The Play

by Karina Halle

Luckily Lachlan is all charm. He smiles politely and gives her the slightest of nods.

  “Mom,” I say to her.

  She nearly glares at me. “This is the man? This is the man you bring home?”

  I look back at Lachlan and he meets my eyes, a half smile on his lips, his brows raised.

  “Well…” I say to her but she wags her finger at me to shut up. At least she isn’t acting as frail as she sounded on the phone.

  “This is the man you bring home,” she says again, leaving the door and walking over to Lachlan. He lets go of my hand to offer it to her. “And yet you have never brought him before?”

  I laugh in relief. “Sorry, Mom. He’s kind of new.”

  “And I’m kind of charmed by you,” Lachlan says, kissing the back of her hand, his eyes smiling. Holy shit. I’ve never seen him be so utterly charismatic before, and from the fullness in my mom’s cheeks, I can tell she’s just as impressed.

  “Oh my,” she says, looking at me with a big grin. “Kayla, you have done very, very well.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “But Mom, you’re making him uncomfortable.”

  “Nonsense,” Lachlan says, throwing his shoulders back, making him look bigger than big and taller than tall next to my tiny mother. “I have no problem hearing how I’ve exceeded expectations.”

  I smirk at him and grab his hand. “Let’s go inside before your ego gets too big to fit through the door.”

  We step in the house and my mother insists on giving Lachlan the grand tour. She takes him by the hand and he follows her, ever gracious, hanging on to her every word, smiling when she smiles. It brings actual tears to my eyes, tears I have to quickly blink away. Even Kyle hadn’t been that way, so attentive, so involved, and he was about to marry me.

  While they go explore the rest of the house, I take in a deep breath, trying to steady the race in my chest, and head into the kitchen to see what I can make for dinner. I can hear them walking upstairs. Their footsteps, Lachlan’s heavy, long strides and my mother’s short, quick ones, go down the hall, to my brothers’ rooms, then to my bedroom, where I’m sure my mother is filling Lachlan in about all sorts of embarrassing anecdotes about me.

  Then they go into my parents’ bedroom, and I don’t know what my mother is saying to him, but it must be about my dad and suddenly it hurts. It hurts. Sharp pains stab my chest, enough that I have to lean against the fridge and try to breathe for a few minutes.

  “Kayla?” I hear Lachlan say, and then he’s at my side, fingers running down the sides of my face, hands curling around my forearms. “What happened?”

  I shake my head, keeping my eyes shut. “It’s fine,” I say.

  “Kayla,” my mother cries out, and I can hear the terror. This is the last thing I want, for her to worry about me when there’s nothing wrong, just my own damn worry, my own damn demons creeping up on me.

  “I’m fine,” I say again, sharper now, taking in another breath through my teeth. “Really. It’s just a cramp. A stitch in my side.”

  “Maybe you should let me cook,” my mother says. I open my eyes to see both her and Lachlan peering at me, and it’s only this sight, borderline comical, that gives me the strength to push past it all.

  “No, no, no,” Lachlan says, straightening up but not letting go of my arm. “Mrs. Moore, you go sit down. Kayla, you sit down with your mum. I’ll cook.”

  I stare at him dumbly. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course, love,” he says, kissing me quickly on the forehead. When he pulls away though, his eyes are sharp and delivering a message. “Go be with your mum,” he tells me quietly.

  I nod, stupefied by him. “What are you going to make?” I ask him feebly as my mom heads into the living room, looking at me over her shoulder.

  “Go and be with your mum,” he repeats, and I sense some weird urgency in his voice that makes my heart do a couple more somersaults in the wrong direction. “I’ve got this, aye?”

  I turn and head out into the living room, sitting on the couch as my mom settles down in her armchair, reaching for her knitting needles. She’s in good spirits though, stealing glances at me as I flip on the television and scroll through the channels to find something she might like. The Big Bang Theory it is.

  But she’s not paying attention. She’s watching me fully. “Are you okay?” she asks me.

