Halfway Valentine | Special 9: "Made to Be" 2/4

I pushed open the thick glass door into the dorm lounge on Monday evening, barely even aware of the heavy hand luggage I was carrying. My radar was on, searching the clusters of weary, post-summer break dormers for a particular face. One with sparkling big, brown eyes and red hair you could seriously fall into.

I had to find Emily and talk to her right away. Things had been so tense and awkward over the past weeks, and I wanted to get all that cleared up as soon as possible. No sense dragging all that stress into a new week, a new semester.

Suddenly I spotted something familiar over by a photocopying machine. The attention-grabbing red hair and the trademark denim mini.

I puffed a breath and dropped the bag onto the floor. This was it. Time to fucking forget about everything that happened and start over. I sauntered over as fast as my metallic sandals would allow and threw my arms around her before she even saw me coming.

“Hey, babe, I’ve been looking for you,” I said, pulling back slightly so she would be sure to notice my warm, completely sweet smile. “I missed you so much.”

Emily’s face was strangely unreadable. She almost looked . . . scared. But that wasn’t possible. Why did she have to be afraid of from me? Perhaps she just needed more assurance. No problem there.

I closed my eyes and leant in to plant a long kiss on her lips. But before our mouths could meet, Emily’s head jerked back and her shoulders stiffened.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

My eyes flew open. There was something about her tone that made my nerves sizzle. I peered at her, my face still only inches away from hers. Suddenly she went back to the transparent Emily Fitch. The redhead looked guilty. In fact, she could barely look me in the eye.

An icy sensation crept over me. Something was up. Something fucking bad.

“What is it, Em?” I asked softly. My gaze slid down to her bare throat and my heart sank all the more. “You aren’t wearing our necklace.”

I could see the movement of Emily’s throat as she swallowed. Then she exhaled slowly and stared down at her feet. “We need to talk,” she mumbled.

No. Christ, no, I thought, my pulse accelerating. I know what that means.

“Look, is this about me being gone? Because I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere anymore, babe. Is this about me not calling or replying to your messages? Because I swear, Ems, from now on I’ll make time for you. I could even quit the R.A. job, you know?” My words came out high-pitched and fast, slurring together into one urgent-sounding tangle. I sounded fucking pathetic, so I took a deep breath to try and calm myself.

“No,” she said. “It’s not about that.”

I stepped back and tilted my head slightly in a futile attempt to catch her downcast eyes. “Then what, Emily?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just that . . .” Emily’s mouth closed tightly, and she was obviously clenching her teeth. I saw tiny tears brimming in her eyes. Oh, Jesus, no. She shifted her weight to her other leg and sighed. “Listen, Naomi,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “There’s really no easy way to say this, so here it is . . . I can’t be with you anymore.”

My heart seemed to cease beating, and a shudder ran through me from head to toe, threatening to take out my knees. Miraculously I managed to remain upright.

For the first time during our conversation the redhead looked at me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I . . .” She trailed off, glancing at something over my shoulder.

Turning around, I caught a glimpse of Misaki standing by a row of vending machines, pretending not to watch us. A searing blush spread across my face. Suddenly everything made sense.

“Is there something going on between the two of you?”

Emily briefly met my eyes and then glanced away.

“Is there?” I asked, more loudly. A nearby group of people stared, but I barely noticed.

Emily nodded.

I couldn’t breathe. A tight pain spread across my chest, as if my heart were a wad of chewing gum stretched to the breaking point. How the fuck could this be happening? After everything we’d been through—everything I’d given up for her. Was it all for nothing?

My knees trembled, and my entire body felt numb.

I jerked awake in my seat, tears streaming down my cheeks, my heart racing. Sweat poured down my face.

Then the heaps of folders and the beeping of the fax machine hit my senses. Relief flooded me and I slowly calmed down. Just a fucking nightmare, thank God, I thought, struggling to shake off the last vestige of the dream. 

I wiped my eyes and looked around me. I had slept in the office again. After JJ’s visit last night, I had decided to retreat into the NorCamp headquarters to bury my head in project files and paperwork. I opened the desk drawer and took out my phone and a stress ball. The Emily wallpaper photo on the phone screen stared back at me, as if trying to make me feel guilty. Hell, I felt beyond guilty.

I regarded the Minnie Mouse stuffed toy sitting in the corner my desk. “Hey, Minnie. Do you think I should call Emily now?”

I think she misses you a lot. And don’t deny you miss her as much.

It was true. It must’ve not been that obvious before because I was too busy, but the truth was: When I left for Africa, I left a part of me back in Kyoto. A part that belonged to Emily, only with Emily. “Yep. You’re right. I miss her, too,” I agreed. “I should.”

Damn right.

“But, erm, you don’t think she’s cheating on me, though, do you?”

No way. Emily’s so whipped. It might appear that I was going mental or something, but Minnie—a birthday gift from my late grandmother—had been something I used to rely on for companionship and strength from way back when I was a little girl. I didn’t have any siblings so it was Minnie who knew all my old secrets, my old heartaches.

“No?” I repeated, squeezing the stress ball in my hand. “Even with Misaki? We know they’ve got history . . .”

I don’t think so. Emily’s distracted enough—school, part-time job, missing you . . .

“Yea, but . . . if there’s like a perfect distraction, it’s Misaki. The kind of girl who brings blush to anyone’s face just by looking at them, you know.”

I doubt it. Emily’s over her. And she loves you too much.

“Really?” That made me smile. “I think so, too. I’m gonna ring her now.”

I searched through my contact list and called Emily’s cellphone. But her phone was turned off to my great worry. Then I called our room phone and after three rings, someone picked up. Thank God.

“Moshi-moshi (Hello).” It was Misaki. I felt my stomach twist at the sound of her voice, and the tight pain in my chest reappeared at once.

“Misaki,” I managed to say evenly. A fierce anger and jealousy instantly bubbled up from within and that was quite noticeable with the way my fingers tightened around the phone. What the hell was this girl doing in our dorm room on a Sunday morning?

“Hey, Naomi-chan,” she said, sounding a little unnerved.

“Where’s Emily?” I was about to burst. Fuck. Did I sound as hysterical as I felt?

“She’s, uh,” she hesitated for a brief second, “She’s right here. Still sleeping.”

My whole body tensed. I didn’t know my hand was already applying a death grip to the stress ball.

“Why? What happened?” I asked as casually as I could, sensing my pulse rise in tandem with sudden, inexplicable worry. 

“We . . . had a crazy night,” she said, sounding careful. “She’d conked out. Do you want me to wake her up?”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, softening my tone a little. “Just let her rest and make sure she drinks tomato juice. Thanks.”

I tapped End Call and tossed my phone and the stress ball back into the drawer, not liking what I was feeling. I stood up from my chair so rapidly I swayed dizzily. 

Don’t get me wrong. I had nothing against Misaki but just the fact that she was Emily’s ex-girlfriend. And that she had a beauty that takes your breath away. And that her sweetness could make you smile all day. And that she was perfect. And that because of her perfection, it was possible for the redhead to become hypnotised by her again. And that she loved Emily. Still loved Emily. My Emily.

Fuck, I thought, almost upsetting my swivel chair as I pushed it back. Okay, I had an issue with her. Issues with her. But it wasn’t like Misaki was blatantly trying to make herself look like the third wheel. She was a friend of Emily’s—a good one.

“Fuck,” I muttered pressing my hands against my eyes. When my eyes began to sting, I turned to stare out at the busy Queen Street below.

Misaki must’ve stayed the night. Nursing my poor girlfriend whilst I was away. It wasn’t as though Emily was sleeping with her, right? It wasn’t like I was being replaced, right?

So what was the fucking deal with my stomach? Why did I feel like I was hosting a wash and dry cycle internally? Why was Emily making me feel so anxious all so suddenly?

 

I rolled over in bed and opened my eyes. Sunshine was streaming through the balcony glass door of my dorm room, and a bird sang softly from the maple tree outside. A storybook morning. I smiled, stretched my arms, and turned on my other side to reach for my queen.

She still wasn’t there. Still gone. And I was still alone.

I sat up, and instantly my temples throbbed. Hangover Hall of Fame. Keith’s Pub Hall of Shame. Suddenly a distant thought started to come into focus, as if the clouds of my mind were parting. Naomi. Hadn’t phoned. Mojito. Writing my post-breakup pick-me-ups list. Kenji wailing. Misaki coming. More Mojitos . . .

“Oh, God!” I whispered, bringing my hands to my temples. Had I actually passed out last night? The events that followed my fourth or fifth Mojito were rather hazy.

“Good morning,” someone said. “Well, it’s almost noon.”

My head snapped to the source of the voice. “Oh, my God. You’re here.”

“I’m here. Just like always.” Misaki flashed that sweet smile of hers. She was nearby, sat on the couch, a fashion magazine on her lap and a can of Coke in her hand.

My brow crinkled as I tried to put some memory bits together. “You didn’t stay over the night . . . Because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t your outfit last night.” I gestured at her slim-fitting cotton top, denim shorts, and yellow checkered pumps.

“Yep, I went home,” she said, flipping her magazine closed. “Jess, Kenji, and I took you back here, tidied you up a bit, and left you to recover. I just came by to check up on you.” She put the magazine and soda can down on a small table by the couch.

“Oh,” I mumbled, putting my head in my hands, “right.”

Her brown eyes sparkled humourously behind her distinctive glasses. That cute nerdy-looking eyewear. “Let me guess . . . You don’t remember anything from last night.”

I shook my head. “The only thing I can remember is me, still desperately missing my girlfriend. And her, still not returning my calls.”

“Well,” she said, taking off her eyeglasses and wiping them with a handkerchief, “she called just a few hours ago.”

“She did?” My voice reflected my surprise.

“Yes. And I got so nervous.” She smiled sheepishly. “I couldn’t lie to her so I told her you were still sleeping like a log after a night of excessive partying. But don’t worry; I didn’t divulge the crazy details and tried my best to not make it sound so tragic. Selective sharing, you know.” She gave me a wink.

“Thanks for saving my arse,” I said with relief, kicking off the covers. “Naomi didn’t get angry or anything?”

“Nope. I think.” She put her glasses back on. “She just asked me to get you some tomato juice. So I went to Family Mart and got you a carton.” She got up, moved to the refrigerator, poured some tomato juice into a glass and gave it to me. “Here. It will help with the hangover.”

Naomi’s so going to kill me, I thought as I let the cold liquid moisten my dry throat. But then it was quickly followed by an indignant realisation. So what if I got a little out of control last night? It wasn’t like Naomi still gives a toss about what I do with my life, right? And it wasn’t like she was going to find out about it when she doesn’t even make a bit of effort to get in touch with me.

Misaki sat down beside me. She pushed my hair back from my face, and I half smiled. “You’re looking so much better now, Emily-chan,” she said. “Last night you were like possessed.” She let out a little teasing laugh.

I rolled my eyes flippantly. “Thanks, Misaki. That made me feel a lot better,” I mumbled self-consciously. Then after half-finishing my drink, my face turned severe. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid last night other than whine about my girlfriend and pass out.”

“Erm.” She smiled uneasily, and my stomach flopped. “Well, I think Katie will be the one to talk to you about that.” She frowned ruefully, putting a warm hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry. I got to talk to your sister on Facebook chat earlier and I kind of told her about what happened last night. And she said she’ll Skype with you. She might be trying to get in touch with you right now.”

“It’s okay. I’ll just put the speakers on mute,” I said grimly, and she laughed.

“Yea, you might want to do that,” she said. Then she gave my thigh a few light taps and smiled. “Anyway, I have a photo shoot in Osaka so I have to get going. Do you need anything else?”

I bit my lower lip, smiling. “Hug, please,” I requested.

Chuckling, Misaki wordlessly reached over and caught me up in a warm, sweet embrace. I closed my eyes and squeezed back tightly. “Thanks, Misaki. And I’m sorry about getting pissed last night,” I murmured, thoroughly loving the hug. “I’ll never find anyone as good as you, Misaki, you’re my best friend and I’m sorry I’ve been such a tool.”

She let out a giggle. “You were a tool, all right. But you know I still love you.”

That elicited a smile. “I know.”

She smelled fantastic, by the way. Fresh and clean and flower-sweet, as if she’d showered right before coming over. Her long dark brown hair, though windblown, still looked gorgeous and silky smooth. I took that chance to get to stroke her locks.

Misaki even dropped a little kiss onto my forehead before releasing me. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, standing up then ironing the creases on her shorts with her palms.

“Yep.” I shrugged and tried to look normal. I drained my glass and she automatically took it from my hand. I was still kind of disoriented and a bit woozy, but I knew I couldn’t let her worry about me forever when she had her own life to care for. No more blacking out, no more expecting her to run around looking after me. It’s got to stop. “You know me,” I said with a smile. “Bounce-back Emily.”

Too bad I didn’t believe it.

I watched as Misaki slips out of my room and realised how lucky I was to have a best friend who would roll out of bed Sunday morning and come and help me through anything.

After about ten minutes of hesitation and self pep talk, I went over to my desk and sat in the swivel chair. I turned my laptop on and signed in to Skype after seeing my sister’s post on my Facebook wall. Katie left me a short but sweet message saying,

 

Holy crap. Misaki was right. A monster awaits.

Katie appeared on my laptop screen, her expression made of stone. I stared at her frowning face. She wore that stiff, I’m-trying-so-fucking-hard-not-to-yell-my-lungs-out sort of expression, and her arms were crossed above her chest as if restraining herself from grabbing my head and shaking the insanity out of me.

“I see that you’re having quite a night,” I remarked as lightly as possible as Katie straightened her pink silk nightie. “Glad to know Cook’s keeping you company. Hey, Cook!” I called to the Irish lad who was watching telly behind my sister, half-naked and his lower body covered with rumpled sheets. His hair was stuck up on one side and my sister’s hair was in a similar state of disarray.

Cook craned his head to see me on the computer screen and grinned back. “Hey, Emilio, my wingwoman! Sorry for invading yer room, yea? How’s it—I’m, erm, just gonna . . .” he trailed off when he saw Katie glance at him, her eyes flashing fire. He smiled uneasily at me then gave his girlfriend a quick kiss on the neck. “Go easy on her, babes.” Then he retreated and went on watching football. What a dog.

My sister didn’t even crack a smile. “Cook’s staying here in Bristol permanently,” she said. “He got a job at the local bank. With Dad’s help, of course. The bank manager’s a regular gym client. Dad put in a good word for him.”

I gulped through a lump in my throat. “That’s wonderful,” I said, forcing a smile. “But, uh . . . you’re going to be staying in our room?”

“Just for the mean time, yes. But we’ve been searching our arses off for a decent place to move in since last week. A nice little three-bedroom townhouse somewhere downtown.”

“Well, erm, good for you two.” I smiled genuinely but my sister didn’t return it.

“What the hell happened to you last night, Emily?” she suddenly asked, her tone steady yet stern.

My stomach did a back flip. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“You were completely wasted according to Misaki. Good thing she was there. You were uncontrollable—with the drinking and the yelling about how you’ve got a horrible girlfriend. Three people had to fucking carry you back into your dorm room.”

