Chapter Twenty-Two
Mika sipped a cup of coffee in the kitchen and watched Thomas emerge from Hana’s room, pulling a navy T-shirt over his head. She spun around and blinked, seeing the flat plane of his stomach, the little strip of hair that disappeared into his waistline. His happy trail.
“Morning,” Thomas said, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.” Mika winced at the shrillness in her tone. “I made coffee.” She retrieved a mug from the cupboard and slid it toward Thomas.
“Thanks.” He poured himself a cup.
“Creamer is in the fridge.” Mika leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, mug still in one hand. She’d dressed in leggings and an oversized T-shirt. Any other morning, she’d be wandering around in her undies.
“Black is fine.” He sipped the coffee and set it down. A bowl with three oranges was on the counter, and he frowned at them, the phantom taste of something sour twisting his lips.
“Is my coffee that bad? There’s a goat yoga studio slash café down the street,” she offered.
“No. It’s not that. I . . .” He hesitated.
“What?”
Thomas clamped his lips shut and shook his head. “Nothing.” He glanced at the oranges again.
“Tell me.”
At length, he said, “It’s the oranges. They’re all wrong.”
“Okay,” Mika said slowly.
“I hate the navels.” He visibly shuddered and paled.
“You mean these?” She picked up an orange and studied the belly button. The bowl used to house fake lemons.
“Yes,” he said soberly.
“Huh.” She placed the orange back in the bowl, belly button down. Then she turned the rest, so they faced the counter. “Any other food aversions I should know about?”
“No, but I’m also afraid of geese.” The color returned to Thomas’s cheeks. Mika was prepared to let it go, but then he said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Now I have to know.” Mika eyed him over the rim of her mug.
He leaned against the counter. “Bad experience as a child. I had a stuffed goose that I loved until my brother chased me around the house with it, threatening to peck my eyes out. Then, when I did actually see a flock of live geese in person, they chased me. Haven’t been able to tolerate them since.”
“I love all these glimpses into your personal life. It’s very psychologically helpful,” Mika teased. They smiled at each other. Light came through the kitchen window, hanging thick in the air like stirred honey. Mika cleared her throat. “So, uh, what time does your flight leave?” Penny was running sand dunes. Through Hana’s open door, she could see Thomas’s bag was already packed.
He checked the watch on his wrist. “Flight doesn’t leave until later this afternoon. I’ll probably head to the airport early and find somewhere to camp out. I’m rewatching all of The Lord of the Rings.”
Mika’s jaw dropped. “Wow. That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Thomas leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m thinking of learning elvish.”
Mika blew out a breath. “Scratch what I just said. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
A half-laugh rattled out of Thomas. “It’s a very popular language.”
“Yes. Among lonely virgins who can’t grow facial hair,” Mika blurted, then her cheeks burned. Had she really just said that?
Thomas’s mouth remained a straight line, but his eyes glittered with humor. “That’s a really harmful stereotype.” He paused. Thought about something. “I could fix your hole for you.”
Mika swallowed. “Come again?”
Thomas dipped his chin toward the window, the one facing the backyard. “The hole in your yard, as a thank-you for letting me stay the night.” Mika flashed back to when Penny and Thomas had come to dinner. When Thomas had toed the ground and asked if she had gophers. Right.
Mika smoothed her lips together. “That’s okay. I actually already filled it in.” She’d planted the maple tree there, the one Hiromi thought had a fungus.
Thomas wandered to the window. “Looks good.”
She considered Thomas. Their conversation last night. How today felt like a fresh start and in the spirit of that . . . “Okay,” Mika said, knocking back the rest of her coffee and placing the mug in the porcelain sink. “Let’s go, sad guy.”
Thomas turned to her. “What?”
“I’m taking you out.”
His eyebrows pinched together. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I feel like murder is a little far.”
“Hardy-har-har,” Mika deadpanned.
Thomas set his cup down. “Where are we going?”
Mika grabbed her keys and opened the door wide, her smile even wider. “You’ll see.”
* * *
“Donuts?” Thomas shifted on his feet, hands stuffed into his pockets. “This is better than Mordor and learning elvish.”
