Fish out of Water Read online

  I point at him. “Don’t even think about yelling at me! You’ve done enough yelling and hating and I’m sick of having to stand by and watch it destroy another family. This happened to my dad and his mother—and they both regret it like crazy. You’re making it happen to your son and daughter when it doesn’t have to. Families shouldn’t be like this. There’s enough out there to tear them apart without it coming from the inside, too!”

  My breaths are heavy with pain, and I feel stupid for coming here and yelling at them. But I’m tired of keeping it in. I’m tired of taking the high road and being an example of tolerance. “Stop acting like idiots. Bring my best friend back.”

  No answer. Just angry glares. I figured as much, but speaking my mind has released the pressure building inside me. I put my hand on top of some take-out boxes. I don’t know what’s inside them, but I’m desperate enough to take any curry at this point. I grab them and say, “I guess this is the last time I’ll be eating your curry. You owe me for all the crap you’ve put me through.”

  I run out with the boxes. Putting them in my basket, I speed off as fast as my bike will go. If I go home, my parents will want in on my food, so instead I head for Lovers Point. I commandeer a picnic bench and gorge myself on tikka masala and rice and naan. After not having Shades of Bombay curry for so long, it’s like heaven in a Styrofoam box. I eat and eat and when it’s all gone I wish there was more, even though my stomach might explode from so much food.

  It’s only after staring at my empty boxes that I realize just how crazy I am to do that. A wave of embarrassment washes over me, accompanied by the persistent fear that they might have called the cops. Arrested for curry theft—my parents would be so proud.

  I thunk my head on the table, almost glad Shreya’s not at my house. Then I’d have to tell her what I did, and she’d kill me.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid … ” I mumble to myself.

  What’s wrong with me? I was never like this with my other boyfriends. I was calm and cool and prepared. But then again, I always felt in control. And as the end approached I could detach myself and move on. Dylan disappeared before I had a chance to see the end. Truth is, I never could see one.

  My stomach flops like a beached whale with all the curry inside. Why did I yell at him when I still want him so much? I should have listened to him, told him I missed him like crazy, told him to come back and make it all better. I feel so petty, and here I am accusing Shreya’s family of the same thing.

  “Excuse me, miss?” a deep voice comes from behind.

  I turn, and a flashlight blinds me for a moment. Once my eyes adjust, I realize there’s an officer on the other side. Fear makes me freeze. They really did call the cops! “Yes, sir?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late for a picnic?”

  “Um … ” I have no idea what time it is, but it’s only now that I realize no one is around. “I guess so. Sorry.”

  “Are you a minor?”

  I nod. Barely, but still.

  “Probably not a good idea to be alone in a park so late at night. Make sure to throw your trash away as you leave.”

  I stand up quickly, trying to calm myself down as I gather the boxes. “Of course. I must have lost track of time.”

  “Get home safely.” He walks off, shining his flashlight over other benches and bushes. I realize with a name like Lovers Point this place might attract a more romantic activity than gorging on curry alone.

  And with that final blow to my pride, I head back to the house. My head spins. My stomach is so full I completely regret the crazed curry binge. I thought it would make me feel better. That lasted about as long as it took to eat it all. Now I have shame to add to my despair and anger.

  It’s not until I’m practically in front of my house that I notice there’s someone sitting on the porch. I stop when I recognize the mussed hair and strong frame. My heart races when he looks up and sees me, and I’m hit by so many emotions I can’t even begin to detangle them.

  Dylan stands, his face unreadable. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 46

  I want to kiss him, hit him, scream at him, and let him hold me until all the bad things go away. But all I can think to say is, “Maybe I don’t want to talk.”

  “Mika.” Dylan doesn’t move, and something in the way he says my name feels sad. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to. Maybe I didn’t handle this the right way, but can you at least listen to me?”

  I put down the kickstand on my bike and take a few steps forward. “Fine. You have five minutes.”

