Where Sea Meets Sky

Once again I berate myself for being so hung up on this loser that I had to fly all the way to North America to try to get over him and just ended up back where I started.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat and diverting my attention to the half-eaten pie. For a moment I want to focus on all the calories I’ve consumed and all the work I’ll have to do to burn them off, but I’m not sure anymore if that’s me talking. “The problem is that he said he’ll trash my name all over town and I’ll never get a job at another gym.”

There’s complete silence at the table. Not even a clattering of silverware. Finally, Keri says, “I don’t think anyone will listen to someone who says that about you.” She says it with such ease that I almost believe her, then I remember she’s young and she doesn’t realize yet how crap people can be.

“Awh, Gem,” Uncle Jeremy says, “you’ll be all right, aye? People will still want you at their gym because you’re you. And if not, you’ll find something else. You’re only twenty-two, right? Plenty of time to figure things out.”

Is that right? Because I’ve always felt that in your twenties you need to have everything figured out. Your job, your career, your body, your love life. Hell, the only thing I seem to have going for me at the moment is Josh, and he’s fleeting.

At that thought, the ache in my chest rears its ugly head. I push it down with a large gulp of wine and finish the rest of my dinner while the conversation turns to other things.

When it’s all over, I volunteer to help my mother and aunt clean up. As usual they wash the pots and pans and I dry so I don’t have to deal with soggy old food stuck to dishes, something that always make me want to chunder.

After my aunt tutters on about this and that, my mother hands me the pie tin but holds on to it for a moment, looking me in the eye. “You’re better off,” she says, and her candor makes me jerk my head back.

“Really?”

She lets go of the pan and goes back to washing. “He didn’t care about you. I could tell.” Her eyes dart over to the living room where Josh is laughing with Uncle Jeremy about something. “But that boy, Josh, he cares.”

I’m not sure how to approach this doozy so I go with the truth. “Josh is just a friend, Mum.”

“Good,” she says briskly, scrubbing the crap out of a pan. “You need friends. Sometimes I worry that . . .” She trails off and Auntie Jolinda leaves the room. My mother eyes me, ever so elegantly. “It’s good to have fun, Gemma.”

I slowly wipe the pan in my hand and then put it down. Somehow I still feel like a kid in this kitchen. “I have fun.”

“I know,” she says. “But I rarely see you smile. I saw you smile a lot tonight. You’re having fun. And whoever that person is that makes you smile, I don’t really care, as long as it’s happening.”

My brows raise. Who replaced my robot mother with this woman?

She notices and lets out a little laugh, her delicate earrings swinging back and forth. “I know I don’t tell you this sort of thing often, my dear, but I’ve not seen it for quite a while. I know things have been tough—for the both of us. And I know you’re trying your best to do what you think is right. But, as your mother, if you just do what makes you happy, I’ll be happy.” She gestures to the kitchen. “Cooking makes me happy. Running this place makes me happy. Tasting that perfect glass of wine that we created, that makes me happy. And yes, one day, I think another man may make me happy. There’s a lot of happiness out there if you’re not afraid to reach for it.”

I don’t know why but tears are springing to my eyes. She makes a tsking sound with her teeth and comes over, enveloping me in a hug. It’s still a Justine Henare hug, the light, barely touching kind, but it counts. It’s hers and right now it’s for me.

“Take this opportunity,” she whispers in my ear, “and find what makes you happy. You may never get that chance again. Time waits for no one.”

I don’t know why, but “Time” by Pink Floyd starts playing in my head, its lyrics finally sinking in with its potency.

No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

But my mother is giving me the cue to run. I pull away and see the strange sincerity in her eyes. I nod and wipe away at the one tear that has dared to fall.

“Your father would want you to be happy, too,” she adds, her smile soft. She nods in the direction of Josh, who at that moment is looking across the kitchen island and catching my eye. “Go. Sit down.”

She hands me a glass of wine and ushers me away. I sit down next to Josh on the love seat and try to say more with my eyes than I can with my mouth.

I hope I’m brave enough to let go.

Chapter Eighteen

JOSH

Christmastime in the summer is a real fucking trip. That’s the only reason I think the holiday has snuck up on me—it just doesn’t feel real. In Vancouver, I would be working holiday hours, dealing with the constant rain and cold and the never-ending darkness and exhausted shoppers bumping into you in the streets armed with bags of Christmas gifts.

Here, on the other side of the world, the sun is high in that bright, blue sky all day, and it’s warm—hot, even—and you feel like you don’t have a care in the world.

Though, of course I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a care. It’s officially Christmas Eve now and I haven’t bought Gemma or Amber anything for tomorrow. I probably should get something for Gemma’s mom and aunt, too, since I’m spending the holiday at their house.