Two guys in skinny jeans ahead of them turned and let their eyes travel from the tips of Thomas’s shoes to the top of his silver-streaked hair. “Could you tone down The Lord of the Rings jargon?” asked Mika. “I might know someone here.” Here was Voodoo Doughnuts in Old Town. The first few years, the donut shop had been open only from nine p.m. to two a.m. In college, Hana and Mika would stumble in, liquor soaked, to binge on frosted vanilla donuts dusted with Cap’n Crunch and bacon maple bars. The shop soon opened during the day, and now here Mika and Thomas were, waiting in line for a much-coveted pink box of donuts. “We’re working on your spontaneity.”
The line moved. Mika and Thomas shuffled forward. “I’m very spontaneous,” Thomas said proudly, rocking back on his heels. “On the weekends, I don’t make my bed. And sometimes Penny and I have breakfast for dinner.” He raised his eyebrows in a take-that kind of way.
“Whoa!” Mika held up her hands, then clutched her chest, pretending to be aghast. The two guys in front of them snickered. “I think my heart just stopped from shock.” Thomas cracked a slow sheepish smile. She elbowed him. “C’mon, let’s get all sugared up and paint the town red.” The line moved again, and they were inside. The floor was pink, yellow, brown, and beige linoleum tiles. The walls were painted yellow and pink. Truly hideous. But it smelled amazing, like swimming in a vat of sugar and cinnamon and bread rising. They ordered half a dozen of the most popular donuts from a dude at the counter with a handlebar mustache, then wandered back to the car. They settled in, pink box of donuts on the console between them. Mika waited to start the car, eyes on the waterfront before them.
She popped open the box and picked an Old Dirty Bastard, a raised yeast donut with chocolate frosting, Oreo cookies, and peanut butter. “I still wish you would have let me buy you a T-shirt.” At the counter, Mika had tried to foist a T-shirt onto Thomas. It featured the Voodoo Doughnut logo, a version of Baron Samedi with a banner that read: the magic is in the hole. As with the oranges, Thomas had visibly blanched. He didn’t wear any sort of shirt with a graphic on it. Much too wild. A quirk of Thomas’s Mika might have found alienating but now thought of as kind of endearing.
“You’re treating me to breakfast with a side of heart attack, that’s enough.” Thomas plucked an Apple Fritter from the box and took a healthy bite. “Oh my god!” he said, cheek full of dough, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. “That’s the best donut I’ve ever had.”
“Right?” Mika’s grin split wide. “I know. I used to come here all the time with Hana.”
Thomas swallowed. “So good.” He picked out a Key Lime Crush and finished it in two bites. He licked jelly from his finger. “Let’s bring Penny here next time I visit. She’s such a foodie and hasn’t ever mentioned it. She’ll think I’m cool because I knew about it before her.”
Mika grinned. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. It was still early. Thomas’s flight didn’t leave for another six hours. She considered where to take him next. The Freakybutttrue Peculiarium, the farmers market, more food . . . what would Thomas like to do? She stared at the water, the boats whizzing by and drifting in the current. She started the car. “You ready to go?”
Thomas made some sound of agreement. At least, Mika thought so. It was hard to tell with his mouth full of Cap’n Crunch donut.
Thirty minutes later, Mika pulled into a gravel parking lot shaded by towering fir trees. A convenience store with a handmade sign that boasted: the best deli sandwiches this side of the river plus kayak rentals.
“Kayaking?” Thomas said, but in a different way than he’d said donuts earlier. On the way, he’d polished off two more, and a faint coat of powdered sugar dusted his knee.
“Kayaking.” Mika nodded. She remembered Thomas had rowed in college.
“I haven’t been out on the water for . . .” He shook his head. “Jesus. I don’t know how long.” He cracked his knuckles, dark brow furrowing. “Yeah, okay. I’m excited.” They rented the kayaks, then met up with a stocky, bearded guy on the sandy shore who fitted them with a waterproof bag, life jackets, and a red whistle. “Just in case you run into Roslyn,” he said.
“Roslyn?” Mika asked, slipping on her life jacket.
“Yeah. Alligator, we think she was some kid’s pet.” He laughed it off and waved a hand. “Anyway, you probably won’t see her, but if you do, you’ll have the whistle.”
“Whistle, yeah,” Mika said, pausing as she zipped the jacket.