  “Yes, yes.” I wave her away. “Are you okay?”

  She sighs lightly, looking down at her needles and seeming to be lost in her own little world for a moment. Finally she says, “I was…not feeling well today. Tired. Dizzy.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat. “Mom. When you feel like that, you know you need to call your doctor.”

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s called getting old, Kayla.” She looks up at me with knowing eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

  Though her voice is low, the kitchen is right there, and I know Lachlan can hear us. Nothing seems to escape him. “It was a last minute decision,” I tell her, trying to play it off lightly. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay, Kayla, sweetheart,” she says, grinning from ear to ear, bouncing lightly in her seat. “It’s okay because I’ve never seen you look so happy before.”

  At that, my eyes flit over to the kitchen. Lachlan is staring at me while he takes pots out of the cupboards. I can’t read his expression, but I at least know he heard that I look happy.

  I am happy.

  I feel my cheeks flush with heat because I can’t ignore the truth. I am happy. Deliriously.

  Tragically.

  I break our gaze and try to concentrate on Penny and Sheldon on the TV. God, I loathe this show.

  “So where did you find him?” my mom asks.

  “He’s cousins with Bram and Linden. You know Stephanie’s husband? His cousin.”

  She nods. “I’ve always liked Stephanie.”

  “Yes, Mom, I know. The daughter you never had.”

  “Oh, I only say that because I know how much she means to you. I was very happy to see her finally settle down. Now that can happen for you.”

  Oh god. Oh god, no.

  I look up, hoping that Lachlan is preoccupied, that he can’t hear us at all. But no. That would be asking too much. He’s standing right there, mixing something in a bowl, and those gorgeous, inquisitive eyes are peering into mine.

  I tear myself away from him. “That’s not going to happen,” I tell my mom, maybe more harshly than I meant to. “Lachlan is leaving on Sunday.”

  She frowns, her needles pausing mid clickety-clack. “Leaving where?”

  “Back to Scotland. If you couldn’t tell, he’s from there.”

  “Oh,” she says, blinking hard. “Oh dear. That’s terrible. Are you going with him?”

  I let out a sharp, caustic laugh. Mainly from shock. “Yeah right!” I cry out. “No. No, he’s actually a very successful rugby player in Edinburgh. He’s got everything waiting for him. And I have, well, I have everything that I have here.”

  Which was what? Nothing?

  No. Not nothing. My mom. My brothers. My floundering career and my happily-coupled friends.

  It was something.

  But it wasn’t the something I wanted.

  That something was a future filled with hope.

  That something was in the kitchen.

  That something was unattainable.

  That something was burning a hole into me with his eyes. I didn’t even have to look to know. I could feel it. I was so good at feeling his eyes on my skin, always wanting more from me than flesh.

  “That’s a shame,” she says. She goes back to her knitting, but her posture loses that verve she had before. Is it possible that my mother would rather me go chasing some beautiful man across the Atlantic Ocean than stay in San Francisco and keep on keeping on? I try not to think about it. In the end, what she wants, hell, what I want, doesn’t really have any bearing on the reality: Lachlan is going back.

  A
nd I barely know him.

  Thankfully she doesn’t bring him up anymore, and by the time the show is over, he announces with that deep voice of his that dinner is ready.

  My mom and I exchange a curious look and head into the kitchen.

  Damn.

  Just, damn it.

  Lachlan has not only put placemats with place settings out, but there’s a nice bottle of red wine in the middle and flickering candles. He moves around like he grew up in this kitchen as I had.

  “Sit, please,” he says, gesturing to the chairs. He goes beyond gesturing when it comes to my mom and holds out the chair for her before pushing it in. Then he heads for the kitchen counter, and when he comes back, he places a bowl of mashed potatoes and a dish of chicken parmigiana on the table. Not exactly two things that would go together, but it looks absolutely delicious and smells even better.

  “How did you learn to do this?” I ask him. It’s not that he shouldn’t be able to throw a few things together, but it looks so freaking good.