I rubbed at my temples. “I feel like shit if that makes up for it.”

“Good, I’m glad you feel like shit,” Katie snarled in her lispy voice. “You were out of order, Emily.”

“I was drunk. Jesus!” I blurted out, pushing my hands through my sleep-tangled hair. “We’ve all been there . . .”

“You stupid cow, you haven’t got a fucking clue, have you?”

“I told you I don’t,” I shot back firmly, yet I felt the colour fading from my cheeks.

She looked as if she were going to eat me alive. “Well, you only blurted out about your relationship problems. Misaki had to only drag you into the restroom to keep you from embarrassing yourself further. Apparently all the Mojitos you drank projectiled all over the fucking floor. And, last but not the least, you only snogged Misaki in the loo!”

My hands went up to cover my face right away, as my tummy twisted. I felt so, so ashamed of myself and nauseous. “Oh, God,” I moaned into my hands, sinking back into the chair. “No. I did not.”

“You did, you dozy cow.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a guilt so powerful I could hardly breathe. “Oh, my God.”

I felt beyond nauseated and nervous. If Naomi finds out about this, she would seriously go mad and wage an all-out ‘Bury Misaki’ campaign. And I wasn’t so sure if I was ready to ‘kiss her eye,’ too.

I really was in the shit.

When I took my hands off my face, I gave my twin a really sad, mortified look. Katie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her rage had dispersed, and with that, concern took its place. I’m serious. She’s like Jekyll and Hyde sometimes.

“What is this all about, Emz?” Her voice was now soft, filled with the concern of a real sister.

I was silent a moment. The familiar doubts and distress crowded into my stomach.

“Emily, tell me.” There was an uncharacteristic flicker of sympathy and gentleness in my sister’s eyes and she looked like she so badly wanted to understand me so I gave in.

“It’s just that Naomi left and I thought we could make it work somehow, you know,” I said finally. “But then we lost contact and I assumed it would improve once she’s back in Melbourne. It didn’t. It’s like the communication problem between us only keeps getting worse.” My lips began to tremble. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts or messages in weeks. Then I finally got a hold of her last last Friday and she sounded so . . . distant. There were all these voices in the background—”

“What? Some guy? Another girl?” Katie let out an exasperated grunt. “Emz, you know Naomi would never—”

My frustration had me leaning forward. “No! Guys and girls. What I’m saying is . . . is that it made me feel like . . .” I paused. My voice shaking slightly, and I hated when that happened.

“Like what?” Katie prompted, crossing her arms over the front of her nightgown.

I took a deep breath. “Like . . . this sounds so stupid, but it’s like I’m not part of her world anymore,” I said quickly, my heart responding with a pang as I heard myself say the words out loud. I sank back down into the chair and shut my eyes, trying to dam up the tide of emotions.

“You’ve been together for—what—more than two years and you’re pulling this shit now?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged helplessly. “Call me crazy, but maybe because I felt like this is different, you know. Like a different kind of shutting me out. It almost feels like we’re gradually heading to a break-up.”

“You don’t even know that’s true. And don’t think about such things, Emz.”

“I know. I’m not exactly throwing a party for that idea either. I’d be so lost without her,” I said, staring down at my hands. “I don’t know, Kates, but just . . . I guess a part of me . . . I thought I was—”

“Sort of getting back at Naomi?”

“Completely stupid, I know.” Amazing how Katie knew exactly what I was thinking—practically to the letter. It must be a twin thing.

She snorted. “Utterly, absolutely, totally bollocks and childish and—”

“I know, I know,” I said, putting up my hands to stop the argument before it started.

“I got arseholed and have hooked up before for a lot worse reasons,” Katie said. She rubbed her hand across her forehead, and I knew she was choosing her words carefully. “It’s not like I think I should be preaching you, yea?” she said finally. “It’s just you and Naomi both deserve better. Don’t fuck it up.”

I watched in silence as Katie took a night cream from her bedside table and started applying some onto her face. I realised, too, how fortunate I was to have a sister who would choose to stay up till past-midnight to talk through my problems with me. I was surrounded by amazing people in my life. That was something to rejoice about.

“Kates,” I called, and she looked up at me. “I love you. Can I have a cyber twin hug?” I stretched my arms wide.

Katie shook her head at my silliness but smiled. She made a hugging back motion with her arms and even closed her eyes. “I love you, too, Emzydoodledoo. Even though sometimes you’re a stupid, helpless, whinging twat.”

Her familiar bitchy slurs made me smile nonetheless. “Thanks, Kates.”

She puckered her lips for an air-kiss. “Pull yourself together and stay tough for you and your girl. Like I always say, your love’s bigger than this.”

Then she was gone.

Just as I had signed out of Skype, the telephone rang.

I picked up the receiver and answered quite hesitantly. “Hello?”

“Hey, baby,” the female voice purred from the other end of the line. There was no mistaking who that sexy-sweet greeting came from.

“Hey,” I said, sounding surprised. “Naomes?” I was not expecting her to call again. At all. Once a day was rare enough. But twice? There must’ve been something spiked in her coffee today.

“Yea, I know it’s been a while,” she responded quickly. “I’m so, so sorry, my princess, I know I’ve been a useless girlfriend. It’s just that it’s been a crazy couple of weeks with the new projects and the thesis updating and the Africa child aid still underway . . .”

I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t just ‘a couple of weeks,’ that she had been practically disconnected the whole time she was away. But I chose to keep this rare phone call bitterness-free so I put on a sweet, forgiving tone. “It’s okay. I understand,” I said, but as soon as the words escaped my lips, I realised they were absolute lies.

“Thank you. I really needed you to,” she said gently. “Where’s Misaki, by the way?”

“She, uh, she already left for a photo shoot in Osaka,” I answered, an edge to my voice. “She just popped by earlier to check up on me.”

“Really? She didn’t sleep over?” I heard her breathe a sigh of relief, and I, too, let myself relax slightly. Misaki had avoided the possibility of being on the blonde’s “Chicks to Bury” list. Plus, my girlfriend trusted Misaki too much. Just as that thought was escaping my mind, Naomi added, “I was, you know, a little worried you two have been secretly hooking up for a minute there. You know, bringing back the fire . . .”

My heart gave a massive a thud of fear and guilt. Images flashed before my eyes. Misaki and I, inside a hot, narrow restroom cubicle in Keith’s Pub. Me, pushing Misaki hard against the dividing wall then attacking her with my lips. The two of us getting hot and fucking heavy. The twist in my tummy reappeared.

“What? No! No way,” I said, laughing nervously. I could feel my heart banging in my ribcage. “Naomi!”

“I’m only joking!” she said with a laugh. “Anyways, how’s your head, babe?”

“Better,” I replied, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. That was like an atomic bomb dodged. “Thanks for the tomato juice idea. Total hangover cure-all. Never fails.”

“Must have been quite a wild night, eh?”

“It was a dodgy beer, I guess,” I mumbled, strumming my index finger on the phone cord.

“Just one dodgy beer?”

“Well . . .” I stalled, but knew I could never hide anything from Naomi. Except for that one drunken kiss. “That and a tequila shot and a few Mojitos.”

Naomi let out a laugh. “‘Few’ meaning seven or eight? I’m really worried about you, Ems, ’cos quite frankly I think you’re turning into a raging alcoholic without me there. And what’s scarier is that you’re such a lightweight.”

“Yea, well, if your arse had been here looking after me, you could’ve not been worrying this much, yea?” I said with a voice that came out sounding a little less flippant than I’d intended.

“I guess so,” was her only answer, because she knew it was true.

I decided to lighten things up. “Anyway, I got to talk to your mum and she told me that you could actually come back here soon because she’s going to be standing in for you in the child aid project, yea?” I said, giddy and hopeful. “I’m already writing a checklist of the things we’ll do just to make up for lost time. I can’t wait.”

It took a few heartbeats before Naomi could reply. “Yea, listen, Emily, about that . . .”

My voice suddenly lost tone as distress set in. “It’s not happening.”

“I’m not sure yet, really,” she said, and I felt a crumpling sensation inside of me. “I mean, there’s still this new project I’ve proposed—the Haiti one, remember?—and it seems likely to happen. But I don’t know. I don’t know yet . . .”

“Okay.” Disappointment was suddenly replaced by anger—bitter and caustic. I was sick and tired of her making me feel like I didn’t mean a bloody thing to her and that she didn’t need me in her life anymore. That struck me as rather insensitive and distant and just, plainly, heartbreaking.

“Like, nothing’s final, Em,” she said, her voice high-pitched and nervy. “It’s still under consideration. I’ll get the answer in three or four days. And if it gets approved then . . . I don’t know. They’ve been meaning to make me the project leader . . . But it’s a pretty big decision to make. I will still think about it.”

My tone was flat. “Yea, you better.”

“Hey, don’t ever think I’m neglecting you. You must understand how important this is to me too, Emily.”

“I know. I try.”

“Please do,” she implored. “Anyway, I have to take Grandpa to the hospital for a check-up. I’ll call you again tomorrow and I’ll send you a message on Facebook, ’kay?”

“It’s too late now, but whatever,” I said tautly.

“I will, okay? So check your inbox,” she insisted. “I miss you. I miss you so much, Emily.”

“Yea.”

“Yea? Only ‘yea’?”

“You don’t have to say it only to make me feel better,” I told her. “I know it isn’t true.”

Naomi sounded taken aback for a second. “What the hell, Ems?” she said. “I do miss you.”

A derisive snort escaped me. “Yea. You love saying that, don’t you?”

She sounded helplessly desperate. “I do. I really do. Emily, please—”

“Then tell me why is it so hard for you to reply to my messages or even pick up your phone if you truly miss me?”

“I’ve been really busy,” she said, her voice meek and high. “It’s been a brutal month, Emily. I told you there’s just this—”

“You were so damn busy you couldn’t even press one button on your phone and say hello? Sorry, Naomi. My naiveté doesn’t extend that far.”

“Emily, I love you, and you know that. I—”

“Yea, whatever. I have to go.” That was the only thing I could say. And I replaced the receiver. Hurt. Annoyed. Heartbroken.

I walked into the shower room, entered a cubicle and stripped off my clothes. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it. I stepped in and let it assault my skin. Punishing the bitterness but doing little to erase her words, her bad news. It beat down on me, just like my mood, steady and hard and painful. And I let it. Let it until it turned icy and cold.

When I got back inside the room, I patted my tender skin dry with a towel, eyeing myself in the mirror. The redhead there appeared wounded, her eyes deep and lost. My throat tightened and I knew I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stand looking at her.

Stay tough for you and your girl, my sister had told me.

I don’t know, really. I felt like I was in this battle alone. I needed to go out and get a drink. Who gave a damn if it was only two in the afternoon? I needed a Mojito. And I needed it now.

 

“No,” I muttered, highlighting my entire letter and erasing it with the push of the delete key.

It was just too whiny. I hadn’t had a chance to write Emily in several weeks, and now that I could, I certainly didn’t want to unload all my stress on her or underscore the idea that there were other things more important than her. It’d certainly upset her all the more.

Try again.

“What the fuck?” I said, wiping out the screen again. What was that? A letter or a fucking laundry list? No sense calling attention to the fact that I’d been an awful girlfriend lately.

All right. One more time . . .

“Oh, Jesus. What am I doing?” I let my head drop into my hands. No way could I tell her about that. It was one thing to spare her all the stress in my life. But it would almost be worse to tell her about all the fun I was having. I was such a cunt.

Still, I wanted to share part of my life with her—something besides nerve-racking meetings or sushi nights or the annoying sound of my fax machine. I wanted to somehow bring her closer to me. She ought to have that part. She ought to know what was going on.

When I talked to Emily over the phone three days ago, hope and trust sounded in her voice. I would rather tell a lie than erase that tone. But I knew better than giving the redhead broken promises. My father made lots of those and I learned the hard way to never, ever tell people things you didn’t mean. It would just crush them.

So when I had mustered up the courage to tell Emily where I would most likely be heading, I was happy. It was just that Emily wasn’t as impressed as how I had expected her to be.

After our tension-filled phone conversation last Sunday, I had tried to get in touch with her in all ways possible. It had been tough and frustrating now that the tables had been turned. I had figured she was only trying to get even by giving me the cold shoulder—ignoring my calls and messages, and when she did answer, she’d be purposely sounding so detached and bitter. And it felt like shit—sad and lonely and terrifying. But I knew I deserved it. All of it.

All the same, I wanted to make sure she was still with me. But I knew that sending her a black wall of characters wouldn’t be enough to compensate for my shortcomings as a girlfriend.

“There’s only one way to do that,” I muttered, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Right, Minnie? Right, Firefighter Pig?” I gave the two stuffed  toys, which were sitting pretty in front of my answering machine, a glance and clicked on a link to an online ticketing website. “I’m going to go see her. I’m going to come home to her.”

Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I definitely had the money after working for my professor. I could fly to Japan, go AWOL for four or five days, take that time off to patch things up with my girlfriend, come back here and move forward. Everything will get better. And nothing hurts.

“Will you two be all right?” I asked without expecting an answer, anxiously searching for available flights. “I’m only gonna be away for a few days—a week at most. I just have to see Emily before the big meetings, you know, before I get incredibly busy again. You never know; I might be bringing her with me on my return.”

I reached for my phone, swept my index finger on the onscreen unlock slider and thought of ringing my girlfriend to bring her the ‘I’m coming home’ news but changed my mind. I wanted it to be a surprise.

Just having a plan of action made me feel completely better. Forget phone calls and e-mails and Facebook messages—it was time to come home and communicate with Emily in person. God, I can’t wait to see her.

I reached for my two favourite stuffed toys and clutched them to my chest, then noticed the blinking of my answering machine.

Okay. I definitely needed to be more attentive to my phone. But could you blame me? This Wednesday was one for the record books. After single-handedly running a four-hour general assembly in the morning then having an eventful three-hour work in the headquarters afterward, I had to go drive all the way to Malvern East and meet some small volunteer groups. I was so ready for the day to be over and arrived here at our house with one sole purpose in mind: To write Emily a proper letter—long and comprehensive and sweet and apologetic.

I pushed the Play button, a bit wary of the impending messages.

BEEP!

Hey, Naomesy! It was David. Could you take a short break from being all Angelina Jolie and hang out with us? You’re missing out on all the fun, sugar. We were at Bondi last Sunday and you flaked out on us. And how come you didn’t invite me? I heard you hung out with Mia and Chase last week! Man, I’m still bummed about that. Laughter. Anyway, Chase, Mia, Malakai, and I are heading to Tamarama this weekend. Heard it’s not so much of a freakshow. Mia just needs her tan lines, you know. And she said she feels like a fucking zombie already! Let us know if you’re down, ’kay? C’mon, babe! I’m bringing Nicole too. You told me you wanna meet and grill my new girl, right? Well, here’s your chance. Another hearty laugh. We miss you!

I was reaching down to press Rewind and listen to the message again when Yolanda Bach’s voice flowed out.

BEEP!