Thomas grabbed the whistle and looped it around his neck. “Anything else?” He was ready, nearly bouncing on his feet. Hadn’t looked at his watch once since they’d arrived or mentioned traffic and the airport.
“Nope. Kayaks are yours for three hours,” the guy said.
Thomas thanked him and trudged to an orange kayak. Mika followed, jacket still undone. “Um, Thomas. I think we should go somewhere else.”
“What? Why?” He whipped around.
“Because of . . .” She lowered her voice so the bearded guy wouldn’t hear, but he was already climbing back up the steps to the parking lot. “Roslyn.”
“The alligator? Wait, are you scared?” he asked, disbelieving. As if he ate alligators for breakfast.
“Of course I’m scared.”
“I see.” Thomas tried to hide his smile. “I’m sure he was just joking. The whistle is if we capsize or get lost. Plus, don’t you think if there really was an alligator, there would be signs posted?” True. That did make sense. “And they’d give us something more than a whistle?” Even more sense. Thomas gazed across the water, sadness softening his eyes. “But if you really don’t want to . . .” He trailed off, hung his head, and rolled his eyes up, regarding Mika through dark lashes, a sad puppy if she’d ever seen one.
“Ugh, alright,” said Mika. “But if we run into anything remotely scaly, I am pushing you in front of me.”
Thomas crossed his heart. “I will beg any creature we encounter to take me first.”
They loaded into the kayaks and shoved off using their paddles. Thomas took the lead, his bow knifing through the glassy water, with the air of a seasoned professional. She watched the muscles in his arms move and flex as he used the oars to steer. Farther and farther from the dock, they drifted, paddling aimlessly. And Thomas was like a kid on cupcakes, his excitement like a lasso—ensnaring Mika.
“Penny would love this,” Thomas called to her.
“Yeah,” Mika agreed with a smile, picturing it: the three of them paddling through the water, Penny’s infectious laugh floating down the river, always so ready for adventure. Mika snapped a few pictures, sent them to Penny, and then put her phone back in the wet bag.
Thomas kayaked farther down the river. Mika was content to trail behind him, following his lead. Every so often, he paused and turned back to make sure she was keeping up. A boyish grin transformed his features—he looked years younger, carefree. The sun was beating down, the birds were chirping, and it felt like they were the only two people for miles.
When they reached a patch of lily pads, Mika rested the paddle on her knees and leaned back, happily drifting in the water and basking in the sunlight and Thomas’s happiness.
Bonk. Something jutted against the back of Mika’s kayak. She spun toward the sound. Roslyn? The kayak rocked, tilted. Mika panicked and shifted her body weight, making a jerking motion. The kayak tipped, taking Mika with it. A strangled scream erupted from her throat just as she hit the water. She was submerged for a second. Head bobbing to the surface, she gasped. Through the curtain of her soggy black hair, she spotted Thomas paddling toward her.
“You cross paths with Roslyn?” He glided right up next to her and pointed at something with his oar. Mika shoved the hair from her face. Nearly at eye level, staring at her, was a beaver. Its nose twitched, revealing long yellowing teeth. It studied her for a moment, then turned, tail slapping the water as it swam away. “Little furry to be an alligator,” Thomas said matter-of-factly.
Mika glared at Thomas, turned her back, and swam to her kayak, trying unsuccessfully to hoist herself into it. Too late, she remembered basic pull-ups made her scream. Getting her wet, clothed body back in the kayak was nigh impossible. In the end, Thomas had to get in the water and help her. Together they swam, guiding their kayaks to a nearby sandy alcove. They trudged to the shore, wet clothes clinging to their bodies. Thomas whipped off his shirt, and Mika found the ground suddenly fascinating. He wrung it out into the sand and slipped it back on. Mika crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. The day was warm, but they were in the shade. Each breeze a tiny cold whip against her skin.
Thomas’s light eyes swept down Mika and back up. “Hang on,” he commanded. He tromped into the forest and returned with dry twigs, leaves, and some bark. Mika watched as he used the nylon rope from the whistle and made something resembling a bow with it. Finally, he squatted down, assembled some other contraption, moving the bow back and forth. The leaves began to smoke and catch fire. Thomas blew on it, and the blaze increased. He dumped a couple bigger pieces of wood onto the fire.
