North of Happy

by Adi Alsaid

  Felix sits down on the side of the road, panting. He doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.

  “That was your entire life philosophy. Take things easy. Escape. Seek out the next adventure. Did you not care about anyone that you met on your travels? Was it really that easy to just leave Mom and Dad and me behind?” Tears build up in my throat, and I pause to catch my breath, wipe away spittle on my lips. “To leave home? How many other people did you leave in the same way, without another thought? If this is what you’re here to teach me, I get it now, thanks. You can move on.”

  A cyclist is approaching, so I pause, waiting for her to speed down the hill out of earshot. When she turns the corner, I feel like I’ve run out of steam. I’m too tired to yell anymore. “It’s not that easy for me, Felix. I can’t just...forget. I can’t fathom the idea of leaving this place behind, and even less the idea that I could leave her behind.”

  Felix keeps panting, looking up at me serenely. “It felt like I was so close,” I say. We look at each other, and for a second I’m sure it’s really been him this whole time. Not me, not my head. “Why am I still seeing you, man? Why do I have to go through this?”

  No longer a dog, just himself now, Felix looks at me, leans back against the air like it’s a wall. He thinks for a long while, but it’s just us in the dark woods, nothing to track the passing of time. Finally, he holds his hands out in front of him, palms parallel with the floor, one hand above the other. “This is happiness,” he says, signaling the lower, left hand. “It’s good. But vulnerable, breakable.” Then he moves his right hand a little higher. “This is happy enough to survive all the things life will send your way.”

  Then my phone rings out. I scramble for it, hoping it’s Emma. I answer before really looking at the screen. “Hello,” I say, eyes back up. It’s just me on the road.

  “Carlos.” It’s Mom. She doesn’t sound okay.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your dad,” she says. Then she starts sobbing.

  * * *

  For the second time in as many months, I’m packing a bag up, ready to leave. This time, it’s both easier and more difficult.

  There’s no fear of getting caught before I flee, no one chasing after me. No choices to make about where to go or what to bring. Once Mom told me that Dad was in the hospital after a heart attack, I knew my time on Needle Eye was over.

  Now I try to shove the comfortable shoes I bought into the suitcase. I sheathe my gyuto, wrap it in the rain jacket I never had to use. I have to put a knee on top of my luggage to get it to shut, and I try not to think of the finality of the zipper reaching the end. My whole life here is locked away inside one suitcase. Dad’s on a hospital bed and we haven’t said a word directly to each other in two months.

  I check my phone to see if Emma’s changed her mind in the slightest, see only that Mom’s emailed me some flight information. I’ve got six hours to make it to the airport. It’s not enough time; it’s too much time. I keep picturing the heart monitor flatlining, keep remembering how much blood there was with Felix. I keep thinking there’s a chance I never see my dad alive again.

  After I prop my suitcase up in a corner of the room, I go down the hall to see Elias. I knock a couple of times on the wooden door frame and then step inside. He’s in bed, sitting up with his back against the wall, a computer on his lap.

  “What’s up, man?”

  With no warning, I find myself unloading. Close to tears, I tell him how literally everything in my life has been flipped upside down in the last twenty-four hours. How I fucked up, and there’s no undoing the mistake.

  “Shit,” Elias says, shutting his computer.

  “Basically. I’m sorry I have to go on such short notice.” I suddenly realize that I might never see Elias again, that this is a good-bye. “I’m sorry I have to go at all.”

  “Shit,” Elias says again, folding his hands in his lap. “That’s a shame, man. I’m gonna miss your cooking.”

  I smile, feel myself come close to tears again. “I can’t thank you enough for all you did for me.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He stands up from his bed and goes to put a shirt on. “When do you leave?”

  “Now, I guess. My flight’s in a few hours.”

  “Goddamn.” We stand there quietly for a moment, Elias with his hands on his hips. “At least you get to go back to some good Mexican food.”