Jesus H. Christ, Naomi Campbell, you’re a hard woman to get in touch with! I called your office, and Lynda said you logged out early. Don’t know why the hell you’re not home yet, but here’s the deal: Koepsell-Fleig Corp. is willing to back up the Haiti Orphanage Assistance project. They were rather impressed with NorCamp’s way of handling the previous projects and they’ve seen the fruits so they want to be a part of it. Our people will be contacting your grandfather, but I wanted to be the first to tell you. So in three weeks they’re expecting you to meet with them in Berlin with the final Work Plan. Okay? And, oh, they’re assigning you as the project leader. Congratulations, Naomi.

“End of message.”

I leant back in the swivel chair, staring blankly at the ceiling of my room. Mum took Grandpa to the hospital for another check-up and Aunt G was out shopping for groceries and office supplies.

For once in my life, the house was quiet tonight, but I wasn’t even capable of enjoying it. The voices in my head were too loud.

Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously? Are you shitting me right now?

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, rubbing at my weary eyes. Fuck.

This is it, Campbell. The opportunity of a lifetime, a voice told me. What is your problem?

Yea. What the hell was my problem? It was the call I had waited for ages, the one that validated me as a real asset to the organisation, not just another Campbell progeny. The one project that I was proud to call mine.

But what about Emily? You couldn’t possibly do this, another voice chimed in.

I sat there, my hands holding on to the arms of the chair, staring numbly at the answering machine. A two-year mega-project. That was the kind of undertaking most organisations would give their two front teeth to have. It meant continual work, continual service, continual impact.

Two months ago, I would’ve ditched anything in a heartbeat for this chance. It should have me burning with excitement, thrilled that I was going to be of service longer, taking on new adventures, touching more lives.

But when I closed my eyes, picturing myself there in Haiti, the images refused to stay put. Every time I inserted myself into a camp or an orphanage, it disappeared.

What was wrong with me? This was it, the zenith I’d been trying to reach ever since. I refused to entertain the thought that I didn’t want to lead the project, that I would turn down a plan I was responsible for developing. That was akin to an emperor burning down his own empire or an architect dumping his own blueprint into the merciless shredder.

Every one of my dreams, everything I had worked for, was finally within my grasp.

All I had to do was disappoint the one girl who was holding on to me.

I stood up from my chair on weak knees, taking my mobile phone with me. For about ten minutes I was only pacing across the floor, thinking about how to best reveal the news and how to properly handle the redhead’s reaction. I dreaded the phone call to Emily and hated myself for dreading it. I had lost more than just weight the past couple of months. I had lost faith and knew deep down that I had lost her.

She wasn’t going to be jumping for joy, that’s for sure. But she needed to know. Finally I tapped the green button on my phone screen.

Emily’s phone rang seven times before she picked up. And when she did, she sounded like she had the day before. And the day before that—so un-Emily-like.

Beaten, sad, distant.

“Hey.” She still hated me. I could tell by her tone. I could also tell that she had been drinking. Had it been anyone else on the line, she would’ve sounded more her usual self. She always seemed to play it for me.

“Hi, baby.” I spoke softly and lightly, already on guard and wary of her state of mind.

“Hey,” she repeated, this time a surly greeting.

“How are you?”

“Fine.” Her voice raised a pitch as she slurred.

“You don’t sound fine.”

Silence.

I hated this. Hated this goddamned game she always seemed to want to play.

“Where are you?” I asked, trying to make my tone sound even and calm.

I heard the ice clinking in her glass and then her gulping her drink. “Some pub.”

“Who are you with?”

A dull thud of a glass being slammed down on a table. “I’m all by myself. Not that you give a toss,” she replied through stiff lips.

That alarmed me. “What, you’re drinking alone? Emily—”

“Oh, now my knight in shining armour’s back?” She let out a husky sarcastic laugh. “How sweet.”

“I miss you,” I confessed, hoping it would help to open her up a bit.

“No, you don’t, but that’s okay.”

I clenched the phone tightly, frustrated. Here we go again. She was going to tell me how it was that I felt.

“I do miss you, Ems. More than you know.” I missed us. The way we used to be.

She laughed again. “It’s okay; you don’t have to do this, Naomi. I know you don’t miss me.”

Fuck’s sake. I wanted to hurl the iPhone across the room. I was so sick and tired of this. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

She paused a moment, sighing. “Look, Naomes, just stop thinking about me and focus on your job. It’s only worse when you call only to tell me about how much longer you’d treat me like I’m for shit.”

Her words cut into me and I responded in my defence. “Whoa, there. First of all, it’s impossible for me to stop thinking about you. And second of all,” I paused, my jaw tightening, “you’re not for shit, Emily.”

“Stop pussy-footing around and don’t break it to me gently, Naomi. So out with it. What’s the good news?” she said, sarcasm heavy in her serious tone.

I hesitated for a few heartbeats because I knew she was right. I swallowed hard. “You know that project that I’ve been working on? The orphanage assistance in Haiti? Well, it’s, uh,” my voice cracked, “it’s been accepted and the big meeting is in three weeks in Berlin and . . . well, it’s a pretty huge one—”

“How long?”

I felt my throat closing up, but I opened my mouth to speak. “A year and a half. Two at most.”

Silence. A long, ominous one.

“Baby, listen to me, please,” I implored. “I love you. Can’t you just accept that?” My voice quivered with emotion. She was killing me inside. Slowly but surely. “You’re killing me here, Ems.”

“What do you think you’re doing to me?” she said, bitterness noticeable in her tone. “I don’t doubt that you think that you still love me.”

That was it. That was her response.

Oh, Jesus. I collapsed against the bed, my phone clutched to my chest. My body shook with quiet sobs. I couldn’t do this anymore. I just couldn’t. I heard her continuing on from the ear-speaker, oblivious that I wasn’t listening. I didn’t know what to do. How to feel. I only knew I could no longer bang my head against the wall just to convince her that I love her and she’s the most important thing in my life. Not when she wasn’t willing to accept it. It was useless.

I sat up and tentatively put the phone to my ear. She seemed to hear my shaky breaths, the hitching in my throat.

“Emily, it’s just—” I stammered. “I don’t know what to do,” I finally confessed.

“Yes, you do. You are going to be okay and I will be happy for you. Because, frankly, if there’s one thing you do pour your heart and soul into, Naomi, it’s this project,” she said. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

She didn’t slur those last words; in fact, she sounded assured and calm. A click had sounded. She was gone. It hurt. Hurt so badly. I sat on the edge of my bed, chucked my phone onto the bedside table, and hastily wiped the wetness from my face, angry and torn. It was the first time I had allowed these feelings to manifest. I was finally ready to let them out after a while of pushing them down, trying desperately to convince my girlfriend and make her hang in there. I was terrified to ask, because I dreaded the answer. And when I did, Emily quite bluntly made the choice for me. But instead of it helping in speeding up the decision-making process, it only left me more confused, more lost.

“Must be bad news?” Aunt Gertrude’s deep, solemn voice echoed behind me from the doorway and I stifled a groan at the sound of it. The last thing I needed was a nosy person.

I turned my head around and saw her leaning against the door, a glass of red wine in one hand.

“Bad . . . and good,” I answered quietly. “It depends . . .” I opened a thick folder from the stool beside my bed and pretended to read, hoping to head her off.

But my aunt, like my mother, sucked at taking a hint. The petite woman hovered into the room, leant her elbows on a low filing cabinet next to the desk, and eyed me. Her forehead was crisscrossed with lines. “What the devil’s that supposed to mean?”

I turned another page of the files. “The Haiti Project got approved.”

One of her pencil-drawn, thin brows arched up. “Then what in the world is that face like a frog jumped up and died on your plate?”

My teeth clamped my trembling lower lip. “It’s a bit more complicated than you think . . .”

She walked over to me then, pushed a pile of folders off the stool and sat down on it, bringing her face to my eye level. So much for avoidance. “Tell me, sweetie, did someone wrong you?”

I looked away, but my gaze landed on the silvery rectangular frame that held the beautiful redhead’s photo. “No,” I answered sadly, “she tried to do everything right. That’s the fucking problem.”

She nodded. “Okay. Are you going to elaborate on that? Or will you be leaving me hanging in midair again?”

“Emily hates me,” I croaked.

Aunt Gertrude looked at me for a while then shook her head slowly. “Boy, why am I not surprised. You just have this erratic thing with you, dear. You could get so closed-off, so negligent with other things when you’re obsessed with something. And you do the same when you’re terrified of something. You just run off.”

I drew in a breath, then looked at the photo for a moment. Guilt tightened my stomach. “I told Emily about the new project and let’s just say she wasn’t impressed.”

“How many weeks is this project again?” she asked, shaking the contents of her wineglass.

“We’re talking one and a half years of hands-on work here. Maybe even two years . . . or longer,” my voice cracked, as I almost passed out just thinking about those seven hundred days away from Emily. “It’s a long time.”

“It’s definitely a long time,” she agreed, taking a sip of her wine. “But not long enough to help everyone, eh?”

That made me snort. “Now you talk like Grandpa.”

With a smirk, Aunt Gertrude drained her glass of wine. “I guess he rubbed off on me. Jonathan Campbell is a pretty influential man.”

“So you see, Aunt G? I’m so confused now,” I said, tears dangerously close to flowing again. “What if I accept the position offer and Emily breaks up with me because of the long-distance thing? What if, on the other hand, I turn it down and spend the rest of my days regretting it? What if I go back there, work things out with my girlfriend and realise that I don’t belong there? I don’t know anymore, Aunt G. And Emily isn’t exactly helping me . . .”

“I mean, wow,” she said, putting down her empty wineglass on the bedside table, then tossing her blond braid over one shoulder, “this is a pretty big thing to pass up and a huge responsibility to accept. This might need some serious deliberation . . .” She stroked her long braid thoughtfully.

If there was one thing that still ran deep in Campbell blood: high expectations. Norma Campbell, Jonathan Campbell, Gina Campbell—household names in the Land of the Great Philanthropists and Advocates. The last thing I wanted to do was to come up to my grandfather and shove in his face that I didn’t fit the family mould.

But the thing was I did fit the mould. If there ever was a mould. I was sure I did. Hell, I secured that project. I had lured more sponsors. Yes, I had put my heart and soul into the organisation. I made a lot of contributions to NorCamp International. I was there. I was here. There were just other factors to consider like my master’s degree and Kyoto and my wonderful girlfriend—the one who held 95% if not almost all of my heart—Emily Fitch. My hand went up and fiddled with the heart pendant of my necklace. It was just so tough.

“I know. And that’s the tricky part,” I said, worn out. “I mean, I have my postgraduate studies to finish and I . . . I have Emily. I have a life back there in Kyoto.” I let out a sigh, feeling more weary than ever. “But at the same time, I’m aware that this project is quite big and a huge achievement for NorCamp . . . And Grandpa – he would – he’d definitely . . .” I trailed off, my mind bombarded with fears about how severely my grandfather would react if I ever ditched the project. It would probably trigger another heart attack.

“I understand you, Naomi,” my aunt said in an uncharacteristic gentle tone. “And I want you to know that I’m behind you 110%. But here’s what I can say: NorCamp will always be here, darling, but Emily . . . I’m not sure if the poor girl could wait. And I know for a fact you can’t afford to lose her.”

Lose Emily. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling every fibre of my being begin to shred at the mere thought of losing the redhead. But then the thought was overshadowed by another one—the disappointment and heartbreak I would cause Grandpa and Nana and the thousands of other people depending on me.

“But I’m on the right track, right, Aunt G? This is my dream, our dream, the Campbell dream. Which is why me taking it on is also very important, isn’t it?”

My aunt smiled. “If I agreed with you then we’d both be wrong, hun.”

“There are . . . the family expectations. I just can’t escape it.”

She took both my hands, holding them tight, and looked right into my eyes. “Naomi darling, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the real expectations in this family come from yourself. There’s no pattern. No shoes to fill in.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true. You know Grandpa.”

“If there’s anything I’m sure of,” she said, “it’s that your grandfather respects people who go after what they’re meant to do, what they feel passionate about.”

“That’s the whole trouble,” I said, more tears springing to my eyes. “I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

“Sure you do,” she said, giving my hands an encouraging squeeze. “You want to be happy, healthy and loved. And in my admittedly subjective and exceedingly biased opinion, Emily’s the only one who can provide you that.”

I stood up from the bed, moved to the wall mirror and eyed my reflection in it. The girl there appeared wounded, her eyes deep and lost. My throat tightened and I knew I had to do some serious priority re-evaluation. My gaze slid down to the bold white letters printed on my red shirt.

Without ME, it’s just AWESO

“Awesome,” I murmured, and a soft, derisive chuckle escaped my lips. Seemed like I’d been awesome at everything else but being Emily Fitch’s girlfriend.

We were in the middle of planning a mega-project that required my full attention. But too bad. I wasn’t ready to face my other obligations yet. I was, after all, Emily’s girlfriend, and I needed to be by her side. I could save our relationship and prove to her that she was my one true love.

Now all I had to do was disappoint the thousands of other people who were counting on me.

Fuck.

“So what are you saying, Aunt G?” I said to my aunt’s reflection. “That I should forget about the Haiti Project?”

“Well, not entirely,” she replied sensibly. “We’ll still go for it, but you’re going to have to take a back seat and let other people work on this. It’s still—what—not in operation until late March of next year, right? Take this time off to figure some things out. You might want to look into some other options for your future too.”

“What about Nana? She’d haunt me in my sleep.”

She let out a laugh first. “Sure, if you take this project, Aunt Norma would be looking down at you, incredibly proud. But would she have wanted you to work yourself into the ground instead of having a life?” She shook her head. “Nah-uh. This project is not everything, Naomi. From the way I see it, if you stay here a week longer, you’re going to lose Emily.”

Lose Emily. My chest tightened again.

I took a deep breath then spun around to face her. “That is a highly unpleasant scenario. Plus, I’m sure Oz misses me a lot. And I’ve got my degree to finish. Not to mention how much I’d been letting my professor down. At least if I go back I could patch things up, finish everything I’ve started, and discuss with Emily our future plans . . .”

“Sounds like you already have your answer, Naomi dear.” My aunt stood up from her stool, smiling.

I went to the petite woman and gave her a tight hug. “Thanks, Aunt G. I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

When I released her, she reached up and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Go back to Kyoto, get your degree, kiss and make up with Emily, make her some killer mac and cheese, rock the world with her, talk about things—I’m sure she’s just as lost as you are, and let us take care of the businesses here, okay?”

“You make it sound like a lot of fun.”

“It is a lot of fun.” She bent down and took her empty wineglass from the bedside table. “Well, I’ll let you get ready for your departure then.”

“Yea, I think I’m going to call Mum right away so I could arrange a flight out and stuff.”

Aunt Gertrude made her way to the door and paused in the doorway. “But, uhm,” she called, holding her index finger up, “after that, sweetie, you’re going to have to talk to one more person, yea?”

“Right,” I muttered, with a nervous bite of my bottom lip. Someone like Jonathan Campbell, I thought grimly.

Double fuck. I was a lamb headed for the slaughter.

 

“Are you sure you know how to handle that?” Misaki raised her perfectly arched brows, as Jessica and I set up the tripod and camera on a swathe of wild grass inside Nara Park.

