Heat Wave

The next morning Logan raids our kitchen and cooks Claire and I a huge breakfast. This is actually a first for us, I’ve never seen Logan cook and though it’s just bacon, eggs, and hash browns, it tastes like the best damn thing on earth. I warn him that when I come back to Kauai, he’s going to be cooking a lot more often. I may just go on strike.

Kauai. Home. I still can’t believe it and I’m sure it will take a few days to really realize what’s happening. But I’m doing it, and it feels right.

We didn’t even have to tell Claire, she knew the moment she saw Logan in the hallway that I was leaving and not coming back. I know she’s sad to see me go, but she also wants me to be happy, and I have not been a fun roommate this year, moping every single day.

My line cook job is easy to quit. I do it over the phone and though I feel bad leaving them hanging, I was completely expendable and replaceable there. They’ll be fine. Besides, my job at Moonwater doesn’t require references. Apparently it never has.

Logan books us both plane tickets back to Lihue tomorrow. Since it’s so last minute, it’s going to be a real journey with infinite layovers but as long as he’s by my side, I don’t care. I’ll sit on a million planes with him, be stuck in a million airports, and it won’t make a difference.

Together we spend the rest of the day packing up my stuff. I never thought of Claire’s as a permanent home, so some of my stuff isn’t even properly put away and I haven’t purchased anything new since my return. It’s easy to throw everything in the suitcases and be done with it.

Even so, I take my time, mainly because I know I’m putting off the inevitable. The longer I linger in the apartment with Claire and Logan, the more that I don’t have to face my parents.

But when we’re finished and it looks like I’m leaving no trace of me behind, we know there’s only one thing left to do.

“Time to say goodbye,” Logan says, bringing my two suitcases to the door. And it’s not just to Claire, whom I just spent five minutes hugging tearfully. It’s to my parents. We know how this is going to go.

We get in a cab and head to their house.

I’m a barrel of nerves. I jump when Logan puts his hand on mine.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “All we have is the truth, and if they don’t like it, then that’s the end of it. We turn around, we go home. Got it?”

I got it. Doesn’t mean I like it. And contrary to what I said last night, it doesn’t mean I’m ready.

But before I know it, before I can prepare, the cab is pulling up in front of their house in Lincoln Park. I say their house, because it doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It doesn’t seem possible that it was ever my home. The Veronica from then is a different person than me, a twin, long lost and never to be found again. I’ll never search for her.

“Here it is,” Logan says, taking in a deep breath. He slips the cabbie a twenty and asks him to wait for ten minutes.

“Ten minutes?” I ask as we get out.

“Do you think your parents are going to invite us in for tea?”

Good point. I guess knowing there’s a cab waiting to sweep us away makes it easier.

Logan grabs my hand, holds it up between us as a sign of solidarity. We are a team. Team Gruff.

We go through the gate and walk up the long stone path to the house, stopping in front of the door.

Logan rings the bell.

I figure that Mary, the housekeeper, will answer but instead it’s my father.

He doesn’t look surprised to see us at all.

“I figured you would be here. Maybe not today, but some day soon.” His voice is burdened.

“Hi dad,” I tell him, giving him a shy smile. I don’t want to hurt my father, but it’s something I’m prepared to do. “We need to talk to you and mom.”

He nods with a heavy sigh. “Yes. Well I just had a talk with your mother myself. It’s good timing. She’s still in shock about it all.”

“Who are you talking to?” I hear her voice boom from inside the house.

Logan squeezes my hand tighter and shoots me a hopeful smile. He’s got me. We’ve got this.

When my mother sees us, she gasps loudly, hand at her mouth, then her chest. Talk about a pearl-clutcher.

“What the hell is he doing here?” she says, looking between the two of us. Her lip curls up with disgust when she notices our hands entwined with one another.

“Mrs. Locke,” Logan says. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Her eyes narrow, her cheeks turning red. My mother is a beautiful woman for her age, but it’s moments like this that make her ugly as sin. Her true self can’t help but show.

“Are you here to make a fool of me?” she sneers. “Is that what this is?”