  “True.” I smile but find little solace in this silver lining. I look out the window, see the faintest glimmer of ocean beyond the trees. “I know you said, ‘Don’t mention it,’ but I have to. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me out in the kitchen, if you hadn’t talked to Chef and stood up for me all those times. If I have any future in restaurants, it’s thanks to you.”

  “Shut up. You’re making me tear up,” Elias says.

  “I mean it,” I say. “I know we haven’t known each other long or anything, but you felt like a big brother to me. So thanks.”

  Elias looks down at the floor, maybe trying to cover up the fact that he really is getting teared up. “It was my pleasure, every step of the way.” He surreptitiously wipes at his eyes and then looks up and steps over to hug me. “And, trust me, you most definitely have a future in restaurants.”

  We embrace, and I feel myself about to crumble. I can’t believe I have to leave. This beautiful corner of the world, my place in it. It wasn’t perfect, but not much is.

  Within an hour I’m on the ferry toward Seattle. I try calling Emma a few times, texting her what’s happened, tell her I have to go. I want to see her again, say good-bye in person, but without a response from her I have no choice but to board the boat and hope that, somehow, I’ll see her again. Even with the meal yesterday, the fact that I’ve cooked a dish that was served at a restaurant, Emma was the best thing that happened to me here. Shitty to know that for sure now that I’ve thrown it away.

  When I roll my suitcase off the ferry and hail a cab, I can’t help but think that I’m leaving a part of myself on the island. I was whole again for a second there. Now it’s all unraveling.

  The driver steps out to open the trunk, granting me time for one last look in the direction of Needle Eye. Except I can’t see a thing, no far-off silhouette, no sign of the green island in the distance and all it holds. The cabbie is in the way of traffic, and he tells me we have to move. So I climb into the car with a good-bye that feels as rushed as my arrival.

  CHAPTER 31

  HOSPITAL COFFEE

  2 scoops instant coffee

  2 packets sugar

  1 packet gross non-diary powdered creamer

  1 cup tepid water

  METHOD:

  Mexico City is a creature too big to see.

  It’s strange how quickly I have forgotten what it feels like to fly in. How small you become when faced with so many lights. The city just keeps stretching out, like colored handkerchiefs being pulled from some magician’s sleeve. When we finally touch down on a recently rained-on runway, my neck hurts from craning to see the sights of my hometown, so much humanity sprawled out across a single valley. The whole time, I was trying to picture what Needle Eye would look like from above, how quickly it would pass by below, how hard it would be at night to spot its handful of lights. The lake would just be a stretch of darkness like everything else around it.

  I replace the American SIM card in my phone with my old Mexican one, let Mom know that I’ve landed. She sounds thankful but exhausted and not just because it’s nearly one in the morning. I pass through immigration, pick up my suitcase from baggage claim and then get a taxi, feeling weird that everyone around is speaking Spanish again.

  I go straight to the hospital. The nurses give me funny looks because of my luggage. It makes me think of showing up to the restaurant this same way, dishe
veled and lost, dragging a hastily packed life behind me. It’s not the same hospital that Felix was taken to on the Night of the Perfect Taco, though who the hell can differentiate between hospital hallways. I roll my suitcase down the linoleum, following the signs to try to find Dad’s room.

  After a few wrong turns, I see Mom walk out a door, and I half call out, half whisper to her. She’s clearly been crying. And when she sees me there’s a fresh stream pouring out even as she runs to me. She holds me for a long time, tighter than she’s held me since I was a kid. She tells me that Dad underwent bypass surgery, and he’s stable, but they’re going to keep him for a few days.

  She tells me she was about to get some coffee, that she’s afraid to fall asleep. She tells me not to go anywhere and then leaves me alone for a moment.

  Inside the room, Dad is sleeping. He doesn’t look frail, because he’s always been kind of big, with a hefty belly and thick fingers that I now think would be good for a butcher, because they look like Vee’s. There are breathing tubes in his nose, saline solution dripping into his arm, those little electrode things hooked up to his chest. The TV on the wall is on but muted, and there’s a blanket crumpled on the chair where Mom was fighting off sleep. It’s a difficult sight, mostly because he doesn’t look peaceful. It’s hard to see someone sleeping and not be at rest.