I fumbled with the buttons of Naomi’s digital SLR. “I know this,” I mumbled. “Naomi taught me about the ISO speed setting and stuff. I just need to adjust the camera—lower the ISO number—to the lighting. Or something.”

Misaki was giggling silently as she playfully swung the leather bag in her hand. A playful Oz and a squealing Yuka kept running around her.

That perfect sunny Thursday, we decided to have a pretend outdoor photo shoot at a forested and wild deer-infested part of a temple in preparation for a real one tomorrow. Misaki had been booked to model for a popular brand of bag in a ladies fashion magazine and we wanted to find out the perfect angles and poses for our dear friend before the actual shoot.

“Thanks for doing this for me, really,” Misaki said gratefully, as she dodged from the camellia and hydrangea flowers Yuka was throwing at her. If there was that one thing I admired most about Misaki, it was her patience in dealing with horrible people. It was the same gentleness that could kill you with unbearable guilt if you’d wronged someone like her. It was the same tenderness that made me feel like I was the Beast to her Beauty all the bloody time.

“It’ll be fun,” I said, and tried to meet Misaki’s eyes, but something—guilt, perhaps?—kept pulling my head down. “And I don’t have anything else to do other than mope. Besides, watching you humiliate yourself in front of the camera is my foul idea of an ace time.”

“Oh, mine, too,” Jessica chimed in, and the three of us cracked up.

I still liked being with Misaki more than I like being with just about anyone else non-romantically-attached to me. Sometimes she seemed so innocent to me that I thought of her as a sweet, sophisticated sister with a passionate heart whom anyone could fall madly in love with in a flash. But not me. Not anymore. I’d been down that road before and wasn’t a heartless idiot to try and break her heart all over again.

A heavy sensation sank down into my gut. But you just kissed her, a little voice told me. It was a drunken snog, I pushed into my brain. It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Obachan (Auntie), can I touch them?” Yuka was tugging at the skirt of Misaki’s white summer halter dress as she beamed wickedly at the grazing sika deers behind a fence.

“Okay, Yuka-chan,” she told her niece. “But don’t get inside the fence, all right?”

Yuka whimpered. “But I want to play with them!”

“Dame (No). Just give them some crackers, okay, Yuka-chan? And don’t hurt them,” Misaki ordered in a gentle way. Yuka nodded grudgingly then ran toward the fence and shoved a hand through the railings, waiting for a deer to amble over. When none came, she took out a pack of deer crackers from her small Hello Kitty backpack and offered a handful.

A deer went over to her. The little girl squealed with delight, stroking the animal’s nose, laughing at its cold wetness. Misaki joined her niece, sliding her fingers below the wooden post and touching the deer’s cheek. The animal moved closer, sticking its nose through the railing, then swiped its tongue across Misaki’s palm, eliciting a double female giggle.

“Look at the deer!” Yuka said, chuckling. “It’s eating Obachan!”

Jessica and I stood by the tripod, merely watching them and enjoying the melody of their laughter. I couldn’t quite believe I was having a fun, stress-free, migraine-less day with the five-year-old primadonna.

Misaki drew her hand back, still laughing. The youthful sound of her merriment seemed to lighten the air.

Then she turned, looked up to Jessica and me, and flicked her hair. Her long, shiny dark hair framed her face, then settled around her shoulders in tousled waves. Sweet Jesus. If there’d ever been any hope of me winning the war against the teenage boys in my pants, it was lost the second she smiled at me. “So, should we start?” she asked cheerfully.

“Dang, Misaki,” Jessica gushed, vocalising exactly what was on my mind. “You look shit hot! And you aren’t even posing for the camera yet.”

As much as I’d thought I could walk away after the pub incident five days ago, I’d realised pretty quickly that the worst part hadn’t been not finding relief with her that night—it had been the continual thinking about her afterward.

“Yea, okay, let’s get to work.” I cleared my throat. “We might want to get started before we lose the morning light.”

Misaki dutifully moved toward a grassy area and slipped into modeling mode—straightening her posture ever so slightly, adding that coquettish smile to her lips, opening her eyes into doe range, and flaunted the bag with such grace.

“Perfect,” I said, eyeing her through the lens and taking one picture after another, as rapid-fire as a machine gun. “Now, smile a little more.”

Her dark brown eyes connected with the lens, establishing a relationship, an intimacy. My pulse quickened, thudding through my veins.

“Let’s try sexy now,” Jessica piped up as she fed another deer with her own plastic pack of deer crackers.

Misaki’s glossed lips parted slightly and she inhaled, drawing her chest upward. A breeze whispered through, catching a tendril of her hair, brushing it against the soft pink hue of her cheek.

I swallowed, my breath beginning to flow in and out faster, but kept on taking photos.

“C’mon, Misaki!” I heard Jessica egging her on. “Make it the money shot. Work it, girl!”

Then Misaki did a side pose and turned her head to me with her pulse-altering, teeth-baring smile. She even prettified the pose by tilting her head slightly to the side and putting her arms up as her gorgeous hair, which she had dyed dark brown especially for the shoot, and her white summer dress were being perfectly blown by the light wind.

My finger suddenly stopped clicking and I stared at the image. Fucking hell. With her looking like this, anyone could have put her face on any product and sold a bazillion.

Again, Jessica seemed to be on the same page as me. “Holy hotness chicken and cow, Misaki! You could even sell Crocs to orangutans,” she exclaimed, and Misaki only giggled at her comment.

I allowed myself a chuckle, too, and unscrewed the digital camera from the tripod. “Brilliant, Misaki-chan.” I clicked the camera, moving in, then back, getting to one knee, shooting upward, from the side, virtually from every possible angle. Throughout it all, Misaki kept that concentrated gaze on the lens. Every ounce of her attention was zeroed in on that one spot, like a Misaki laser, shooting straight at my gut.

The entire thing was so damned hot, I was surprised the camera didn’t dissolve in my hands. This was definitely a good distraction. For the last fourteen hours I’d been trying to push aside the thought of Naomi being possibly gone for another two years. I had to train myself not to miss her so much. Or learn how to go on with my life Naomi Campbell-less. I admit it was a bit childish how I’d been getting back at her by ignoring her phone calls or giving her shit, but she has to realise how much it hurt. I mean, what did she expect? She would offer me some heartbreaking news and I would only swallow them and be all sunshine and roses?

“Great!” Jessica exclaimed. “I think we got great shots, right, Ems?”

“Yep,” I agreed, grinning. “You nailed them all, first time out, Misaki. Let me show you.”

Misaki and Jessica watched as I scrolled through the digital images, each one better than the last—at least when it came to the way Misaki looked.

Jessica offered another cracker into the waiting mouth of a hungry deer inside the fence. “Can we use the deers as her co-models?” she suggested out of the blue. “We’re in Nara. I think it would be great to showcase the place too, right? Am I right?”

Oh, God. Misaki getting intimate with wild animals inside a fence? This could only be the most hilarious sight ever.

A devilish smirk stretched across my face. “Yea, that’s bloody brill, Jess. Let’s do it, Misaki.”

Misaki stared at us with a disbelieving look. “Um. Are we forgetting something here? I’m modeling for a bag. An elegant, lady bag, not a deer-loving campaign or a Nara tourism promotional gimmick, you guys.”

I hooked an arm around hers and propelled her toward the fence. “This is good training, you know.”

Jessica patted a deer’s head and laughed her throaty laugh. “Give this sexy beast a kiss. C’mon.”

“A kiss?” Misaki asked, dubious. Yet she still climbed over the fence being the playful, go-get-’em Misaki that she was.

From her position by the fence, Yuka giggled at the prospect. “Kissu (Kiss)! Kissu (Kiss)! Kissu (Kiss)!” she chanted as Oz woofed excitedly beside her.

“Yep. Those sorts of challenges are part of a model’s life, you know,” Jessica said, throwing the empty plastic bag into a trash can. “For all you know you could be asked to show a tarantula some love. Saw that in America’s Next Top Model once. So go kiss the deer like you totally love his chopped antlers.” She then snatched the camera from my hands. “My turn to take photos.”

“Uh, okay.” Misaki’s nose wrinkled and she drew back for a second. Then she seemed to pull a shade over her reservations and slip into smile mode again. Whilst Yuka laughed raucously, Misaki bent over, puckered up, and gave the deer a pert peck on the cheek.

I choked back a laugh. The pose, I could see from here, was both sexy and endearing.

“Good God, Misaki Ueno,” Jessica exclaimed from behind the camera. “You could be responsible for an entirely new drinking regimen among men. I swear, all I have to do is Photoshop a foam of milk around your mouth and paste GOT MISAKI? on the label and any skirt-chasing person with a beating heart will become a calcium addict! Like I’m not even joking!”

She struck a funny pose, aping for the camera between shots. I smiled at the hilarity of it all and suddenly missed my girlfriend. Naomi also had a sense of humour that was so unique—effortless and witty and adorable and, yes, corny. And the blonde’s giggles were infectious, too. I could spend an entire day just listening to her laugh and kissing the life out of her after she tried her corny jokes and cheesy lines on me.

Feeling a little tired, I settled on a huge rock that was flanked by deep-red camellia bushes, and looked around the park. Tourists strolled in and out of temple buildings and shops, taking photos, buying souvenirs or flavoured shaved ice, walking around to enjoy nature and the nice summer weather.

“Oooh, Misaki has a girlfriend!” I heard Jessica squeak playfully.

“What? No, Jessica-chan!” Misaki blushed beet red and shoved her phone back into her leather sling purse. “No—!”

Jessica grinned teasingly. “Oh, come on! You’ve been grinning at your phone all throughout our car ride, girl. Who are you texting? The Brazilian chick?” She nudged her with her elbow. “It’s the Brazilian model, heh? C’mon, spill! Give me the deets!”

She didn’t answer, just kept on blushing. I was fully aware that Misaki had some sort of a fan base—a massive one—and that she never ran out of suitors. Even at Hamada U, she’d be walking effortlessly in her one-pieces and sunglasses and high heels and everyone within a twenty-mile radius would stop whatever they were doing and just gape at her. The guys wanted to be near to her. The ladies wanted to be like her. But Misaki wasn’t bred to become a trophy girlfriend or a model, she would tell me. Beneath that pretty face was a pure and patient heart just willing to love all out.

A lot of people found it mind-boggling that a sweet, gorgeous, almost-perfect girl like Misaki was single most of her life. That she had only been in love once. That she had only been in love with a girl. That she had only been in love with me. That hit me as truly tragic. And I would ask her sometimes, don’t you want to try again? She’d always answer, “I do. I’m only waiting.” She certainly believed in waiting for the right one. Well, whoever was that ‘right one,’ she should realise how damn lucky she would be.

“I knew it!” Jessica exclaimed, and gave Misaki’s shoulder a playful shove.

When Misaki met my gaze, I looked down, still feeling awkward about what happened a few nights ago. After finding out the crazy things I did that eventful night, I had voluntarily decided to put some distance between us. I had spent the last four days directing all my guilt and bitterness into reading books and eating ice cream alone in the room, and drinking Mojitos alone in pubs. Today I chose to have my liver pack its bags and go on a holiday. And it wasn’t like I could survive not having Misaki in my life. She was my best friend.

I bit my lip and felt my tummy tightening again. But it’s not like I slept with Misaki, right? It was only a kiss. Fuck’s sake. I probably needed some comfort. Human Necessity 101, that was all. But it’s definitely not something to tell to my girlfriend.

Will you tell Naomi about the sleep-overs?

“Definitely. I will definitely not tell her,” I muttered, trying to quiet the little voice. There were times when I hated the little voice. The little voice sounded like my mother . . . and Katie . . . and, yes, Naomi.

How about the hot loo kiss in Keith’s Pub?

“No,” I whispered to myself. “No way. She’ll flip the fuck out.”

When I lifted my head and saw Misaki smirking at me, I only managed a weak grin and looked away again. Every time I looked at her, I got a strange, leaden feeling in the pit of my stomach.

After awkwardly folding the sleeves of my T-shirt—well, technically it was Naomi’s ‘awesome’ purple tee I borrowed from her closet again—up to my shoulders for a cooler look and feel, I reached down for a fallen camellia blossom from the ground and started plucking out petals just to distract myself from paying too much attention to Misaki. “She still loves me,” I mumbled. “She loves me not. She still loves me . . .”

One by one the petals fell to the grassy ground beneath me. Yuka, who had been playing catch with Oz, stopped to watch me. Little Yuka held her own camellia flower and I smiled at her.

“She loves me not,” I went on as the five-year-old skipped toward me. “She still loves me . . .” The petals were starting to pile up at my feet, forming a carpet. “She loves me not. She still loves me . . .”

Yuka sat down on the grass by my feet and began to pull petals from her own flower, babbling at it childishly.

“She still love me. She love me not. She still love me,” she chanted. I laughed, then reached out to ruffle the little girl’s hair.

I went back to my own flower. “She loves me not. She still loves me,” I continued downheartedly, my throat beginning to swell. “She loves me not . . . She still loves me—”

“Who love you, Emily Sensei?” Yuka asked in a whisper, her little brow furrowed with concern. She picked another flower from the ground.

“A lovely girl, Yuka-chan,” I answered softly, tiny tears in my eyes. “I miss her. I miss her so much.”

“Is she your niece, too? ’Cuz Obachan tells me she miss me on the phone all the time.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle and shook my head. “No. She’s my girlfriend, Yuka-chan,” I answered. “Or at least I think she still is . . .”

Yuka shrugged, dropped her flower, and scrambled to her feet to chase Oz around again.

I breathed a sigh and began the petal elimination again. “She loves me not . . . She still loves me . . . She loves me not—” I stopped in surprise as a hand reached down and touched my wrist. Jessica took the battered flower from my hand and threw it behind her.

“She still loves you,” she said with conviction. “Naomi still loves you, Emily.” Then she sat down next to me on the big rock and browsed the images she took with the camera. “Stop this absurdity now, girl. It’s consuming all your energy, seriously. All those tears and emo moments aren’t going to bring her here.”

“I’m being an arsehole to her, Jess,” I admitted miserably, and my friend looked up at me with crinkled brows. “I know I’m being a right bitch to her, I know I’m doing it, but I can’t seem to stop feeling angry. I just want her to know she can’t always get away treating me like this, you know. I want her to understand I don’t exactly enjoy feeling like this. I don’t like what’s happening to us anymore. Some things have to change . . .”

Guilt churned through me. I should’ve not dealt with things this way. It was immature and unfair and bitchy. I knew Naomi was under a lot of stress nowadays and I was only adding to her emotional, physical, and mental baggage. But I was badly hurt. And I was still upset. That was Naomi’s disorder. She only realises the importance of something when it had already slipped or was beginning to slip through her fingers. And I wanted that to change.

Jessica put one arm around me. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s, like, itching to fly here now.”

I looked at her sideways. “How can you say that?”

She smirked. “Well, I sent her a Facebook message earlier saying ‘You better get your butt back here now, Campbell, or I’ll break into your room and attack your sexy red-haired girlfriend.’” She ran a seductive finger up and down my arm playfully.

Laughing in disbelief, I gave her rib a flippant nudge with my elbow. “What the fuck, Jess!”

