Ties (26 page)

EPILOGUE

It’s so frigid outside, Mei and I have marooned ourselves in the library, both wearing scarves and sweaters, glancing at the frosty windows like we’re waiting for the cold snap to break.

“So, I officially wish I was thirty years older so I could flirt with your grandfather without feeling gross,” Mei says, sipping a cup of cocoa from the huge silver thermos she brought for us to share.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t care about your age,” I say dryly, looking up from the complicated programming sequence that has been kicking my ass a thousand different ways since January. I am officially nervous about finals for this class, and we’re only five weeks into spring semester.

To clear my head, I look over my Tagalog homework. I didn’t have enough time to take on an Asian studies minor, but I did find a local cultural program that teaches Tagalog.

Embarrassingly, I’m in class with kids ranging from twelve to fourteen, but my mom is so happy she calls daily to babble a mile a minute about her day. In Tagalog.

The upside is I can throw in a ton of ‘uh-huhs’ and not feel bad for not really listening. She refuses to accept that I speak as well as the average Filipino first grader. But I’m trying.

I’ve been trying a ton of new things since I made my cross country trip. Like actually driving home to go to mass with my mother instead of telling her I go here at campus while I sleep in on Sundays. I’ve been looking at some volunteer options for the summer between this year and my first post-grad semester...it’s nothing definite, but it’s been on my mind a lot.

It would derail my whole planned life sequence.

But my need to micro-organize my life has kind of gone out the window since this summer.

Grandpa also made good on his promise and came to see me on winter break. Mom and Mei fell head over heels for him. Especially when he took us all out dancing. The three of us switched partnering with him for hours. He was nimble as Fred Astaire and didn’t so much as break a sweat while we were all panting and gasping for air.

Which brings us to Mei’s current crush.

“There’s just something so dashing about a man who can dance like that.” She sighs and blows on her steaming cocoa, fogging up her reading glasses as she does. “They don’t make guys like they used to.” Her mouth tugs into a frown.

“Mei, Marshall was a jerk, okay? If that voodoo doll I ordered online works at all, his penis should be shriveling as we speak. I’m sorry he was such an asshole, but there are so many good guys out there.” I rub her shoulder, but she just glowers into her cup.

“We were going on five years together. Five
years
. I thought we’d be engaged. Not that I’d catch him getting a blow job from Jaleah Randolph.” She shudders at the memory, then narrows her eyes at me. “Speaking of really decent, good, loyal guys, how is the one person who has shown you total awesome devotion, but who you don’t give the time of day to?”

“Mei, please,” I beg, rubbing my temples as I study the conjugated form of “give.”

I give:
bigyan ko
.

He gives:
siya ay nagbibigay sa.

We give:
bigyan namin
.

“Seriously? We’re still not going to talk about it? You left over six months ago. How many times did he write you?”

I keep my mouth flat.

I love:
pag-ibig ko.

He loves:
siya nagmamahal.

We love:
pag-ibig namin.

“Hattie,” Mei sighs. “He’s right: you never even gave him a choice. That’s not love. That’s running scared.”

“I googled him,” I confess. I purposefully use the past tense. There’s no reason for Mei to know it’s part of my daily routine. “He’s doing...amazing. My father got him some endorsements; he’s winning races left and right. He doesn’t have time to slow down now, and I refuse to hold him back. I could never be happy dating across coasts, only seeing him when he has a break from a race. It’s not stable enough.”

“He freaking adores you. You don’t know lucky you are.” She kicks at my boot under the table, and I stand up, gathering my books
.
“C’mon, I was just trying to help. I won’t butt in anymore,” Mei lies.

“It’s not you. I need to get home. I have a ton to do tomorrow, and it’s not going to get any warmer out there.” I wind my scarf around my face, throw on my coat, and start out the door, waving to Derek, the guy on the desk, as I go.

“Hattie!” Mei calls, completely disregarding all library rules about keeping quiet. I turn to look at her. “You’ve been better about loosening up. But all the dancing in the world isn’t going to make up for a broken heart.”

I smile and roll my eyes. “So dramatic, Mei. So dramatic.”

She takes a sip from her cocoa and shakes her head at me.

The ground is shiny with frozen patches of dew. I wonder what the weather is like in California. I wonder if Deo, Cohen, and Enzo are out surfing. I wonder if, finally, they’ve agreed to let Adam join. Genevieve would be so happy. I hope the suggestions I sent to Lydia helped with Maren’s shower. I think about my Silver Strand family every single day, and it makes me feel connected.

It makes me feel like a tiny piece of me is somewhere on that Pacific Coast, floating in the water near Ryan.

I walked to class from my apartment this afternoon. There was a dim sun shining then, and the air had at least
seemed
warm. Not my teeth chatter, and I wish I had worn my thicker coat. I jog a little to get my blood pumping until I come right up to my building and take out my key.

The door of a shiny, black, old-style Mustang slams and a tall, big-shouldered guy gets out. I hardly give him a second glance. There is plenty of activity all around, lots of people milling on the streets in the chilly dusk or getting in and out of cars, ready for the Thursday night debauchery that’s so common on college campuses. 

I’m having trouble getting my stupid key in the lock, which always sticks when the weather gets especially cold, and I notice the guy lumbering towards me out of the corner of my eye.

My mind blanks for an instant, then goes very clear. I stick my key between my first fingers, fondle the bottle of pepper spray at the bottom of my purse, and get ready.

When the guy is on the steps below me, I whirl around and scream, prepared to jab his eye bloody and coat it with pepper spray.

Luckily, he whips off his skullcap, and I drop my weapons.

Then I drop my books.

And my purse.

