my girlfriend, Gabriella Flores.”