She only grinned. “I swear I did. And there was no ‘LOL’ or winkie or anything remotely jokey in the message so I’m guessing she’s already packing her bags and cracking her knuckles.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I mumbled, smiling. “You do realise what you just did was a suicide stunt, right?”

“No problemo. Just get the ambulance ready,” Jessica said easily, bringing the camera up to her face to take more photos. She aimed the lens to Misaki’s direction and watched as the pretty Japanese girl took Yuka and Oz toward a sno-cone stand. “Anyway . . . is it not weird?”

“What is?”

“Staying so close and being all chummy with your ex-girlfriend,” she said, and I followed her gaze. “I mean, honestly, I don’t even remember my exes’ last names.”

That elicited a snort of laughter first. Then regaining my cool at once, I told her soberly, “It’s not. Misaki and I . . .” I gazed at the Japanese girl gently, reflectively. “We are just those two people who will continuously and genuinely care about each other, you know. I cannot not be friends with her, you know what I mean. She’s my best mate.”

Jessica drew down the camera and nodded. “I know. That’s what makes it so special and amazing,” she said, real awe in her voice. Then she straightened up. “So how exactly are things with you and Naomi? Besides the hella infantile games, that is.”

I turned to her with a grimace. “Honestly? It’s shit,” I answered quite bluntly. “We talked on the phone last night and I hate to admit it but it was the most heartbreaking conversation we’ve ever had . . .”

“Why? What happened?”

“I practically decided for her, you know.” I ran a hand through my hair and stared absently at a group of sleeping deers. “There’s this huge project in Haiti which could possibly take her away from me for two years and I told her to go for it. It was basically like ‘Okay, fuck it, fuck whatever we have, go and take this project and fucking forget about me.’”

She scowled. “Why would you do that?”

“Of course, I didn’t mean it!” I said, scowling back at her. Then I looked down at my feet, and crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself. “And if she really does go for it then I have no idea what will happen. And frankly, I’m scared. I’m scared to death, Jess. Because I’ve planned my life around her, you know. And if I lose her, I’d be a right mess.”

Jessica remained silent for several long seconds. Then she exhaled heavily and gave my thigh a squeeze. “I don’t know what advice to give. I’m sorry.”

My left shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I don’t expect any advice, to be honest. I’ve done so much pushing and I’m tired of it. Call me a bitch now, call me all you want, but at the end of the day, it’s still Naomi who has fucked up badly here. It’s her call now.”

“Yea,” she agreed quietly. “Let’s just hope she makes the right decision. And take my threat seriously.” That elicited a laugh from me. Then she stood up and reached down to give my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m just gonna grab a ciggie pack. You want something?”

I shook my head and smiled. “No, I’m okay. Thanks, Jess.” I watched as Jessica strolled off toward the food stands. Another awesome friend, I thought. What a mess would I have become now without such amazing support group.

When my gaze went down, I saw Oz giving me the concerned head tilt. “Aw, Oz. I love you and I love your Mummy Naomi,” I murmured and reached for him, carrying him up to give his wet little nose a few sweet pecks. “But she’s making me sad right now.”

Oz wailed and his eyes glistened. One of his cute paws reached up to touch my chin.

I gently held that little leg and playfully shook it. “I know, I know,” I murmured, and the dog licked my cheek. “It’s sad, Little Ozzy, but it’s her fault.”

“Talking to a dog now? Not a good sign.” Misaki stood there in front of me, holding two styro cups of sno-cones.

I raised my eyes to find hers resting on me. My skin tingled at the softness of their caress. The sun had kissed her cheeks and arms and there seemed to be sparks in her eyes. Golden sparks. She smiled again. Easy and relaxed.

I managed to return the smile. “Yea, I know. I’m so pathetic. Sorry.”

“Earlier I saw you talking to yourself. And now to Oz?” Shaking her head and clicking her tongue, Misaki handed me a sno-cone. “This is for you, Little Emily. Chocolate-flavoured.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking the drink and slurping it right away.

She sat down next to me. “What is it now? Still whining?” she teased, taking a sip of her Cola-flavoured sno-cone.

“Yea, well,” I said, mindlessly stroking my dog’s tiny ears, “the chances of my girlfriend actually coming home are slimmer than Oz’s collar.”

She patted the Westie’s head fondly and spoke with a voice so unbearably soft, “I don’t like seeing you like this, seriously, Emily-chan . . .”

I allowed a chuckle just to lighten the mood. “I’m sorry, really. I don’t mean to be a downer and worry all of you. I actually wanted for this day to be drama-free but I guess . . .” I trailed off and glanced helplessly at the sky, trying to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Let’s talk about the nice weather instead,” I suggested out of the blue. “It’s a lovely summer day, yea? Not so hot . . . Not so humid—”

“Yea, and you’re being awkward.”

I laughed at her mocking words, and she joined in. Then all traces of mirth disappeared soon after, and there was something new behind her gaze. Something so . . . intimate, affectionate. 

We locked eyes for a long, silent moment until Oz suddenly barked and jumped off my lap. Watching as the Westie ran toward Yuka’s waiting arms, my stomach gave a familiar squeeze. It was like a wake-up call. I was treading on an awfully dangerous ground. I stared down at my feet and just sipped on my drink, tense and awkward.

“Emily-chan?” I heard her call softly, worriedly.

After tucking a stray hair self-consciously behind my ear, I looked up at her, opened my mouth to say something, but closed it again. I fought down the now fluttery sensation in my stomach.

Misaki squinted at me uncertainly. “Emily? What is it?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, taking a quick sip of my sno-cone.

She raised her gorgeous brows knowingly. “Uh-huh.”

I forced myself to meet her gaze, heard the tiny voice inside my head saying, “Open it up to her now! There’s nothing to lose!” and shifted on the rough rock to face her completely.

“Okay. Listen,” I began, fighting off the nervous stutters, “I’m sorry about . . . you know. About what I did . . . It was so, so stupid of me to get drunk like that and—”

She raised a hand and cut me off. “It’s okay. No need to explain.”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable and put you in a very difficult position. I don’t know if anything can make up for me that night. I’m so sorry, Misaki. I hate myself.”

She reached out a hand, laying a light, concerned touch on my arm. “It’s fine,” she said, smiling. “Really, Emily-chan. Just forget about it.”

“I promise it won’t ever happen again.”

Misaki nodded, smiling. “It’s okay. I just don’t like seeing you that way. I don’t like seeing you get scary. I don’t like seeing you angry. And, most of all, I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

I glanced at Misaki and saw true concern in her deep brown eyes and found myself looking at her with new eyes. A powerful feeling began to take root in my heart. “I’m so lucky to have you, you know.”

She let out a chuckle. “Yea, ’cos most people would’ve disposed of you ’cos you’re such a crybaby.”

That made me smile. “Seriously, though, you’re an unbelievable friend, Misaki,” I said sincerely. “It’s like you’re more than I deserve.”

“Hm. Maybe I’m more than anyone could ever deserve.” She punctuated her words with a smug wink.

I chucked a handful of fallen flowers at her. “You figjam!” I said, as she laughed.

We had a flower-throwing duel for some moments and shared fits of convulsive giggles.

As her laughter subsided, a corner of Misaki’s mouth curled up in a smug smirk. “I think I deserve your shirt better.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Ah, yea?” I challenged. “Tell you what, you give that deer some more romance—a hug and a snog—and you get the shirt.” I pointed at the wild, grumpy-looking deer inside the fence with a tilt of my chin.

She squinted at me. “Don’t challenge me.”

“I am challenging you,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips. “So? You gonna do it or what?”

She lifted her chin unflinchingly and eyed the deer. “Deal.” Then she stood up, threw her styro cup into a trash can, moved to the fence, and called to Jessica, “Okay, how about one more peck on the cheek, Jessica-chan? Just to prove I could be awesome, too.” Yuka let out a thrilled squeal and clapped her hands in excitement. Jessica crouched, and readied to take a shot, rotating the focus ring. Curious tourists stopped to watch.

Misaki reached down and hooked her arm around the cranky deer’s neck, despite the animal’s heavy dose of eau de poo—instead of eau de parfum. She leant over, but the deer balked, apparently not in the mood for additional snuggling. Another deer backed up, knocking into two other deers who were happily chewing grass. The other two let out an eeeeeuugh of indignation—they sounded like growling donkeys playing tug o’ war, honest—then confused, started heading toward Misaki. 

Three-inch heels were no match for a mini deer stampede. Misaki tried to scramble away from the little beasts, but they moved in a mindless panic, slamming into her, just as I started shouting and waving my arms, leaping over the split-rail fence and into the meadow.

“Misaki!” I reached out, but she teetered, losing her balance and whispering past my grasp. In slow, awful motion, I watched her topple to the ground—butt first into a mound of icky mud. Some people gasped; some laughed. The little kids thought it was so funny, some of them actually fell on the ground laughing.

“You okay?” I asked, reaching her side.

She grinned, her face turning red. “Nothing a gallon of Clorox can’t fix. I should work laundry services into the contract, don’t you think?”

I laughed. “Here, let me help you.” I offered a hand.

She took my outstretched hand and I pulled her up. She went to brush off the mud from the back of her skirt, then thought twice and put down her hands. I doubled over at the sight before me. She gave my cheek a playful poke before climbing over the fence, heedless of how her skirt rose up her thighs.

Jessica arched a brow, clearly considering taking that particular photo, then lowered the camera again when Misaki glared at her. “Don’t you dare, Jessica-chan,” the poor girl warned.

I choked back more laughter. My crazy dorm mate and amusing ex-girlfriend could really come in handy. This was definitely distracting.

Jessica grinned. “Magazines would have paid me a nice chunk of change for that one, you know.”

Climbing over the fence, I smirked at Jessica. “Yea, just enough to pay your hospital bill after she hits your head with her stinky stiletto,” I quipped. Then I turned to the Japanese girl’s direction. “Misaki,” I called, trying not laugh out loud as I made my way toward her, “that was the mother of all awesomeness. Hands down.”  

The red colour on Misaki’s face intensified. “You know,” she mumbled, her lips twitching from suppressed laughter, “this would be really funny if it weren’t happening to me.”

“You know,” Jessica said, draping an arm over Misaki’s shoulders, “a few moments in my life are quite as perfect as this one. You are officially my new spirit animal, Misaki Ueno.”

Misaki glanced at her back—her white dress now dirty with grime—and her nose crinkled. She turned to me and held out an open hand. “Now, c’mon, I really need that shirt.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face. Misaki and Jessica lost it too, and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of hysterical laughter and Jessica slapping her hand against the fence.

And for a moment there were zero thoughts of Naomi.

This was it. The moment of truth, I decided that fateful Thursday night. I knew I couldn’t postpone seeing him any longer. I had already passed up the chance to talk to him last night and this morning. I took a deep breath and rehearsed my lines for the last time as, with shaky legs, I made my way down the hallway heading toward my grandfather’s bedroom.

Listen, Grandpa, I want you to know that NorCamp is really important to me and I am fully aware of my responsibilities and I’m incredibly thankful for all the trust you’ve given me but—

Arm stiff to push further his partially opened door, I stopped short upon hearing his furious voice filter through, its message lifting the hairs on my now frozen outstretched arm.

“Why don’t you fight for something for a change, Gary—not always against something?” Grandpa was lecturing his nephew for the umpteenth time. “If the people there don’t know how to get what they need, why don’t you get it for them? They don’t know how to fight for themselves. They don’t know anything about politics—they don’t know what to ask for and who to talk to. Who would understand them if they did? Look, Li’l Doc—” How eager and powerful his voice was. At that point, I was ready to tiptoe backward, away from the door, but I chose to stay. “Why don’t you get rid of their goddamned mosquitoes, instead of just fighting the malaria? Why don’t you get their marshes drained or their swamps cut down? Dosing them with quinine isn’t the way. You told me a moment ago that we didn’t speak the language of either the town or the country, but the thing is that you speak both—you could do it! You hold a great power in your hands—I know you do!” He paused whilst Uncle Gary responded. Then he said, “No, you’ve failed because you’ve never fought. You haven’t fought for anything, Gary. You came to that place to fight, and instead you’ve buried your head in your goddamned books and sat in your clinic, looking out of your disinfected glass windows. NorCamp isn’t about sitting back and theorising. We didn’t start walking that way.”

Sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed and gritting his teeth, the old man slammed down the receiver. My heart pounded along with the loud thud. Grandpa had obviously just come from preaching a lesson and who knew how fiercely he could react to my little news. Arse, now I was going to get a mouthful.

“Hey, Grandpa,” I called, a bit shakily, from the doorway. I fixed a semi-cheerful expression on my face. “It’s good that you’re awake. I thought you were sleeping already . . .”

He glanced up and broke into a smile. “Naomi sweetheart! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear about what a clown Uncle Gary is for the bazillionth time in my life.”

He let out a short chuckle. “Yea, it was just your uncle being the usual bastard again.”

I allowed a weak smile. Uncle Gary, for all his qualifications, expertise, and solid educational background, was considered a liability in NorCamp International. He was a professional doctor assigned by Grandpa as the head medical officer in a healthcare aid project catering to various cities of Congo. But there were lots of complaints about him being a total slacker and not really doing anything productive for the community. Even his own wife, Aunt Margie, would always be very vocal about how he was such a disappointment to the family. But Grandpa had other ways of dealing with people like that. He didn’t just press on their shortcomings; he would give them superb pep talks to inspire them in the end.

“How’s your day in the office, by the way?” Grandpa asked, clearing up his bed from the scattered mass of opened folders and papers and self-inking stamp pads. He was like Professor X. Even though he was stuck here in Melbourne, he would keep monitoring and controlling everyone and made sure each project was progressing smoothly.

I hesitated on the threshold of the room. “It was all right.”

His brow furrowed. “Okay. That’s a little vague, don’t you think? Come here. I want details,” he said, patting the space beside him on the bed. “Tell me all about it, my little honcho. I want to know how my apprentice is coping up.”

I closed the door gently behind me and moved to sit on the edge of the bed by him. “I mean, everything’s going great because everyone’s doing great,” I told him with a faint smile I hoped came out as genuine. “I love everyone. They’re pulling some late nights to work on the projects without complaining one bit. Such an incredibly dedicated and hardworking lot, I should say.”

Grandpa arranged the pillows behind him, his lips curled up into a little grin. “I also heard from Lynda that you were fantastic at the general assembly yesterday. You know, you got that ability to sound so compelling from your grandma. Christ, one wink from that woman could turn a person into a cupcake-hater. And that’s rare.” He leant back and let out a gruff laugh, the picture of ease. “I know how the work in the headquarters is different from the actual hands-on community work, sweetums. But you’re doing a tremendous job. I knew you had it in you, my little darling.”

Cool bands of moonlight continued to stretch toward us through the wooden Venetian blinds. In the silence, I reached for my grandfather’s hand and only studied it.

His hand was rough and calloused as always. A result of years of adventure and hardwork and self-sacrifice. Years of trying to be Superman. Most days I would just hold it for about ten minutes after the office work and meetings. I sat there and stroked the back of his knotted hand lightly, wondering how it would feel like to cause him dissatisfaction and heartbreak for the first time.