  He clenches his jaw. “That should be enough.”

  “Good.”

  He sighs. “Yes, I left to apologize and it was impulsive and I should have thought more about how you’d feel. But I only did it because of you.”

  My brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

  “It started when we talked about my family forgetting how to be happy. And then got even bigger when you explained how your grandma was family, and that you love her even though she’s a horrible person.” He looks away, embarrassed. “It had an impact on me, okay? I wanted to be the bigger person, to tell my parents I was sorry and that I want them to be happy even though I’m not doing what they want me to.”

  A small pang of guilt hits, but it’s not enough to stop me from asking, “Why couldn’t you tell me that?”

  “I don’t know!” He throws his hands up. “Maybe because I was scared to face them. Or because if I thought about it too long I’d back out, and I thought you’d be disappointed in me if I did.”

  “Why would I be disappointed?”

  He shakes his head, not in an angry way, but like he’s upset that I don’t get it. “Can you not see that I’ve been bending over backwards to impress you? You make me want to be a better person, and then when I try you get pissed off at me!”

  “I didn’t know what you were doing!” I say too loudly. “Your uncle said you ditched me. And then London answers your phone and tells me I’m just a summer fling. She basically called me trash.”

  “And you went along with it?” His voice is strained, like he’s trying not to get angry but inside he’s boiling.

  “I didn’t at first! But after five days what else could I do?”

  He purses his lips, his eyes dark and sad. “Just so you know, I couldn’t find my phone. I looked everywhere for it because I was dying to talk to you, but it was gone. London owned up to stealing it when she came over the morning I arrived. She planned the whole thing, and my parents didn’t mind going along with it.”

  Another pang of guilt. “What did she plan?”

  “She knew you’d call me eventually—you don’t think she saw that as a great opening to hurt you? And my parents had no problem lying about the damn internet being broken. I checked the router after I talked to you. It was turned off.”

  He balls his fists like he wants to punch something. “I should have known what was up after a few days, but I wanted to believe they were happy with me living my own life. Apparently they spent the whole week trying—and succeeding, it looks like—to sabotage my relationship and make me stay there.”

  My shoulders fall, and I feel about an inch tall because I can tell he’s not lying. He’s holding back a lot of pain over how they deceived him. “Dylan … ”

  His eyes meet mine, but they aren’t soft. “It’s fine. I should have known they’d do that. But you know what hurts?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “You believed it. Even after everything I’ve done to show you how much I care. Even after I’ve told you that you’re the most important person in my life, you still see me as a guy who’d leave you like that.” He pauses, gulping back what might be tears. “I know I’m not innocent in this, but you gave up on me after just five days. After I did everything to protect you, you couldn’t have held on a little longer?”

  “I … ” No words will come. Why didn’t I keep believing like I did at first?

  “I’m new at all this relatio
nship stuff—I’m bound to make a lot of mistakes—but I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in love with you, Mika.” Dylan doesn’t say it sweetly, but as if the idea is agonizing. “You are stubborn and a little self-righteous and you have a temper that could stand a few anger management classes, and yet even those parts of you make me want to be with you every second.”

  I blush profusely, though I’m not sure if that was a compliment.

  “But at the same time … this hurts. I spend every waking hour thinking about you and how to make you happy and how I can be the kind of guy you deserve. I feel like I keep failing at it, like I’ll never be what you want me to be. And it kills me inside.” He puts his hand to his mouth like he doesn’t want to talk, but then continues, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I want you so much, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough for you.”

  “Dylan, that’s not … ” I don’t know what to say, because I feel horrible. I never thought he might be hurt. All I thought about was myself.

  “I said my piece.” He steps off my porch and walks up to me. “It’s all raw right now, and it was a long drive home. Home, as in my uncle’s house. Not that giant mansion you referred to. I don’t have the energy to handle whatever you want to say. Good night, okay?”

  I nod, completely shell-shocked.

