Chapter Twenty-Nine
The drive to Mika’s house was silent. Thomas stared out the window, drumming a rhythm against his thigh. At stoplights, Mika stole glances at him. At the veins running up his arm, the curve of his cheekbones, the messy hair with a few silver strands reflecting the waning sunlight. He’d caught her looking once, and she’d glanced quickly away. But she didn’t miss the sly smile that appeared on his face.
“I’ll be right back out,” she’d said when they’d gotten into the house, already working at the knot of the obi. “Actually, would you mind?” She scooted closer to Thomas. Her hands fell away as she felt Thomas’s strong fingers work at it, untying the obi. He stilled as it unraveled from her waist. She held the kimono closed, then stooped to pick up the obi. She spun in his arms to face him. “Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime.” His voice sounded rough, and his hands traced down her sides.
“Be right back,” she said lowly. Her hand loosened on the kimono, exposing the white undergarment.
“Okay,” he said, voice even rougher.
“Okay.” She placed her hands on his chest, skin burning hot under her fingers. It hurt to step away from him. But she needed a minute. Needed to take a break, a deep breath. She padded to her room and closed the door, leaning against it heavily. She undressed slowly, methodically. Folding the kimono as her mother had taught her. She could hear Thomas in the house. Walking around, opening the fridge, cracking open a beer. When she reemerged in jeans and a T-shirt, he sat on the couch, a brown paper bag on the table.
“What’s that?”
“A gift, but first . . .” He held a piece of paper. “For you,” he said, offering it to her.
“I’m intrigued,” she said, opening the letter and reading.
Dear Mika,
Penny will turn seventeen soon, and we have had quite the year. In keeping with the tradition of children worrying their parents, Penny bought a ticket to Portland to meet you, her birth mother. Do you remember the first time I called you? I do. Actually, I don’t remember everything I said. Only the fear. That I might be losing my daughter—not to you, but to the world. And I . . . I just wasn’t ready yet.
Jesus. It’s hard to admit, but I’ve been afraid for so long. Terrified of the future. I don’t do well with change. Which is difficult when all your child wants to do is transform. It seems the tighter I try to hold on, the more things slip through my fingers. It is a reminder to me of how impermanent life is.
Penny’s desire to become her own person is made apparent to me every day. We talk to each other less and less, especially this summer. She is out on a run or with her new boyfriend—who plans to visit her during the school year. I am pretending to be a cool parent. I have even offered to put him up on our couch. Witness my evolution. (Although, between you and me, I have stood in our living room, contemplating where I might place hidden cameras.)
She is planning to apply to several colleges—many out of state. I understand Penny has grown too big for the house I built. I know the part I must play. My job is to get her to a place where she doesn’t need me anymore. My role is to put up the funds and accept I cannot keep her forever. It is another death of sorts, I think. The final goodbye of the life I had with Caroline. We were supposed to take Penny to college together. We were supposed to sit outside in our car in the driveway because we couldn’t bear to go inside the house without her or the knowledge that the next time she came home, she would be a visitor. We were supposed to miss her for a week, then agree quietly while feeling a little ashamed that it was kind of nice, now that it’s the two of us. How did my life go from three to two and now one? Of course, I know the answer. Death. Growing up.
It is starting to get easier, and in part, it’s due to you. You have eased the pressure in my chest. For a while, all I’ve been able to do is look backward. And now, all of a sudden, I look forward. I am excited to see where you and I will lead. Excited to see where Penny will go, what she will discover, who she will become. I have realized, too, that while the winds of change may carry her away, I will always be her father.
I could go on. The truth is, I’m not sure how to end this letter. I guess I’ll just finish by saying, I hope the days ahead are brighter than those behind us—for the record, I believe they will be.
Thomas
Mika finished reading and looked at Thomas, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would form. She was too stunned by Thomas’s act of brilliant generosity. He’d done what didn’t come easy. And he’d done it for her, given himself freely.
“Your annual letter,” he said roughly, with a hint of a smile. “Hand delivered and more than five sentences to boot. You’ll have to wait on the photographs; I’m still gathering them up. Believe it or not, it’s hard to get printed pictures these days. Does it make me sound old if I say, remember the time when you could go into a store and develop a roll of film? Things were so much simpler then.”
“Yes,” Mika replied, matching his smile. “But I won’t tell anyone.” She gestured at him with the letter. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, but really, she wanted to wrap her arms around him. It was the best gift she’d ever received. She’d asked Thomas for more, and he’d given it to her. She curbed the urge to weep.
“I did have to.” Thomas rolled his hands together. “Now for your next gift. I am not nearly done wooing you.” He grabbed the brown paper bag from the table.
Her insides buzzed, and she opened her hands, accepting the package. “For me?”
“For you,” he confirmed, light gaze scraping up her body to her eyes.
“Should I open it?” She curled up on the couch next to him.
“It’s nothing big. Just something I saw and thought of you.” He outright grinned. “Sorry, it’s not wrapped.”