  He nods at the plate. “Just try it first and then ask me. I can’t make any promises,” he says, sitting down between us.

  I take a bite of the mashed potatoes. They’re better than the ones at Thanksgiving, with just a kick of pepper or some kind of spice. As for the chicken, it melts in your goddamn mouth.

  I’m practically glaring at him. “So,” I say between bites, pointing my fork at him. “Last night’s appetizer wasn’t some once in a blue moon thing for you.”

  He smirks then rubs his fingers across his lips, taking on a serious face. “I like to cook when I can.”

  “You should cook all the time,” my mother says. “This is very, very good.”

  “And you should take that as a compliment since she barely eats my food,” I tell him, kicking him lightly under the table.

  “Oh, that’s not true,” my mother chides me, but it is totally true. I do my best, but the kitchen has never been my strong suit. When it comes to Lachlan though, it’s one of his many fucking strong suits. I swear to god there is nothing he can’t do.

  Why the hell did I have to meet this beast, this superman, who blows my mind in the bedroom, mows down rugby players for a living, rescues helpless animals, looks like a fucking god, and happens to cook, just before he has to leave? Why is life so damn cruel?

  “Here I was thinking all you Scots knew how to make was haggis,” I tell him, pushing the heaviness out of my chest and trying to focus on what’s in front of me.

  “Oh, I can make some pretty stellar haggis,” he says. “If I had more time here, I’d see what I could do.”

  I manage a smile. “As much as I wish you had more time, I’m glad I’m missing out on that.”

  After dinner, my mother insists on dessert and brings out the matcha green tea ice cream, something Lachlan’s never had before.

  “This is gorgeous,” he says between spoonfuls.

  “I grew up on the stuff,” I tell him. “Do you know my favorite thing to eat as a child was sheets and sheets of nori? You know, dried seaweed.”

  “It is true,” my mom says with a gentle laugh. “I bought them for sushi, but I would always have to hide them from her. When I found the packets later, they were torn into, like some mouse had gotten into them.”

  “Strange little creature,” he comments warmly, sitting back in his chair, studying me. “What else did you get up to as a child?”

  “Oh, she was up to everything,” my mother says quickly. “No different than she is now. But she had four older brothers to keep her in line. Brian, Nikko, Paul, and Toshio. Kayla was our little angel. She popped up one day when her father and I never thought I could get pregnant. I never thought I would get my little girl. But here she is.”

  My cheeks grow hot, and I busy myself by swirling the ice cream into green soup.

  “Unfortunately,” my mom adds, “she was an absolute terror.”

  I glare at her while Lachlan lets out a laugh. “Mom,” I warn her.

  “Oh, she was,” she says, leaning forward toward Lachlan, her eyes shining. “Even as a little girl, she’d run away from you every chance she got. If it wasn’t for her brothers, I’m sure we would have lost her for good one day. They were good for that, being protective.”

  “Yeah, but then in high school it got a bit annoying,” I remind her.

  “For you,” she says in jest. “But for us, it was a godsend. She was a boy crazy little girl, you see.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Lachlan asks me with large eyes, clearly enjoying this.

  “Yes, very much so,” my mom says before I can neither confirm nor deny. “Every day she had a new crush from school. Billy this or Tommy that. She got in trouble once for kissing a boy and making him cry.”

  I bury my face in my hands and groan.

  Lachlan is laughing hard, such a nice sound, even if it’s at my expense. “What did you do, Kayla?”

  I keep my face buried and don’t answer because I know my mom will.

  And she does. “The teacher told me that the boy didn’t want to kiss her, so she held him down, and when he tried to run, she punched him in the stomach.”

  “You might have been a natural at rugby after all,” he says between laughs.

  “So,” my mom goes on, “by the time she got to high school, her brothers acted like chaperones. The poor girl couldn’t go anywhere without them knowing about it. All the boys were kept at bay.”

  “Well, I don’t blame your brothers for being protective of you,” Lachlan says. “You were probably as stunning in high school as you are right now.”