  Not wanting to wake him, I roll my suitcase to the corner and then take a seat. There’s no real beeping going on, just the calm sounds of breathing, the quiet hum of fluorescent lighting in the hallway. The more I look at Dad the more I start to see a gauntness there, hollowed cheeks. I wonder if he’s really deteriorated over the last couple of months like Mom said or if it’s just the hospital lighting.

  I have no idea what I’ll say when Dad wakes up. I look at my phone; even now, every other thought is still focused on Emma. Death or Emma. Everything just ends up floating away.

  Mom comes back a few minutes later. She tells me I can go home if I want, but I say I’m okay here. Despite the coffee, she falls asleep a few minutes later, perhaps some of her restlessness disappearing when I arrived.

  I don’t feel particularly tired, so I grab the Italo Calvino book I bought with Emma and try to read, using the book for company more than distraction. Mostly, I just sit there, staring out the window at the parking lot. A few times a nurse comes in to check on Dad, young, stern but with a nice smile, which she offers when she sees I’m awake. Mom snores beside me, curled up beneath her blanket. She looks even frailer than Dad.

  It’s hard not to think of death, and for once I don’t try to stop it, just let my mind drift to the subject. I think of myself and everyone I love as living, breathing beings who will one day die. I think of the days I’ve lived, of the last two months, all that I managed to fill them with.

  At dawn, Felix makes an appearance. Felix as Felix, in that stained white shirt, no bullet holes or blood or any evidence that he’s gone. Almost at the same time, Dad stirs. Mom seems to sense this and jolts awake, scurrying to his side, to give him some water. She cradles his head as he drinks baby sips from a straw. Then his eyes flit toward me.

  “Mijo,” he says, moving the straw away from his mouth. He tries to sit up, but Mom tells him no. She readjusts the pillow so he can see me a little easier, but she doesn’t let him work himself up.

  “Hey,” I say, rising a little.

  “Come give me a hug,” Dad says. “A kiss. I’m so happy to see you.”

  And just like that, whatever ill will I felt toward my father, whatever rancor or resentment or disappointment, it’s gone. It practically floats right out of my chest and through the window. I get close and lean over Dad and we embrace to the fullest extent a hospital bed will allow. Relief finds its way to every corner of my body. Dad’s still alive.

  When I finally pull away, I can tell Dad is trying to hang on, to move an arm toward me. But Mom says no, again. “You have to take it easy.”

  “Why? The surgery was hours ago, and it was only a single bypass,” he says with a wink. I forgot this about him, his sense of humor. Felix got it from somewhere.

  Felix has summoned himself a chair, and he’s sitting on the other side of the bed, his body turned slightly away from me, angled toward Dad. He’s leaning forward, arms on the railing, chin on his arms, eyes glazed over, stuck on some distant point.

  “I’m gonna get the nurse to sedate you again,” Mom says, raising a threatening finger at him.

  Dad smiles and rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Can I hear about my son’s trip then? Is listening too strenuous?”

  “Being a smartass is,” Mom says, but she relaxes into her chair, looking happy. Felix says nothing, moves not an inch.

  So I talk. I run through the whole summer, even if I’d already told Mom most of it over the phone. I start from the very first day and this time don’t skip a thing. Going to Provecho in Felix’s honor, how delicious the food was, yet how unsatisfying the meal itself. The motel room, the trips with Emma to the lake. Dad gets a funny look on his face when I go into detail of the long hours standing at the sink but refrains from comment. I talk for nearly an hour without any interruptions other than the occasional question. Felix lays his forehead on his arms for a bit as he listens. He doesn’t crack a joke, doesn’t interject in any way. Mom doesn’t stop smiling.

  They beam when I regale them with the dishes I created for staff meals, mutter bilingual curse words when I tell them the kind of things Chef would say to me during our training sessions. Always vague about the girls I’ve dated, I surprise myself when I tell them exactly what me and Emma did on our first date, how things progressed from there.