I back up until I’m flat against the door, staring into those blue-green eyes, drinking in that wide, sexy smile I’ve only seen in my naughtiest, sweatiest dreams every night.

“Ryan?” My breath stutters out. “What are you...what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” he asks, pointing to my door. “I’m not used to the East Coast chill. I’m freezing my balls off.” 

I laugh and he jumps up on the steps to collect the crap I dropped all over in his big hands. The ones that touched me so gently the last time I was with him. The ones I miss so much, I sometimes imagine I feel their weight on me, like phantom caresses. He hands me the keys, and I try to control the shake in my fingers and open the damn door.

I lead him up the stairs and into my small apartment. He looks around and grins.

“This is pretty much exactly how I imagined your place,” he says.

“Really?” I hang up my coat and tuck my scarf into the outerwear basket, the reach a hand out for his.

He’s already behind me, so close I can smell the mix of salt and aftershave I remember from California, now weighted with the scent of wool and the cling of frost.

“Really.” He reaches way too close to me to grab a hanger, bringing a rash of goosebumps over my arms with his touch. “I expected it neat as a pin and kind of cute.”

“Kind of cute?” I snort, turning around to find myself in his arms.

He points behind both of us. When I crane my neck, I see the painting of one-eyed bubble-shaped flying creatures and a jumping ninja girl delivering a fierce kick. It’s all in neon colors.

“Ah. That’s my cousin, Rory. She’s an artist, and she painted that for me.”

I close the closet door and take a few steps into the room. He follows until his body is pressed against mine.

There’s something different about him. He was always muscled, but he seems bulked up, stronger, and more confident.

“I think that little ninja looks just like you.” He raises one hand to my face and moves my hair back. “How have you been? You stopped answering my letters before Christmas. My mom appreciated the card, though.”

“Is your mom doing well?” I ask politely.

“You didn’t open my letters?” He asks the question with a smug grin, like he knows I don’t have enough willpower to resist.

He’s wrong. And right. I’m a master of willpower and resisting.

Except where he’s concerned.

“I did,” I admit.

“Then you know my mother is just fine. She asks about you a lot, actually.”

I nod. “I’ve been doing stations of the rosary with my mother, just like your mother’s been doing.” I feel a hot blush prickle over my cheeks.

He puts one arm around me, his hand at the small of my back, and pulls me closer. “So, if you know all about my mom and all her weird rosary habits, why did you pretend you didn’t?”

My breath comes out in short, quick gasps. “Because...I don’t know what to say to you. Why are you here?”

“You’re not happy?” he asks, his mouth coming close to mine. “You haven’t missed me?”

I reach my hands up and clutch at the front of his shirt. “I’ve missed you so damn much. Every single day. And I’m glad you’re here. But I think this will make it harder.”

“Harder why?” Ryan lifts his hand and draws the back of his fingers along my cheek and neck.

I take hold of his wrist. God, I want him to touch me more, but it’s driving me crazy to have his hands on me knowing he’ll be gone soon. Even if he stays for weeks or months--and I know he can’t because I’ve been tracking the sailboat races he’s slotted to be in and know his training schedule--he’ll be gone before I can get my fill.

Wanting him brings on the kind of hunger that only grows deeper and more intense the more I get of him.

“Stop, Ryan.” I lick my lips and try to avoid those eyes, but my best dreams have been that blue-green color for so long now, it’s hard to resist them. “It took me six months to get over you. I explained in the letters why I had to leave. You told me you understood. I thought...I thought we agreed.”

“To not do the long distance thing,” he says, running his hands over my hair and brushing his lips lightly over my neck.

I shiver and feel my knees go watery under me.

“Right. Trust me, I’ve missed you so much, it was hard to get up and out of bed some days. But I still think I made the right choice.”

“I think you did.” He rubs my neck, pulls my body closer, and whispers in my ear. “
I
didn’t.”

“You did,” I argue, half moaning as his tongue flicks over my earlobe. “I’ve kept up with you. You’re getting faster. You’re winning more.”

“It was for you every time,” he says, his voice low and thick. He rubs his hands up and down my back. “And then I realized it wasn’t enough to do all this for you when you were never there with me.”

“You
cannot
quit,” I say, pulling back from him. “This is what you always wanted. It’s happening for you, and I refuse to stand by while you give up on your dream.”

He traces his thumbs over my eyebrows, his fingers gripping my face. “Hattie, you’re the only thing I dream about. You’re all I want.”

“You can’t have me. Because you won’t be
you
once you give this all up.” I pull back, but he lowers his mouth and kisses me, softly first, but then hard enough to make the hot, slick rush only he can bring between my legs. “Ryan,” I moan.

He draws his mouth away, and I feel an instant hollowness. He hooks one finger in the silver chain around his neck and pulls out the St. Michael pendant I got him.

“It was you. You put me on a whole different path. The one I know I was supposed to be on from the beginning. I looked up St. Michael when you left. I wanted to know if it was some kind of clue.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I was hoping he might be the patron saint of girlfriends who wanted their boyfriends to chase after them or something.”

I run my finger over the pendant around his neck. “He protects sailors,” I whisper.

“He’s a hell of a busy saint. He protects a lot of different people. He’s even the patron saint of the Coast Guard.” His eyes are bright when I look up at him.

“The Coast Guard?” I repeat, pressing my hands to his chest. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I was tired of racing before you got to California and gave me a whole new perspective. I’m saying that I won a lot of races and got attention from a lot of powerful people. One of those people had a friend who loves sailboat racing and happens to be very involved with the Guard. I applied this fall. This June I’ll report for Swab Summer. I was kind of hoping you’d show me the ropes around here, since the academy is in--”