  Oh god. I look up, and he’s staring at me so sincerely it hurts. My face burns even more at the compliment.

  “Look, you’ve made her blush,” my mother says, which isn’t helping. “You’ve gotten under her skin.”

  “Okay,” I say quickly, getting to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom. When I get back, can we all agree not to embarrass me anymore?”

  “But I love watching you get embarrassed,” Lachlan practically purrs.

  I give him the finger, which of course causes my mother to gasp in outrage, and I stride down the hall to the bathroom, shutting myself in. I take a long, deep breath. My heart is racing, and I don’t know why. Everything is going so well, but all it does is make me worry. There’s this space behind my heart, a little hole, and it’s slowly getting bigger.

  I run a washcloth under the cold water and dab my face. I’m still blushing, much like the way I look after sex. Perhaps that’s why Lachlan wants me to be embarrassed.

  When I leave the bathroom, Lachlan is sitting in the living room and my mom is trying to make some tea.

  “Here, go sit down,” I tell her, taking the kettle from her hands.

  She places her hand over mine. For a moment I stare at it—pale, wrinkled beautifully, speckled with age spots. My mother’s hands, hands that have seen me through my whole life, are shaking slightly. When did that start to happen? The shakes?

  But I don’t ask her because she’s looking up at me adoringly.

  “You shouldn’t let him leave,” she tells me quietly. Her grip on my hand strengthens, the shakes abating slightly. “He is such the man for you.”

  I give her a quick smile and gently pull the kettle away from her. “I honestly don’t know him well enough to think that.” I swallow and look out at the living room where he’s watching TV. “I wish I did though.”

  “Sometimes you don’t need to know someone to know them,” she says. “And when he looks at you, you can tell. He knows you.” Then she pads her way out of the kitchen to join him. I shiver, suddenly cold, and get the tea ready. We drink cups and cups of it, watching an episode of my mother’s other favorite show, NCIS, until it starts getting late, and I know Lachlan has to check on Emily.

  For some reason it’s hard to say goodbye to my mom this time. Maybe because I’ve been extra emotional all night. I hug her longer than I normally do and tell her I’ll be by next week. Maybe I can drag Toshio
with me.

  Lachlan bends down and envelops my tiny mother in a bear hug. Every inch of me dissolves at the sight.

  I have completely melted.

  “Your mother is lovely,” Lachlan says to me quietly during the car ride back into the city.

  “That she is,” I say, glad he was so charmed by her. And equally as glad she was so charmed by him.

  “You said before that she was sick,” he says, putting his hand behind my neck and rubbing his thumb against my skin. “What’s wrong with her?”

  My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m not really sure.” I lick my lips, trying to remember. “It started after my father died. She was a wreck for a long time. We all were. She was severely depressed, and I guess all that pain inside started making its way outside. Some doctors say its chronic fatigue syndrome, others say it’s still depression and anxiety. She doesn’t sleep well and her blood pressure is always through the roof. Her muscles ache all the time. I don’t know what to think. But it’s been going on for years.”

  And her shaking hands, well I hope that’s just because she was overexcited about Lachlan and me being there.

  “Do you have good doctors here in America?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No. Well, yeah. If you can pay for them. She never worked, so she doesn’t have benefits that a lot of people her age would. But my brothers and I, we pay for it. We try and get the best for her, a whole bunch of different opinions. Honestly,” I say, eyeing him briefly. “I think she’s still suffering from a broken heart.”

  He gives me a tight smile. “There are big risks to falling in love.”

  I nod and look back to the road. “Big risks.”

  When we get back to his apartment, Lachlan invites me up. I hesitate. I want to go, I want to be with him every way I can. But there’s something heavy on my chest, and if I sleep with him tonight, I feel it will get even worse. I need to be alone to process it. I need to build back my strength by myself. For such a strong man, he only makes me weaker.

  That night, alone in bed, I stare at the empty pillow beside me and wonder what it would be like to always have someone there.

  Then I wonder what it would be like to never have someone there again.