  I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone who inherently cares about what you’re saying, who responds as if it’d happened to them. Yes, Emma helped bring that feeling back around every now and then. Elias too. But I didn’t have a family on the island. Not one that was alive, anyway.

  When I’m done talking, the stern nurse comes in again, a little more talkative now that everyone’s awake. She fluffs Dad’s pillow, checks the tubes in his arms. Even if he’s still an imposing physical figure, it’s hard to see him reduced to such weakness by his own body. He keeps his eyes on me, smiling. The nurse leaves, and I start to feel the exhaustion of staying up all night. I think maybe I’ll go home, shower, eat something that Elias would appreciate. Before I get up, though, Dad clears his throat. “Right before the heart attack, I thought to myself, shit, I’ve done it again.” I’m taken aback, not just by what he’s just said but by the fact that there seems to be tears in his eyes. Mom stops fussing; Felix freezes.

  “You know I hated myself for how things turned out with Felix, right?” Dad continues. The air doesn’t quite leave the room, just comes to a standstill. The blinds don’t sway in the breeze caused by the AC, because there is no breeze. The air’s listening. “I hated that I couldn’t find a way to keep him close to us and happy. Hated myself for not knowing how to do anything other than try to impose myself. I couldn’t be happy for him. When you left, I didn’t immediately realize I’d done it again. Pushed another son away.” Dad wipes at his eye; Felix does the same. Beyond the door, an old lady in a hospital gown shuffles by, a younger woman holding her IV walks slightly behind her. I expect dozens of people to follow, pretending they’re going somewhere so they can listen in on what Dad’s saying.

  “Look, I know how to do a few things well.” He pauses to take a breath or to think. “Run a business. Provide for my family. Once upon a time, believe it or not, I could make a pretty decent omelet.” He smiles.

  “I wanted to give you and your brother a good life. I wanted to make sure your mom wouldn’t have to worry about the safety or happiness of our children. So, I did what I thought was right, and I chased success. I used the things I was good at to achieve those goals.

  “But in chasing success, I sacrificed a few things. Quality time with a
ll of you. Humility, maybe.” Another pause, the world at a further standstill. Cars looking for empty spaces in the parking lot have stopped moving; the clouds are still. “I never meant to sacrifice your and your brother’s happiness, but it turns out that’s what I’ve done.”

  I almost want to interject, but it feels like I’m frozen too. Only Felix is showing signs of movement, a shimmer in his eyes, which he turns his eyes downward to hide, resting his forehead on his arms. Mom’s basically weeping.

  Dad starts to reach for more water, but Mom admonishes him in Spanish and brings the glass toward him. After a few sips he lets his head go back to the pillow. “Felix did it too, you know. In a way.” Another sip, waves Mom away. “My fault. I set the example.

  “He chased after his dreams at the expense of his family. I never hated him for that, just hated that I did it first, and so it was easy for him to follow along. That whole time he was gone, the thing I was angriest about was that I couldn’t say anything. It would make me a hypocrite. He did exactly what I did and instead of understanding him, I ignored him. I got mad that he rejected what I’d spent so long working to provide him, not realizing that he went after exactly what I wanted for him: his own joy. Not a day goes by that I don’t hate myself for that.”

  At the same time, Mom and Felix both reach for Dad’s hands. He grasps Mom’s on his right, but I can’t tell if he reacts to Felix’s touch, if he can sense it at all. “Enough about my mistakes, though.” Dad closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them I swear he glances at Felix for a second.

  Then he’s looking at me again. “You don’t have to push us away to chase what you want, Carlos. Because of me, you too were going to sacrifice your family for your happiness. I don’t want that to ever happen again.”

  Moments go by before I realize Dad’s done talking. He’s practically snoring by the time Mom gets up to fuss with his sheets. The world regains its motion, though the words going through my head are: Nothing will ever be the same.