Grandpa leant toward me, studying me carefully. “Naomi?” His forehead was suddenly wrinkled with worry. “You seem like you have something important to tell me. What is it, dear?”

I lifted my head up and tried to hold his intense gaze. “Where do I start,” I began, feeling my lips starting to quiver.

Fuck, it was just not that easy. I was just glad it was dark in the room—with only the bedside reading lamp lighting up the place. Otherwise my grandfather would have seen my face so pale as a ghost. I straightened up and reached for the flowers of the potted jasmine plant on his bedside table, trying to keep my thoughts at bay, knowing there were some things I really needed to figure out and decide upon.

Suddenly a wide grin broke on Grandpa’s face, surprising me. “Oh, Naomi!” He shook his head, laughing uproariously. “Such a goddamn good actress, you! You almost got me on that one, eh? But, sweetheart, I know what this is all about!” Another loud laugh.

I only shook my head in confusion. “Huh?”

He gave my hair a ruffle. “Don’t even think you could make a fool out of me, young lady. I already know it! Koepsell-Fleig called up this afternoon bearing the good news!” He pulled me into his arms and gave me a hug, squeezing me so tight my ribs cracked. “Congratulations, sweetie, on the Haiti Project,” he said in my ear. “You’re goddamn brilliant. Well done!”

“Yea, uh – erm—” I felt my mouth drying up as he released me and beamed at me like I was a treasure chest he’d discovered. Shit.

And Grandpa, being my biggest fan that he was, was unstoppable. “Oh, Naomi, my little darling! Really, I don’t know what would become of us without you here,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “You bring freshness to the organisation, you know. Fresh ideas. Fresh working hands. And NorCamp needs that. A make-over. And you’re going to be that—the face, the spokesperson, the brain behind all projects. You’ll be the one that will draw young people in. We’ll have more young members and that will keep us alive.”

Shit. I swallowed hard. I had to say it. I couldn’t let him go on thinking that I’d be taking the job for him, for the organisation. “Grandpa, I need to tell you something.”

“First, let me say this,” he said, putting up a hand to stop me. He drew in a breath, released it, then grinned. “Oh, dear, as much as you make me feel as useless as a goddamn kitten when you took over my project, you have no idea how proud I am of you. I know it’s been a rough time for the organisation these past few months but with you helping us, I know NorCamp will continue to succeed. I can imagine the future already.” He glanced up, his eyes twinkling dreamily. “Your grandma must be looking down at you, very proud and happy.”

Oh, fuck, why did he have to say that? Why did he have to paint such a perfect picture of the Campbell dream? And why did he have to mention Nana? I closed my eyes, my planned “I’m going back to Kyoto” speech lodging in my throat like an orange. I opened my mouth, tried to vocalise the words, but nothing came out.

There was this nagging thought that if I left, I wouldn’t just be letting down my grandfather. I’d also be disappointing the whole organisation my grandmother built. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I can count on you, right?” Grandpa said, looking into my eyes and giving my shoulder a squeeze.

I shifted on the bed uncomfortably and turned my gaze away, but Grandpa’s gentle yet beseeching hold on my shoulder urged me to look back at him. What could I say? I knew better than to give broken promises.

I nodded, feeling the stiffness in my back. “Listen, Grandpa,” I tried again. “I know I have a responsibility to NorCamp and, don’t get me wrong, I don’t see it as a burden or anything remotely nauseating,” my voice cracked. “I mean, I love my job and this has been my dream, but . . .”

When I trailed off, Grandpa finished for me. “You don’t want to stay here.” His hand let go of my shoulder then.

I stared at him for a moment, gauging his emotions. His face was a slab of granite. Now I knew what people meant when they said a room stood still. Everything else just melted away.

“Don’t say that, Grandpa,” I croaked, taking the hand that had just released my shoulder imploringly. “I love it here. Really. I’m happy with what I’m doing, you know. It’s just that—”

There was a sudden knock on the door and I saw Lynda, Grandpa’s personal secretary, walk in with her medical kit. In the past months, we’d come to depend on her on looking after grandfather as we’d all been busy with running the projects. She’d come in daily to check on his health progress and at the same time, like an automaton, relay all NorCamp business matters to him. It was a routine that left Grandpa exhausted, cranky, and impatient because he wanted complete recovery and he wanted it now.

“Hey, Jonathan. Hey, Naomi darling,” the old woman chirped. “Sorry for interrupting a Hallmark moment, but I’ve got to check up on your blood pressure, Jon.”

When I nodded, she crossed the room and approached Grandpa. “I’ll bet you’re starving, Jon,” she said. “What do you want me to get you?”

“A glass of scotch, please,” my grandpa replied, his face unsmiling. I felt my throat swelling as I studied his expression. Grandpa had probably already figured I was bringing some not-so-good news.

Lynda frowned at the old man. “Terrible stuff,” she told him. “I’m sure Dr. Creighton would not approve.”

“All right then, I’ll have a beer.”

It was my turn to frown. “Should you have any alcohol, Grandpa?”

“I’ll survive.” Grandpa’s voice was dry.

Lynda looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead she obeyed. She knew all too well it was useless to argue with a Campbell. I watched as the thin woman, grey roots showing beneath dyed black hair, walk over to the tiny refrigerator in one corner of the room.

“Make that two beers, Lynds,” Grandpa said to the old lady. “Naomi and I will make a toast.”

I swallowed through the lump in my throat, as Lynda rummaged through the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Foster’s. She walked back to us and handed Grandpa the bottles. He twisted open the cap of one bottle and handed it to me. Then he uncapped his own.

Grandpa raised his bottle in a toasting gesture and, to my utter surprise, grinned widely. “To the future of NorCamp International,” he said, clinking his bottle with mine. He took a long pull, looking down the line of the bottle at me. In the silence, I stared at the window. With a tense hand, I took a sip of my beer. Shit, shit, shit. I felt a fresh spray of guilt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him squinting at me and scratching his beard thoughtfully. Then his grin faded, and in the brief, empty silence that followed, I felt the knots in my stomach multiplying.

Lynda suddenly cleared her throat. “I’ll give you two your alone time. You know how I am about interrupting sweet grandfather-granddaughter moments,” she declared, inserting the ear pieces of the stethoscope into her ears. “I just have to check your B.P. quickly.”

She settled on the bed beside Grandpa and worked fast, setting up the sphygmomanometer, wrapping the cuff around Grandpa’s upper arm and pumping the rubber bulb, all the while keeping up a steady stream of conversation. “I know you’re out of bed all day. But I have to say this again, Jonathan, you gotta slow down. Prioritise. Decide on which one’s more important—your job or your health. ”

“My job. My duty,” Grandpa answered right away. And I envied him for his decisiveness. I wished I could just make my mind up that quickly and confidently.

The old woman only rolled her eyes at this and removed the cuff. “You’ve made incredible progress, Jon,” she told him, getting up with a slow clap of duty.

“Does that mean it’s over between us?” he joked, wiping his face with a towel.

“I suppose so. But if I were you, I’d still stay away from all the trying to be Mother Theresa or something.” She gave him an earnest look. “For once, Jonathan, think of yourself first.”

His bushy eyebrows rose. “Can you say that to the thousands of families and orphaned kids in need?”

Snapping her medical kit closed, Lynda grunted. “You’re stubborn yet endearing at the same time. It’s annoying.”

Grandpa rotated his arms, smirking. “You’ve always loved that about me, Lynds. And you know it. Don’t deny it.”

The woman only ignored him and moved to pluck some old, withering leaves off the pretty jasmine plant. “Anyway, there’s another flower basket coming from Chairman Hamill of Red Cross,” she said. “It’ll be arriving tomorrow morning.”

The old man made a face. “For the love of God, Lynda, could you ask these people to quit sending me flowers? It’s not helping one goddamn bit, to be frank. Whoever came up with the idea that flowers are perfect gifts for the sick must be sick in the head.”

Lynda turned to me with a grimace. “Could you tell your grandpa to stop being such a stubborn pain in the butt?”

I allowed a chuckle. “It’s incurable. I’m sorry, Lynda,” I offered, and Grandpa let out his throaty laugh.

She shot Grandpa a glare. “Christ. You’re the number one cause of my migraines, you know that, Jonathan Campbell?”

“I know. I drive you crazy.” His blue eyes laughed over the mouth of his beer bottle. Then he shrugged. “I think you really like me.”

“And I think you believe we’re still in Year 7,” Lynda quipped, sending Grandpa roaring with laughter.

Sipping my beer in silence, I smiled at the scene before me. Their playful, flirty banter reminded me so much of mine and Emily’s. Something the two of us had been expert at. Cute giggly moments that recently had been fewer and farther between because I was here and she was back there. Then my smile faded into a frown. How I terribly missed those moments. And I was determined to bring them back.

Lynda picked up her medical kit from the bed. “I better get out of here before I get hit by Norma’s lightning.” She looked up the ceiling and made a peace sign with her hand. “He started it, Norma.”

I stood up from the bed and accompanied the thin woman to the door. When we reached the door, she smiled at me. “You came home early today, pumpkin.”

“Yea,” I mumbled, opening the door for her, “I just need to discuss something with Grandpa.”

Her gaze narrowed a little. “Hm. This sounds like a farewell.”

I didn’t answer, just bit my lip. Lynda only pursed her lips and nodded in understanding.

“Okay. I’ll just be in the backyard with your mother. I need to wait for some important phone calls before I head off,” she said. “Remind your grandpa not to overtax himself, ’kay? He needs to rest. If you need something, just shout from the window.”

I flashed her a little thankful smile and nodded stiffly. “Copy. Thanks, Lynda.”

And she was gone. For a moment, I stared at the door that Lynda closed behind her. In the ensuing quiet, I whirled around to face Grandpa. He was viciously rotating his arm and bending his elbow—an exercise Dr. Creighton had suggested for him to do or his muscles would atrophy. It was tough and somehow odd watching him struggling like this. I was used to seeing him as the mighty, invincible Superman.

After a calming sip of my beer, I crossed the room and plopped down in the wooden chair by the bed. I put down the bottle on the bedside table and we sat silent—Grandpa on his bed, me in my chair. In nervousness, my hands gripped the arms of my chair. The heater made a soft buzzing sound; the light faint from the lamp in the room.

Grandpa eyed me over his beer. A long moment passed between us. I could sense that my grandfather was being cagey and a bit alarmed. I could also sense that he had something on his mind, but it appeared he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

I leant forward, feeling a quiver of fear and guilt. “Grandpa . . . ?”

He took a while to respond, an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re not doing it,” he suddenly spoke, his tone low.

“Grandpa . . .” I let out a shaky sigh, struggling where to start.

He only looked at me, waiting for me to go on.

“I can’t stay, Grandpa,” I finally said, my voice edgy. “I have to—” I cut myself off, biting my lip. I thought about what I wanted to say for the space of five heartbeats, then dived right in. “I found something there in Kyoto I never found here in Melbourne. Or in Africa. Or anywhere else in the world.”

My grandfather was silent for a few moments. I braced myself for the protesting lecture about the ‘poor, hungry, and neglected children in need of my help’ I had expected to come. “I’m glad, Naomi,” he said quietly. “I want you to be happy.”

I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. Didn’t tell me I was ruining the Campbell legacy, wasting the dream. After a second it finally hit me that my grandfather was being sincere. “I am happy,” I said emotionally. “Very much so.”

He nodded then took a long sip of his beer, his face still unreadable.

“Don’t get mad at me, Grandpa. Please don’t. Believe me when I say I love this job and I’m grateful for the trust you’ve given me and if I’m really, really ready I’d surely go for this 101%. This organisation makes me feel alive, believe me. So does my girlfriend Emily. These two things are so important to me, Grandpa. I don’t know what else to say to you, other than that I can’t imagine life without Emily and if this project is going to kill us then I have to let this one go,” I said. Then I quickly added, “For now, at least.”

I was dangerously close to crying, but then something extraordinary happened; Grandpa’s jaw cracked and an understanding smile spread like butter on his face. “Really, you don’t have to explain, sweetheart. I understand completely. Emily’s your life now,” he said sweetly, putting his bottle down on the bedside table. “Actually your mother and I had a talk about this a few days ago. We think your debut is too premature in this business. Although we know you can and we believe you’ve got the potential. Ginny’s actually getting ready to take over the child aid project. And as for the Haiti Project, I’m sure your Aunt Gertrude’s willing to step in. So you don’t have to worry about anything, sweetie.”

That did it, the tears that had lurked minutes before spilled out and I was powerless to stop them. Cue embarrassing grandparental bonding moment. I rose from my seat and gave him a hug. “Thanks for understanding, Grandpa. You don’t know how much weight was lifted off my chest. Christ, I was so close to having a nervous breakdown.”

He let out a chuckle and stroked my back fondly with his big hands. “I never intended for you to feel this terrorised by me.” He drew back to look into my face, his forehead wrinkled. “Was I that brutal?”

“Not exactly. But, like Aunt G says, you’re a pretty influential man. I had always wanted to follow your footsteps and was so scared of failing you, you know. And the way you’ve been dealing with Uncle Gary . . .”

“Well, that certainly clinched my reputation, didn’t it?” He arched an eyebrow.

I nodded, fighting off a smirk.

He took my face between his hands and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead just like he’d always do. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you have to follow a certain archetype or something, sweetheart. But that’s bullshit. That’s really bullshit. I love you, you know. And, in the end, I only want to see you happy and loving your life. Whatever are those things that put a smile on your face, I want you to go get them.”

I let out a long, slow breath. “But do you honestly think I am doing the right thing, Grandpa?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“For me, or for Emily?”

“Both.”

That made me relax and smile. “Thanks, Grandpa. And I love you, too.” I gave him one last hug. “I know it’s been a long day for both of us. I’ll let you rest now.” I released him then moved to the window. “Do you want me to close the blinds before I leave?”

“No, just leave them open,” he answered, yawning.

Moonlight continued to spill across the floor. I looked out the window. There wasn’t much of a view; Grandpa’s room was facing the backyard garden. I saw Aunt Gertrude talking lightly and drinking red wine with our neighbour Mrs. Perkins—accompanied by her chubby Persian cat—in the cabana, perhaps exchanging pastry or pasta recipes. Mum was in one of the Adirondack chairs beneath the large ginkgo tree, busy reviewing reports before she leaves for Africa next week to cover for me. Sitting in another chair next to her was Lynda, reading some files with my mother. I was surrounded by wonderful people in my life, I suddenly realised. Nosy yet wonderful people.

“Will you sit with me a while longer?” I heard Grandpa call gently. “I had missed my granddaughter.”

I pivoted to smile at him. “Of course.”

“And hold my hand?”

I nodded and moved back to the bed. I dutifully sat back in the wooden chair and took his hand, my thumb tracing it slightly. His hand was gnarled and veined with age. We stayed in comfortable silence for long moments until Grandpa suddenly spoke.

“You’re a tough girl, Naomi,” he said quietly, studying my face adoringly. “Just like your mum.”

Smiling, I gave his hand a little squeeze. “We take after you.”

He smiled at this. “And when it comes to love you’re just as . . . devoted.”