Mika stepped forward to splay her hands above the flames. “This is very Bear Grylls of you,” she said pointedly.
“That guy? His stuff is all staged.” Thomas seemed a little offended.
“Oh?” she asked. Thomas merely nodded—enough said. “So how does one learn to conjure fires from sticks, leaves, and nylon rope?”
“I was an Eagle Scout,” he said with a shrug. He paused. “Stay here. Warm up. I’m going to get more wood.”
“Eagle Scout,” Mika whispered to herself, watching Thomas gather logs from the tree line. “Course you were.”
A few minutes later, the fire blazed in a full roar. They slipped off their shoes and propped them up to dry. Mika’s cheeks grew toasty warm. Thomas sat across from her, knees up, elbows resting on them. Mika listened to the chirp of the birds and stared at the fire, transfixed by the flames. “Sorry about the beaver.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure beavers get mistaken for alligators all the time.” Thomas looked away. He pressed his lips together, mouth working not to smile. She watched as he hung his head. His shoulders shook. He was laughing—at her.
“You’re hilarious,” Mika said flatly.
He smirked at her. “No. I get it. I totally do. He was terrifying. I see why you panicked. Definitely not an overreaction.”
Mika dug her toes into the sand. “The beaver was big.”
“When I retell the story, I will cast the beaver as massive, at least a hundred pounds,” Thomas promised.
“I’m pretty sure they don’t get above fifty pounds. But I appreciate your mutant beaver take.” Mika also appreciated the way his damp T-shirt clung to his shoulders. She found a stick and jabbed at the fire, shifting her gaze away. “You should know that, in the instance of another extra-large beaver that might be an alligator, I will gladly throw your body in front of mine. It would be a shame for Penny to lose a parent, but . . .” Mika paused, realized what she’d said. She scrambled to make it right. “Shit. Sorry,” she said feebly. She’d forgotten. Caroline. She stared at him helplessly.
Thomas looked at her over the fire with a fervent gaze. “It’s alright,” he said finally, expression inscrutable.
Mika dug her hands into the sand and fisted them. “No, it’s not. I am an insensitive asshole. I’m sorry,” she said stupidly. “Penny said you don’t like to talk about it. I understand. You’re not over it.”
His eyes flickered, and a few tense beats passed before he answered. “Do you ever get over someone you love dying?”
“No.” Mika peered away.
The lighting was just right. The surrounding trees mirrored in the water, their leaves bright and green, grinning at summer. Soon they’d curl, turn brown, wither away with fall. Most lives were drawn with fragile lines. The panic attacks worsened after Mika had Penny. At first, Hana had been patient and kind. Sitting by Mika’s side while she fractured and short-circuited, fragmented all over the place.
I think I’m dying, she’d say to Hana, gasping for breath. But really, Mika had thought, it was her soul trying to reenter a body that didn’t fit anymore. Half a dozen times later, Hana’s patience thinned. She turned lovingly mean. She forced Mika’s feet into shoes, her body across campus to the free counseling services. There Mika had met Suzanne, a graduate psychology student who approached Mika as though she were a skittish whipped horse. Suzanne taught Mika how to breathe through the fear. When Mika calmed, she had clenched her fists and pounded her knees and said, I just need to get over this. It was something her mother had instilled in her. To rise above adversity. Just as there were narratives for good mothers, there were narratives for good victims too. Don’t let it define you. Be brave. Not a victim.
Suzanne leaned over, macramé necklace swinging in the air, and with all the sympathy in the world and maybe a little pity, she said, Babe, this isn’t something you get over. This is something you go through.
Now, Mika repeated it. “It’s something you go through,” Mika whispered to Thomas.
He stared at her, gaze sharp and fiery. “That’s exactly right.” A sad ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Caroline had this running joke. Now that I think of it, it was kind of morbid. But she used to tease me that I was trapped in a coma dream. Sometimes she’d hug me from behind and say, ‘Wake up, Thomas, I love you. I need you.’ Then she’d laugh like it was the funniest thing. When she passed away, I was by her side. There were all these nurses around, but I couldn’t help myself. I whispered in her ear, ‘Wake up, Caroline. I love you. I need you.’” He paused. His eyes were red and liquid. Mika’s were too. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
“After I had Penny, I used to talk to her,” Mika blurted. Hi, baby, you are two weeks old today, and I hope you are doing okay. I’m not doing so hot myself . . . Mika would say. It was all she could do to keep from self-destructing completely.