  He walks to his uncle’s car. I watch him the whole way, wanting to run to him and yet positive he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me. He gives me a single, mournful glance before he gets in and drives away.

  Chapter 47

  On Saturday, I go to the beach by myself and build a sandcastle like the ones Shreya and I made when we were ten. It’s small and plain and no one comes to take pictures of it. The more I look at it, the more it reminds me of a grave memorial, a monument to losing my best friend. I lie in the sand and close my eyes, pretending life is still as simple as it was back then.

  On Sunday, Olivia calls and we go school shopping. I keep mentioning how it would be more fun if Shreya was here until Olivia grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Stop it!”

  I stare at her, shocked.

  “What am I? Sloppy seconds?” She pulls back, and her frown tells me I’ve hurt yet another person in my life. “You and Shreya spent all summer worrying about each other, and I had to sit and watch because I didn’t have any problems. Unless you count my two best friends being too busy with their lives to even ask me how I’ve been doing with any of this.”

  Looking down, I have nothing to say but “Sorry.”

  “I know,” she says. “Which is why I’ve been trying to swallow my pride and deal. But can you just be happy to be here with me? I know you wish they were here, too, but I’m not going anywhere, Mika. I need you as much as you need me.”

  That’s when I break down right there in the mall. Because I’m so glad she’s not leaving me, too. I end up telling her everything that happened after Shreya left—the call from Dylan, the shameful curry theft, and how he showed up only to leave all over again. She wraps her arms around me, and I feel small right next to her tall frame.

  “Should I go to AnimalZone and kick him in the balls for you?” she asks.

  “No. It’s as much my fault as his.” I squeeze her tightly. “Thanks, Olivia. I promise I’ll stop moping. I am happy you’re here—you’re the one with the best fashion sense.”

  She laughs. “That’s more like it.”

  I buy everything she tells me to, and when I get home I don’t remember trying on half of it.

  Monday morning, I sit in front of my laptop staring at my relationship status—as has become my new obsessive habit. Still together. Dylan obviously has internet access now, and yet he hasn’t changed it. Is he waiting for me to thrown down the gauntlet?

  I’m not touching it.

  I can’t. Not after how much I’ve already hurt him. The way he looked at me Friday night is burned into my memory forever—the aching pain in his eyes, the way his lips crammed together in attempts to hide just how much he felt. Since then, I’ve become completely convinced that it’s not him who doesn’t deserve me, but the other way around.

  What have I done to be worthy of any of his attention? I’ve criticized him and judged him and never really told him how much he means to me. At least not in so many words. I’ve held myself back to stay safe, and yet expected him to bare his entire soul to me. I’m so selfish.

  I lean back into my desk chair, soaking in the pain that squeezes my heart. I deserve to feel this way. And he has the right to throw the final punch. I’ll wait for it, take it gracefully and pray he finds someone who won’t hurt him so much. If I really care about him, that’s the least I can do at this point. Let him fly away like the dragon he is.

  There’s a knock at my door, and I quickly shut my laptop. “Yeah?”

  Mom peeks her head in. We haven’t talked about what happened with Dylan, but I think she knows it’s not exactly going well. “You’ll be late for work if you don’t get dressed soon.”

  “Oh yeah.” I look down at my ratty tank top and shorts, wanting more than anything to stay like this all day.

  Her eyes fill with concern. “Are you okay? You look sick.”

  “Not sick.” But everything aches, and I still can’t decide if I should dare show my face at work. Dylan will probably be there. But if I call in sick he’ll know I’m avoiding him, and wouldn’t that hurt him more? I don’t know. “Well, not technically. But I’m not feeling awesome.”

  She nods. “I hope you can work things out. Dylan seems like a really sweet boy.”

  “He is,” I manage to get out. Everyone kept telling me how great he was, how funny and attractive and kind. All I focused on was his flaws. I suck in a breath before I get worked up again. “Um, can you maybe call my boss and tell him I’m not coming? I’m … too scared to go. I can’t do it today.”