“I know.”

His eyes lingered on the bracelet around my wrist, staring admiringly at them. “That’s one beautiful bracelet.”

I fingered the golden chains and fancy gemstones, smiling reflectively. “Emily gave this to me during our first monthsary. It must have cost her a fortune but . . .” I trailed off, suddenly missing the redhead so much it was like physical pain.

Grandpa sank back against his pillows, smiling. “I want to meet this Emily. Ginny and Gerty told me she’s a lovely and sweet girl.”

That made my heart melt. “She’s really special. You’ll love her.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said earnestly. “I think you’re really lucky to have someone like her, you know. Because finding that one person who will understand and love you completely . . . it’s like a miracle.” I saw a glint in his twinkling blue eyes that harked back to an old memory, a severe longing. “So you gotta keep her in your arms as long as you can.”

I was silent as I digested this. “I know that, Grandpa,” I finally said. “Throwing away what Emily and I have at the moment never crossed my mind. I love the girl so much, it’s scary sometimes.”

We cut off our chat briefly as our attention was diverted to Lynda running around and having an actual nervous breakdown in the hallway with all the phones ringing in the house. Grandpa chuckled until his head bobbed up and down. I laughed with him.

After a short while, the laughter subsided. And longing replaced the mirth on my grandfather’s face. “Your grandma . . . she was like you and your mum,” he told me, sorrow in his eyes. “Sweet as can be. But pretty tough.”

I managed to smile a little. All I could recall about my grandmother was the scent of Guerlain Shalimar, which had wrapped me in a cloud with every hug, not that there’d been many of those. She and Grandpa would always visit our house, bringing me cookies and stuffed toys. But I had been seven and all I could think about was playing outside and wanting to be a wilderness explorer. It wasn’t until a year later that the absence of a father and a grandmother really sank in. It had been incredibly tough. But whatever holes there were in my life were eventually filled with love and strength from the remaining members of our family who had been together rock-solid ever since.

“Anyway,” Grandpa went on, “your Nana Norma loved the organisation. She worked really hard for it to gain recognition and respect. She asked me to come with her to Dhaka because she wanted and needed me by her side. I didn’t. I knew I could go, but I didn’t. She begged me, but I was just too obsessed with my job at the real estate company. My life revolved around the office, around work at that time, and I didn’t want to leave it come heaven or hell.”

I felt my chest tighten, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading.

“Then after six months, halfway through the project, your Nana called and told me she was coming home for a short break. She was so excited to come back because she’s got so many stories to share. She couldn’t wait to give you this elephant stuffed toy she bought, too. At that point, I had decided I was going to go with her on her return to Dhaka for the remaining half of the project. I had wasted so much time being away from her, I realised. I knew I had been a goddamn fool,” he said, then his lips twitched. “But then . . . her plane crashed.”

“Yea.” I looked out at the window, as if the moon could erase the glimmer of tears in my eyes. “She never made it.”

“I was never the same after your Nana Norma . . .” Even now, all these years later, the word died wouldn’t cross his lips. “So instead I chose to put all my energy and dedicated my life to the things she left—your mum, you, my little darling, and the organisation. I’ve channeled my love to this organisation and renamed it after her. I wanted to share her passion, her experiences. Even in that way, I could feel her looking down at me, proud and happy.”

I gave him a reassuring smile and held his hand. “I’m sure she is, Grandpa,” I said quietly. “I’m sure she is.”

He touched a jasmine flower absently with a finger, gathering his thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is, if I could just turn back time, I wouldn’t trade my years with your grandmother for anything. Without her, life seemed a bit meaningless. It had little meaning. I thought I wouldn’t be able to smile again. I never thought I’d spend a day without her, you know.” He stroked the white flower wistfully, and I looked at it too, equally wistful. “If there’s something that I’ve learned from the incident in Zambia and your Nana’s death,” he said, “it’s that you have to build your life around your real passion. And never ever abandon your one true love. So you should know where your priorities lie. You should be sure. Because regrets and could’ve beens could bite back really goddamn hard.”

He paused and took a deep breath. Then he turned to me, looking directly into my eyes. “Now there’s just this one question,” he began, and I held his gaze in anticipation. “Do you believe you’re making the right decision?”

I considered my answer for a heartbeat and wondered why the hell I even hesitated. “Of course. Emily means the most to me.”

A pleased smile broke on his face. “If being with this girl is what makes you most happy and satisfied,” my grandfather said, “then by all means do it.” He reached for my cheek and gave it a few light pats then slid down under the blanket, letting out another yawn. “Good night, sweetheart. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

I switched the bedside lamp off and watched over as the wise old man kneaded his pillows, rested his head onto them, and closed his eyes to sleep. The trouble was, though, was that ever since I started hands-on work with the organisation and got a taste of the Campbell dream, I wasn’t quite sure I’d ever be happy and satisfied with my old life ever again.

But Grandpa was right. None of the children I had taught, the crops I helped plant, the homes I helped build, none of it was enough to fill that hole in my heart. Thinking of my redhead princess all the time was tearing my heart in two. None of this, I realised, meant a thing if I didn’t have Emily by my side. I couldn’t imagine walking the land, visiting orphanages, plotting my future, without the girl I loved—and loved with a fierceness I had never experienced before—by my side.

As I fixed Grandpa’s blanket, I broke into the tiniest smiles, finally sure of what I had to do and where I had to be.

 

“Didn’t you two just love that splash-down drop in the Jurassic Park ride?” Misaki said, tossing her ponytail behind her shoulders, as we walked down the peaceful, maple tree-lined street leading back to my dorm that balmy Sunday night. “That was such a thrill, right?”

Yuka couldn’t stop laughing. “It’s so funny to see Emily Sensei screaming like that! I saw her face! Okashii-wa (So funny)!”

“I know. You got me on that one, Yuka-chan,” I said, giving the girl a little tickle on the neck, sending her into fits of giggles. “I still hate myself for letting you trick me into getting on that ride.”

Misaki laughed. “But don’t say it wasn’t worth it, yea?” She draped a casual arm on my shoulders and played with a mass of my red curls. “Because for me, it was. I’ve never seen you so scared of something before, Emily-chan.”

I rolled my eyes flippantly. “Well, because I’ve really never been so scared of anything before than that fucking drop.” I gave my temples a quick massage. “Jesus. The memory still makes me feel a bit light-headed.”

Misaki flashed a grin. “But it was a fun, learning, deafening experience, right?”

I gave a snort. “It was. It made me learn that I’m never ever going to ride that thing again,” I said with mock annoyance, as Misaki shook her head and giggled.

“Treeminator was fun too!” Yuka exclaimed, happily skipping with Oz on the narrow cemented street of Ukyo-ku. “’Cuz of the bad robots!”

“Terminator,” I corrected gently.

Yuka’s bright eyes radiated her exhilaration. “Did you see how the Treeminator killed the big robot? Bang! Bang! Ratatatatataah!” She made these gun-firing movements with her little arms as Oz frantically barked along. “Pew, pew, pew! Bang! Bang!”

Misaki reached down and touched the girl’s arm. “Yuka-chan, dame da (that’s bad). Violence is not good.”

The little girl nodded then held out an open hand. “Okane choudai (Can I have some money), Oba-chan? Nomimono hoshiiwa (I want something to drink).”

“Matte (Wait) . . .” Misaki opened her sling purse and gave the girl a couple of 100-yen coins. “Hai (Here).”

She grinned gigantically. “Thanks, Obachan! C’mon, Oz.” She then tugged at the dog’s leash and skipped ahead, toward a vending machine. The Westie happily accompanied her.

Misaki and I walked along, a comfortable silence descending between us, the kind that usually happened with people who’d known each other a long time and had developed that unspoken language.

Spending time with Misaki was always how I’d imagined it to be despite our drama-filled history. So natural and easy. No pretension, few attempts to impress, and she seemed to have an instinctive feel for when to zip her lips or when to react. It was that feeling of engagement, I realised, that led me to get on a relationship with Naomi in the first place. It wasn’t only the physical excitement I felt on the nights we spent together under our willow tree or inside our dorm rooms; more than that, I longed the comfort I experienced during those quiet moments we spent talking beneath the stars or when she tenderly took my hand as we walked through a parking lot on the way to our bicycles. Those were the moments in which it was easy to imagine the blonde was the one I was meant to spend my life with, moments that lately had been fewer and farther between because she was far away from me.

And I feared that they’d be fewer and fewer and farther and farther between now that only four days ago I had received the crushing news that the Haiti Project she’d been working on had been approved by their sponsors. If Naomi would accept the job that would mean she was going to be away for a couple of years or so. I already felt a catch in my throat, just thinking about the prospect of my girlfriend on the other side of the world again. And I was quite sure I couldn’t deal with that. Even just now that we were apart for only three months, it already felt a little like death.

“Why’d you name your doggie Oz, Emily Sensei?” Yuka asked out of the blue, bouncing up to us with her apple juice drink.

“Well, Yuka-chan, that’s a long story,” I said, my tone gentle.

“That’s good,” she said, sipping her drink with the straw noisily. “’Cuz I love long stories. Obachan says that’s ’cuz I got big ears.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “All right, I’ll tell you,” I gave in and patted the girl’s shiny dark brown hair as we went on walking. “Well . . . once upon a time, your Aunt Misaki and I were walking along Rainbow Bridge—”

“Ooh!” She beamed. “I love Rainbow Bridge! Every day is like Christmas there ’cuz of all the lights!”

The five-year-old’s enthusiasm made me chuckle again. She was a little primadonna, all right, but she was just too cute and her face was so cherubic not to find charming. Misaki giggled with me.

“So we were walking along Rainbow Bridge and thinking about names,” I started again, as Yuka sipped her drink and listened eagerly. “We stopped in the middle of the bridge because not one name was cute enough, you know. So your Obachan told me to just close my eyes and the first thing that pops in my head will be the puppy’s name. I just did what she said, and Oz instantly came to mind.”

Yuka looked up at me, her brow furrowed in question. “Then how’s come Oz?”

“Well, see, Yuka-chan, Oz is Australia,” I explained gently. “It’s where Naomi came from.”

“Who’s Naomi? Is she a popstar?”

I bit back a laugh at the girl’s innocent question and remembered Naomi’s secret dream to really become one.

“Naomi is Emily Sensei’s girlfriend, Yuka-chan,” Misaki answered on my behalf.

Yuka nodded, sipping at her apple juice. “Okay. So you named the puppy with Obachan. That means you two are his mummies!” She grinned up at us happily.

“Not exactly,” I answered uneasily. “See, Oz’s other mummy is Naomi.”

The five-year-old stopped short, her grin faded. “But why?”

Misaki and I stopped walking, too. I glanced around nervously as if I were searching for an escape route.

“Why, Emily Sensei?” Yuka repeated, crossing her arms over her chest brattily.

I managed to look down at the girl’s inquisitive face. “Because I like Naomi,” I replied, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

She frowned, not happy with that answer. “You don’t like Obachan?”

I swallowed hard. “Of course, I like your Aunt Misaki too. It’s just that—” I stammered, put on a bright smile, then tried again, “I just . . . uh . . . like Naomi better.”

Her tiny brows wrinkled in protest. “Better? But my Obachan is the prettiest!” she cried. “All the boys at school has a crush on her!”

Misaki quickly jumped in. “Okay, stop it, Yuka-chan,” she said, her face turning bright red. “Kankei nai desho (It’s none of your business, all right)?” She turned to me with an embarrassed and apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about her, Emily-chan. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about sometimes.” Then a bit awkwardly she added with a pinch of the bridge of her nose, “I’m just gonna grab a Coke, okay? This kid is giving me a migraine.” She then spun on her heel and rushed toward a row of vending machines along the sidewalk.

The scowl remained on Yuka’s face. After letting out a sigh, I bent down, held the little girl’s shoulders, and looked straight into her eyes. “I like Misaki-chan, okay? I think your aunt is nice and pretty and funny and sweet and all that. But, see, I’m with Naomi now.”

She shook her head matter-of-factly. “No, you’re not. You’re with Obachan and me and Oz. Where is Naomi now?” She looked around.

“Well, uh, she’s not here now.” I bit my lip. Jesus. You gotta admire children for being bullshit-proof.

Yuka did that little kid ‘I told you so’ shrug. “See?” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, cupping her hand around her mouth. “And I think Obachan really likes you.”

That made me snort a laugh. “Okay.”

She drew back, her eyes wide as saucers. “He-e-e~? Kyoumi naino (You don’t care)?”

I straightened up, a bit stiffly, and pushed my hands into the back pockets of my denim skirt. “Not really. And I don’t think—”

“Why? ’Cuz of Naomi-chan?”

“Among other things.” I shifted my weight, feeling a headache forming. God, when will this little smart arse stop?

“But you were staring at Obachan.”

I felt my mouth dry up. “I wasn’t staring at her.”

“Sou yo (Yes, you were)!” she teased.

“Sou ja naiyo (No, I wasn’t).”

“Yes, you were! I saw you!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “I saw you, Emily Sensei!”

I was glad it was dark or they would have seen my face go from pale to pink to burning, shameful bright red. “No, I wasn’t,” I bit out. “Yuka-chan!” I mock scolded in a whisper.

Grinning, she giggled. “Oh, don’t be so touchy, Emily Sensei,” she sang out, nudging me with her elbow teasingly. “Well, you know it doesn’t matter ’cuz Obachan’s been staring at you, too.”

Misaki’s eyes were widened as she sauntered over to us, with two cans of soda in her hands. She looked awfully humiliated. 

“He-e-e~! Nandatte (What)?!” she exclaimed, laughing a bit nervously. “Don’t listen to her, Emily-chan,” she told me. Then she turned to her niece. “And, Yuka-chan. Yameteyo (Stop it). No more questions, wakari-mashita ka (you understand)?”

Yuka rolled her eyes, but still nodded. “Un. Wakatta (Got it).”

Misaki turned to me again, giving me a smile that wobbled with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Emily-chan. She’s really mouthy, isn’t she? I don’t know where she gets these ideas.”

Shaking my head and chuckling silently, I said, “I think her parents let her OD on American TV talk shows every night.”

She laughed, yet the shy smile remained on her face. “I guess. Yuka-chan could be brutally honest.”

“Brutal. You got that much right,” I agreed grimly. “Unlike the rest of the Japanese people, yea? She could be the perfect spokesmodel for the ‘No Tatemae Japan’ campaign. Yuka will do great things.”

Misaki laughed again, but as it faded into a small chuckle, I caught that rare look coming over her face. That I-miss-you-as-my-girlfriend-and-I-so-wanna-kiss-you look. At least, that was how I had interpreted it. Her gaze shifted to my mouth. My heart started to pound, and I realised that I definitely wouldn’t mind if she went for it.

And that thought upset me to the point of nausea.

This is wrong, I reminded myself. Utterly, absolutely unlawfully wrong. You’ve got to escape before things get out of hand. Again. It’s got to stop.

Misaki seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Here,” she said, handing me a cold can of Mountain Dew, trying to regain some distance.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, opening the drink at once. I took a sip of the lemon-citrus-flavoured soda, glad for something to take the edge off my nerves.