Her stomach somersaulted. She reached in the bag, pulling out what was inside. “Oil paints,” she breathed out. The box was an introductory set. The brand high quality. Nine tubes of pure pigments—cadmium yellow, alizarin crimson, ultramarine blue, viridian green, burnt umber. She glanced out the window. Saw her reflection. Who am I? Who am I? Her palms grew clammy.
Thomas scooted closer. Their knees bumped. His hand landed on her thigh and squeezed. “You gave me back rowing. I wanted to give something back to you too.”
She set the paints down, away from her, suddenly cold. “This is great. Thank you.”
He frowned. “You don’t like them?”
“It’s just not something I do anymore.” She turned away to hide her longing, the hurt in her heart.
“Why don’t you?”
Her chest tightened. Her throat felt dry.
“Mika?” Thomas said, leaning in, his light eyes baffled. “What is it?” He pulled her into a hug. “You can tell me about it.”
She buried her face in his chest. His hand ran up and down her back, easing her closer. He made soothing sounds and smelled like soap and coffee. She soaked his shirt, quietly crying. Letting out all the grief. Letting it all go.
She pulled back. “I want—” She stopped short.
“What is it you want?” His face was serious, brow pinched as if studying Mika under a microscope, peeling away the layers she hid under. His hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head.
She held his gaze as she thought. I want it all back. The time I lost. I want my future back, my innocence, my bravery, my sense of security. I want to fall in love again. To be free of the cage Peter built around me. She wanted it all. Penny. Family. Painting. Travel. The ghost life. But she’d start with Thomas . . . “You. Just you.”
“Mika.” He kissed her forehead. Then each of her cheeks. “Mika. You have me.”
He pulled her in. Then he slowly, ever so slowly bent down until his nose grazed hers. “Okay?” he said. He was asking for permission. She clenched her hands, his shirt bunching in her fists.
“Yes,” she said.
He swooped down, in. His lips caught hers softly at first. So hot and slow Mika felt as if she might explode. He shifted, clever hands sliding around her waist. Then he inched up under her shirt, right below her breasts. Mika arched into his touch, pressing herself against him. His grip tightened. His tongue slipped into her mouth. She gasped, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss.
Somehow, they moved through time and space and fell onto her bed. The window was open, paisley curtains spread wide, revealing Portland’s summer sky—a wisp of clouds, a hazy border above the tree line from light pollution, a rising moon. Her heart thundered, the sound of one thousand horses’ hoofbeats. Thomas reared back. He thumbed her lips. Kissed her again. She reached down, catching the hem of his shirt, and pulled it up and off him. “You too,” he said. Mika complied, tossing her shirt to the side. He hooked a finger under her bra strap and pulled down, the muscle in his jaw leaping. “Wow.”
“I take it that’s good?” she asked, mouth quirking into a smile.
“So good.” He kissed the tops of her breasts.
She hiked a leg up around his waist, pressing him against her. Feeling how much he wanted her. They ground together. Kissed more, wet-hot and open-mouthed. He moved down her body, leaving fire in his wake. He popped the button open on her jeans and shimmied her out of them.
“Wait,” she gasped—heat pulsed under her skin.
Immediately he stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
No, but he could. She slid her hands through his hair. “I want this. I want you. But I have some rules.”
His face was inscrutable, and his breath tickled her belly. “Okay.”
“It’s okay for you to be on top, but don’t put your hand over my mouth.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” He paused. “What else?”
She shook her head. Her heart rocked like a boat caught on the edge of a swell. “I’m a little broken,” she admitted.
“Me too,” he said. Mika knew that. It’s part of what bound them together. Two broken hearts make a whole one. “You should know, it’s been a while for me,” he said.
She squirmed. “How long?”
“I went on a couple dates with a woman a year ago, we slept together . . .”
“Three hundred sixty-five days. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I didn’t like it.” Thomas locked eyes with Mika. “I can’t just be with someone I’m not—that I don’t care for.” Mika leaned up on an elbow and ran a hand through his hair.
“Me either,” she said.
“Glad we understand each other.” He rested his chin on her stomach, right near her belly button. “Any other rules?”
Mika shook her head. “No.”
“Alright,” he said. “But you should know, I believe every woman should be touched the way she wants to be.”
He said it so earnestly Mika melted and flopped backward. “Good answer. You may proceed.”
Thomas laughed and kissed her belly. “How’s this?”
She ground against him. “That’s good.”
He kissed lower, trailing down her stomach. “How about this?”
“Ah, good too.”
Lower still. He pulled down her panties, then squeezed her thighs, tasting her. Her breaths came faster as the pressure mounted. “What about now?” he asked, breath hot against her core. She couldn’t answer. She rolled her hips, wanting to be closer, seeking release.
Finally, she cried out. “Thomas.”
He moved up her body, undoing his pants, pushing down his briefs.
“Protection. Do you have a condom?” She hooked her legs around his waist and rocked.
“Um, no. I don’t.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit.”