Thomas bobbed his head in agreement. “I used to talk to Caroline too. Then it became less and less. Until one day, I didn’t talk to her at all.” He cleared his throat and wiped under his nose. “Anyway, it’s something I’ve been through. I’m on the other side now. I don’t carry all that around with me anymore. I’m thankful for Caroline, for the life we made together, for Penny. I don’t have any regrets. But . . .” He took a breath and went on. “Penny said I don’t like talking about her?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s my fault.” He tossed another log onto the fire. “I was so pissed after she died. So lost in my own desolation, I didn’t make it easy for Penny.”
“What was she like?” The words slipped out, and Mika wished she could take them back. She wanted to like Caroline but also felt a deep hunger to find faults within her, this phantom other mother to Penny.
At last, Thomas smiled again. “Caroline was pretty amazing. As a person, she was sweet and giving, and kind. She’d stay after shifts and visit patients who didn’t have a family when she was a nurse. She was a great wife and mom. We made a good team. I wish she was here to see Penny. How good she is.”
“She sounds perfect.” Mika tried to keep the envy from her voice. How could she ever compare?
Thomas studied Mika. “She wasn’t, actually. Far from it. She had a temper and used silence like a weapon.” Mika thought of her mother’s quiet unhappiness. Of Penny’s refusal to talk about Caroline. Of her own unwillingness to step forward after Peter. All the ways women wielded or kept silence. How dangerous it could be. “Once, she didn’t talk to me for two days straight when I had too much to drink with some buddies.”
“Yikes,” Mika said.
He nodded and poked at the sand with a finger. He smiled wryly. “She liked being in control. She cleaned obsessively and was a bit of a perfectionist. Sometimes I thought I wouldn’t ever be good enough for her. But she loved me anyway, and I loved her.”
Mika peered at Thomas. She thought about love, its different forms—what it felt like to have it, to lose it. They had that in common.
An engine’s roar sounded and closed in. Birds startled from their trees. A fishing boat motored to a stop and idled just off the shore. “Hey!” The bearded guy from the kayak rental place cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “Your rentals are overdue, and there are no fires on that beach. It’s public land.”
Thomas and Mika hauled to their feet. Thomas threw sand on the fire, and the bearded guy brought the boat closer. Together they loaded up their kayaks.
“Sorry,” Thomas said, wind breezing through his hair on their way back to the dock. “We had a run-in with Roslyn.”
The bearded guy barked a hearty laugh. He raised his arm to point at a vine maple growing in the sandy bank. Its branches arched over the water, and from them hung a stuffed muddy alligator, a piece of cardboard around its neck, the name Roslyn Sharpied on it. “Roslyn strikes again,” he said.
* * *
Mika waited, back turned while Thomas changed out of his damp clothes into clean and dry ones in her car. He emerged with a sweatshirt. “Here,” he said, handing it over.
“Oh, thanks.” Mika slipped it on, Dartmouth rowing emblem over her chest.
She drove him to the airport, and they said goodbye. Mika offering to wash the sweatshirt and send it to him. But he said he’d get it when he came back into town in a few weeks. At home, Mika showered. When she emerged, a text from Thomas waited.
Flight is about to board. Thanks for this morning. I forgot how good it feels to be out on the water.
She remembered Thomas in the kayak. His faint grin was contagious, overconfident, eyes on the winding river. She knew that look. Knew that feeling. It was the same as when she gazed at paints. Like something belonged to you. Anytime, she answered.
It was really amazing. You just get busy with family and all, but I feel like I still got it, he replied.
Yeah, you’re for sure the GOAT of kayaking, she shot back.
He replied with a single word, GOAT?
She tightened the knot on her robe before clarifying. Greatest of all time.
I am sensing sarcasm. Are you still upset about the beaver? he teased.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, she answered with a growing smile.
Thank you, he simply said.
Don’t mention it. I’m glad you had fun, she replied.
She picked up her clothes from the floor, including his sweatshirt, and dumped them into the wash. Back at her phone, Thomas had texted again. Seriously, I owe you one.