  She doesn’t seem pleased with my decision, but says, “Okay. How long?”

  “Not sure. I have over a week of vacation time saved up. Just tell him I’ll be back when I feel better. He’ll understand. He knows.” Clark even said I could quit. Surely he won’t fault me on this.

  “I’ll call him right now.” Mom shuts the door behind her, and I go back to my bed and crawl under the covers. I try to fall back asleep, but all I can think about is Dylan at work, what he might think of me not showing up. Will he be relieved? Sad? The selfish part of me hopes he’s sad, because I still want him to want me.

  Like I want him.

  I spend the rest of the week in the pursuit of the perfect oatmeal. It feels silly, but it’s also a good distraction, a goal, and maybe even a way to pay for what I did. Because Grandma stands over me every day, her scowl firmly in place as she watches.

  “Too runny.”

  “Too thick.”

  “That tastes like sweetened cement.”

  “Not even a starving cat would eat that.”

  “Can’t you figure this out? It’s just oatmeal! What’s so hard about making a decent bowl of oatmeal?”

  On Wednesday, Grandma upgrades me from “edible” to “not bad.” It is an oddly triumphant moment, since getting any compliment from her is a miracle. Which makes me think of how Dylan must have felt all summer. I guess I’m a lot more like my grandma than I ever thought. It is not a good feeling.

  By Friday, I feel like I’m getting close to this mystical oatmeal concoction my great aunt Grace invented. It’s less brown sugar than I thought. More cinnamon than seems necessary. It has to be cooked in milk, not water. And a pinch of salt brings out the flavors to Grandma’s liking.

  Still, she stands over me without so much as a hint of acceptance on her face. The one thing I’m changing today is saving the raisins for after it’s done. In the hospital she said they came last, but I’ve put them in like that and she still complains. Yesterday she gave me a clue when she whined about them having “no bite.” So instead of cooking them, I’m sprinkling them on top after I pour her serving so they stay chewy.

  I fil
l a bowl, put the raisins on top, and hand it to her. She inspects it like the world’s foremost expert in oatmeal. Maybe she is. Dipping her spoon in, she takes a small bite and sloshes it in her mouth for what seems like forever. Then she looks at me, not a smile in sight, “Now was that so hard?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Does that mean I did it right?”

  She takes the bowl to the table. “Took you long enough.”

  I shake my head, trying to feel the victory of this moment no matter how hard she’s making it. Clearly she likes it, because she’s shoveling it in her mouth much faster than she ever has.

  “Good job, Mika!” Joel smiles at me, and that makes up for Grandma’s lack of excitement. “Your determination won the day.”

  I laugh. “As long as she’s eating, right?”

  He nods. “That will get more and more true as time passes.”

  “Yeah.” I watch her, knowing there will come a time when her body forgets how to chew and swallow entirely. Today she is eating something she loves, and it was worth all the trouble.

  As I make myself some toast, I can feel Joel watching me. He’s been kind enough to keep coming though I’ve been home all week. Honestly, his company is more than welcome. He truly has a gift for turning any moment into a happier one.

  “I’ve been really good not to ask,” he finally says. “But you keep missing work and you don’t seem very sick.”

  I sigh. “I don’t?”

  “It’s about Dylan, right?” He nods when I pause mid-bite. “I knew it. You have heartbreak written all over you.”

  “Fine, you’re right, but I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

  “Alright. I will provide chocolate and gossip and be patient.”

  “Thanks.” It feels like I’ve become incapable of making any decision. Even after a whole week, Dylan hasn’t changed our relationship status. It makes me hope, but at the same time I worry he’s waiting for me to do it. One moment I want to apologize and beg him to take me back, and the next I’m too scared to hear him say it’s really over. So instead I do nothing but stay at home and make oatmeal.