“I might have some. In the top drawer.”
Thomas was off her in a flash. He pulled the drawer out, knocking it off its tracks. “Why is there so much spandex in here?” It was from Charlie, the biking gear she’d never returned. “Got ’em.” He threw the clothing on the ground and returned to the bed, little foil packet in his hand. He tore the wrapper open with his teeth and then worked the condom on. He settled back between her legs and kissed her softly and languorously, sinking deep into her. She groaned. Gasped. Pleasure rushed through her. Her hands spanned his back, raked against his flesh. His hand snaked down between their bodies and touched her center. On he went in a mind-blowing rhythm. He waited for her to unravel first. She came with a cry, with his name on her lips. Then he thrust, deeper, harder, burying himself into her neck with a shudder.
When it was done, Thomas collapsed beside her. The sheets in a tangled mess around them. She pulled the covers up around her limp body and stared at the ceiling.
His hand found hers under the covers. They lay there for a moment. Waiting for their hearts to stop racing. For their breaths to slow. For their minds to catch up with their bodies, to realize the bigness of this moment.
“Holy shit,” he said, thumb caressing the inside of her palm.
“Yeah,” Mika sighed.
He leaned up on an elbow, cupped her cheek. He thumbed her lips, and she kissed the tip of his finger. He bent down, mouth brushing hers. Her foot slid up against his calf, his hand up her side to cup her hip. Thomas flopped back. “Water. I need water.” He climbed from the bed and was slipping on his boxer briefs when Mika barked out a laugh.
“Your tattoo.” She rolled to her stomach and reached for the band of his underwear to pull it down. There it was, an outline of a T. rex trying to tie his shoe. “I thought you were joking.”
“A man doesn’t joke about humiliating tattoos,” he said over-seriously. He kissed her quick on the lips. “Be right back.”
By the time he returned, Mika had switched on the nightstand light and pulled on her undies plus a large T-shirt. He had a frosty glass of water and took a long drink of it before handing it off to Mika. There was something about sharing a glass of water with him that was even more intimate than what they had just done.
The sound of a phone buzzing drew Thomas’s attention. He fished it out of a pocket in his jeans. “Penny texted.” His brow drew in. “Olive wasn’t feeling good and went home. She wants to know where we are. She’s going to catch an Uber to us.”
All the warmth bled from Mika. Outside the house, a car door slammed. Time seemed to stop, then hurdle forward, moving too fast. “Did you lock the front door?” she asked, scrambling from the bed.
“What?” Thomas was behind her.
Someone knocked on the door. “Mika? Dad? You in there? I used the Find My Friends app,” Penny said from outside.
Thomas and Mika rushed to the door. Not fast enough. The knob turned. Penny entered, a smile plastered on her face. “Hey, I caught you. Let’s go eat.” She paused, took them both in—Thomas in his underwear, Mika too, in a T-shirt. They stood stock-still, rabbits caught in a snare. Penny’s smile dropped, her expression morphing to confusion. “What’s going on?” she said, though it was evident enough. Penny was still in her kimono, but her hair was down. Her mouth parted. She covered her eyes and twirled away. “Oh my god. Oh. My. God. You guys are fucking?”
“Penny, language,” Thomas said through his teeth.
“Are you kidding?” Penny scoffed and twisted back around to confront them. Two bright red splotches of anger appeared on her cheeks. She focused on Mika. Her chin trembled, and Mika ached to comfort her. “How could you do this to me?”
At that, Mika winced. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? How to make sense of this situation so Penny might understand. “We didn’t mean to. It just happened—” It sounded weak even to her own ears, belied what Mika felt about the situation, about Thomas. Maybe she should amend it. We were keeping our relationship a secret because we were doing what we thought was best for you. Somehow, she knew Penny would take that the wrong way. What teenager liked to hear they weren’t adult enough to handle something?
“Penny,” Thomas interjected.
Penny turned her full displeasure on her father. “Anyone in the world and you choose her, my birth mother?”
Thomas shook his head. “Clearly, you’re angry right now, and that’s understandable. Let’s talk about this.”
Phone in hand, Penny tapped something out on it.
“Penny,” Thomas said.
“Un-fucking-believable,” she muttered to herself.
“Penny. Stop. Get off your phone for a minute,” Thomas demanded. He ran an aggravated hand down his face. “Penny, look at me.”
Finally, Penny turned, her eyes narrowed and pointed like the sharpest daggers. “You know what? I don’t really feel like being around either of you right now.” Her phone pinged. She put a hand on the door and opened it.
Outside, a car idled at the curb with its window rolled down. “Penny? You call for an Uber?” a man called out.
“Where are you going?” Thomas stepped forward. “Penny, do not walk out that door.”
She looked her father up and down. “Or what? What are you going to do?”
Thomas paused, defeated.
“That’s what I thought,” Penny fired back as she slipped out, down the walkway, and into the car. Mika and Thomas could only watch, frozen as she zoomed off.