We started walking again and only sipped at our drinks, now in silence. Yuka became busy playing with Oz to my great relief. Thank God. That kid was asking all the hard questions. Questions I didn’t want to answer. But still, questions that had sent me into another fit of confusion.

Really, though, where was Naomi at the moment? Why wasn’t she by my side? And why was Misaki filling in all those holes that my girlfriend left me when she went away? I’d had an amazing three months with Misaki. I’d had a miserable three months with Naomi. Naomi was still gone. Misaki was here. What was I supposed to do? Forgo the possibility of an enjoyable, healthy relationship so I could hang on to a long-distance one just because I felt like I should? Was it time for another change of heart?

I gulped on my soda, feeling tears stinging my eyes. No. Fuck, no. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t like I felt I should be with Naomi. I loved her. And I still wanted the blue-eyed babe with a craving like a chocoholic peeking in the windows of a Ghirardelli Chocolate Shop.

As we neared my dormitory, I could have sworn I saw a shadowy figure in my room. But it must have been just a product of my imagination. It had been a long, energy-draining summer day and I was having a head-fucking internal conflict within me.

As soon as we reached the front gates of the dormitory, Misaki took a step forward and turned to face me, smiling sweetly. “I had a great time today, Emily-chan,” she said, her voice soft. “I mean, I always have a great time when I’m with you.”

I took a swallow of soda before replying. “Me, too,” I said, trying not to meet her gaze. I did have a good time. A fantastic time, in fact. But it had to stop here.

“For the last time today, I just have to say, I love your new hair,” she said, reaching out to run her fingers down my ultra-wavy fiery red locks.

I gave a self-conscious little laugh. “I got bored yesterday and just thought of getting a new hairstyle.”

“It fits you perfectly,” she murmured, stroking my hair admiringly. “You look beautiful. As always.”

“Thanks.” My voice was breathless. I had a stronge urge to wrap my arms around her and pull her toward me. But that moment passed, and she drew down her hand.

We stood there, holding each other’s gaze wordlessly. I felt heady, dizzy like I had on the bloody Jurassic Park ride back at Universal Studios. I knew she was waiting for me to make a move. It would have been the easiest thing in the whole world. But once I started, I was afraid I would never be able to stop.

Good thing, Misaki had something else in mind. “Yuka-chan,” she called, swiftly moving to grab the little girl’s wrist. “Say goodbye to Emily Sensei now. She has to go inside. It’s getting cold.”

Yuka tugged at Misaki’s tweed shorts. “Obachan, before Emily Sensei leaves, can I ask?”

Misaki took a sip of her Coke, glancing down at her niece. “Ask what, sweetie?”

Yuka stepped in front of me and looked up, her cherubic face seeming wiser than it should be. “Are you gonna marry Obachan?” she asked. “’Cuz she told me she’s gonna marry a girl and she’s lonesome right now.”

“What?” I choked back the drink in my throat.

“Dame yo (Bad), Yuka-chan,” Misaki quickly cut in, pointing a scolding finger at her niece. “Stop it.”

“Will you?” the little girl asked again, her wide eyes filled with hope.

“No, no, I’m not marrying her.” I swallowed hard, and shakily threw my empty can into a garbage can. “No, not at all. I . . . uh . . .” I scrambled for an answer. “There’s another girl. Naomi. I told you she’s my girlfriend, right?”

She nodded the nod of a child who doesn’t like the answer she’s getting, then took a loud sip of her juice. “Why?”

“Why’s Naomi my girlfriend?” I repeated, stalling. Damn. Where did this kid come from? “Uh, because I love her.”

“How come?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest again, as if she knew everything in this world. “Does she cook spicy chicken wings, too? Aunt Misaki’s the best at that. I know, ’cuz I love her chicken.”

“Yes, I mean, I love her chicken, too, and she’s—”

“But my Obachan is the prettiest and—!”

“Mou ii yo (That’s enough), Yuka-chan,” Misaki cut her off, covering the little girl’s mouth with her hand. “Emily Sensei is in love with another girl. And that’s that.” She quickly averted her gaze, avoiding my eyes.

The words sliced through me, severing, as quickly as a chainsaw.

Okay. So I know I had fucked up. I shouldn’t have messed around with Misaki, and lessened the Girls Nights In/Out with her. But you have no idea what it had been like for me—not being able to see Naomi, her being too busy to call or write. It made me unable to think clearly.

All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want anyone to get hurt or for the three of us to get tangled in another complication, another “table for three” drama. If I refrain from seeing Misaki that would give me more time to sort this whole thing through. I could re-evaluate my feelings for Naomi.

I liked Misaki. I really did. But it was my like for her that was dangerous. What we had was an enjoyable, healthy relationship, I couldn’t deny that. But it’s got to stop. We both had to stop before I make another mistake and fuck this whole thing up.

When Misaki had gathered enough strength to meet my eyes, she gave a little embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry again about Yuka.”

“It’s okay,” I said rather shyly, watching Yuka as the little girl chanted “Kissu (Kiss)! Kissu (Kiss)! Kissu (Kiss)!” over and over whilst skipping around us with Oz in a circle. I gave a little shrug. “You know what they say, kids say the darndest things.” 

Misaki’s blush intensified too. “Thanks again for coming with us to USJ. It’s been so much fun with you there,” she said, taking both my hands into the warmth of hers. The gesture, I was sure, was meant to be friendly, but it sent a heat of a whole other kind soaring up my arms. She was smiling kind of differently, too. And her eyes seemed to be sparkling a tad too much. But that might have been a reflection of the streetlight overhead.

I tried to ignore the leaping sensation in my stomach. “I had an epic time, too,” I said with an inadvertent sigh. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Misaki inched ever slightly toward me. Even as I told myself to back away, to hurry into the building and slam the door on the heat building between us, I stayed. Watching her, the shimmer of moonlight in her deep brown eyes. I was almost falling into her soft gaze, her soul. I was intensely aware of her nearness. My palms started to sweat in her hands.

When Oz let out a bark, I felt myself give a little start. I pulled back in a moment of uncertainty.

Misaki sensed it and drew away ever so slightly. “Emily?” she said softly.

“I . . . uh . . .” I glanced around, half-expecting to find a spy or someone like Toshi in one of the azalea bushes. Standing out under the streetlight in front of the dorm building with the Japanese girl made me feel incredibly self-conscious.

Goose bumps broke out all over my arms as I looked once again into her warm, very serious eyes. Part of me just wanted to kiss her, and another part wanted to tell her that she was making me uncomfortable—inadvertently, of course.

“What is it?” she asked, cupping my face in one tender hand. My head reeled. I felt out of breath. I let my eyes close for a moment. Well, not kissing Misaki wasn’t going to bring back my girlfriend. But kissing her wasn’t going to change anything either, was it? When tomorrow came, nothing would be any different. Naomi Campbell would still be the girlfriend I was madly in love with. Misaki Ueno would stay being my best friend. And Emily Fitch would be a raw bundle of mixed emotions.

I opened my eyes and stared at Misaki, feeling the crackle of tension between us. “Uh . . .”

She cocked her head to one side. “Emily?” Her soft gaze weakened my knees.

I swallowed, hoping she couldn’t sense my feelings. “Hug, please,” I forced out. Fuck. Fail.

With a soft giggle, Misaki pulled me into her arms and hugged me tight. I found myself enjoying the warmth of her embrace. I’d always loved Misaki’s hugs.

“Emily,” she said into my ear, “if you don’t want to sleep alone, you could, you know, always come to my place and sleep over.” She pulled back, flashing her pulse-altering smile. “What do you say?”

I looked at Misaki, again. So beautiful, I almost couldn’t resist. But I knew better than bringing complications into my already shitty love life. I was still trying to make sense of all of my riotous emotions.

“Okay. Maybe not now,” Misaki said softly when she saw the look on my face. She seemed to understand.

“I’m just . . . so tired all of a sudden,” I told her, and as I said it, I realised it was true. I’d probably walked and run around the bloody noisy amusement park for twelve hours straight today under the searing sun. Plus, spending an entire day with Yuka certainly drained my body and brain battery. It was definitely an eventful day.

She smiled. “Okay. But, uhm, will I see you again tomorrow?”

Oh, God. We were definitely playing with fire here. I stared down at my Chuck Taylors. Time to draw a demarcation line, my common sense nagged.

“Listen, Misaki. There’s something I need to tell you.” I took a deep breath, compounding all my courage, and I was about to spill the “It’s better if, for the mean time, we put some distance between us or I would undoubtedly want you again and crazy shiteous drama will ensue and we don’t want that because we’ve all been there and done that and someone ends up getting hurt” speech out when my heart suddenly leapt into my throat, blocking the words.

There was faint light inside my room and the curtains were partly open—something that immediately flooded me with icy-cold fear.

My hands flew to my mouth in shock. “Oh, God!”

I saw a shadow of a familiar-looking girl moving behind the curtains. And caught a glimpse of her blond hair. There, in my room, was Naomi.

“Doushitano (What’s wrong)?” Misaki straightened up, her eyes wide with worry.

“Uh  . . . I have to—I gotta go,” I stammered, moving toward the gate. “Bye, Misaki. Bye, Yuka-chan. You girls take care, all right? Bye!” I added in a rush, quickly walking backward into the gate. “I’ll just give you a ring tomorrow—or, erm, sometime soon.”

A confused Misaki and a giggling Yuka, carrying a madly barking Oz in her tiny arm, lifted their hands in a wave of farewell and started down the street.

I raced across the driveway and into the electronic glass doors, Misaki and my feelings completely forgotten. My heart pounded against my rib cage like an animal trying to escape a trap. What if Naomi saw us? What if she had looked out the window that very intense minute? We all knew that the blonde was the perfect definition of a jealous type.

I ran up the stairs then down the hallway, trying to formulate a perfect excuse for what had happened. I burst through the room, gasping for breath, even though I’d only run about a few metres. Once inside, I immediately recognised the sexy exotic smell of cocobolo wood—the same smell Naomi always had about her.

“Hey, baby! There you are!” Naomi was sitting on the floor, halfway through unpacking her luggage. “I’m home!” She was grinning up at me and she looked fresh and alive and alluring and amazing in a sexy black tank and a pair of washed-out denim shorts. Her familiar scent sent my beaten heart racing all the more. She looked better than I ever remembered her looking before. 

She looked like the girl I was supposed to love.

“Naomi,” I said, unable to smile back, my face feeling like a stone.

“Is everything all right, Ems?” Naomi asked, standing up. 

I didn’t answer. I only stood still and watched in silence as the blonde beauty studied my face with concern.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” Of course she knew something was wrong. She could probably tell from my face that I was about to kiss or be kissed by someone else ten seconds ago. She knew me too well to—

“Emily?” Her brow furrowed with alarm. Then one fierce brow lifted up, and she folded her arms. “Did Jess come in our room and attacked you while I was gone?”

That one made me laugh a bit. “No!” I said, a grin tugging the corners of my lips. Her familiar humour felt so divine.

She grinned back. “Well, are you just going to stand there gawking at me, or are you going to give me a hug?” she asked, opening her arms. “The least you can do, Miss Fitch, is pretend to be excited to see me. Because I don’t intend to go anywhere. Not until you and I have had a chance to catch up.”

Without further ado, I moved to her and fell into her arms. “God, I missed you so much, babe,” I said, my eyes closed tightly as she wrapped her arms around me. I instantly felt hot blood surge some life back into my whole body. In relief, I let out an inaudible sigh, my pulse finally slowing to normal levels. Misaki’s life was spared.

Naomi drew back to look me over. Her index finger tilted my head up and she looked down at my face lovingly. “I missed you, too, Ranga. I love you.” She pressed my head into the curve of her shoulder. “I love you so much.”

My arms went around her. I held her close, hugged her tightly. “I love you, too.” Squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to dispel the bitterness and hurt I was feeling. We hugged there for what felt like half an hour.

“Surprised?” Naomi asked with a wicked grin, pulling back slightly.

“You have no idea,” I answered, grinning back. “You’re so sneaky.”

“Just one of my likable qualities, if you remember,” she murmured. Then she squinted at me, scrutinising my face. “And, uhm, what happened to your hair, babe?”

I frowned. “Why? You don’t like it?”

“I like it. Love it, in fact. You look so fucking sexy,” she replied with a naughty little smirk. “Now, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.” She laced her fingers through mine as she led me over to the bed, and her certain warmth that I had craved for a long time almost brought tears to my eyes.

What’s that? I thought. Answer my e-mails? Return my calls? Then I gave myself a mental slap. Naomi came home already. Stop being such a cheeky cow.

I plopped down onto the bed, and before Naomi’s butt had even hit the mattress, her mouth was on mine—hot and hungry. Surprised, it took me a second to adjust myself so that I could get my arms around her. I had surely missed Naomi’s passionate, mind-blowing kisses.

When she finally broke away, her eyes were a little glassy and I was grinning stupidly. “That was just the appetizer, babe,” my blue-eyed girlfriend teased, and a floodgate of desire burst open within me. Grinning, she then tilted toward me again and gave me a firm kiss on the mouth. Our tongues barely touched and I drew back all of a sudden.

“I don’t usually kiss strangers,” I said playfully, kicking off my sneakers onto the bedroom floor.

Her mouth fell open in mock hurt. “Am I . . . a stranger?”

“I don’t know . . .” I squinted my eyes at her and pursed my lips playfully as if in thought. “Who are you?”

Her brows arched up like she’d been insulted. “I’m going to make you remember me, you little cow.” With a sexy giggle, she then pulled me tighter to her.

I laughed, breathing in her scent, rich sweet freshness that intoxicated me. I felt lost in her aura. That arresting Campbell aura. She took that opportunity to move in for another kiss. This time when our lips met, our tongues had time to explore and taste each other. The sensation of Naomi was killing me. The way she tasted and smelled and sounded and felt would have been enough to make me go off. I heard myself moan as she deepened the kiss further. My arms wrapped tightly around her back, fingers pressing against her, drawing her closer, wanting more contact, more kissing, more everything. 

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head to one side, so she could nip and taste along my jaw. I nearly cried at the sensation of those quick, nibbling kisses. Heat gushed between my legs, and I inhaled sharply, my breasts rising against hers. When we parted, both of us breathing hard and fast, I husked, “God, I missed you so much.”

“Oh, so you remember me now, eh?” Naomi smirked, smug and happy.

I smiled sheepishly. Of course, I remember you, silly, I thought, gazing at the blonde with hungry eyes. How can I forget those bright blue eyes, those lips, those legs, those blond waves, those smiles, and those magical fingers? I secured my fingers behind the back of her neck, entangled in the thick silky golden hair as our lips met once more and parted in a lingering, wet kiss. We devoured each other’s mouths whilst our bodies pressed together. Her hands which I admired were now smoothing themselves over the contours of my breasts, down my belly and backside. Every place she touched rocked me with desire, and I perceived a similar need building within her as well. She abruptly pulled her mouth away, gasping in an effort to catch her breath.

“I want you, Emily. Jesus, you’re driving me wild. Your new hairstyle is driving me even wilder,” she said, as if asking me to end the feverish agony building inside her. “Like I know this sounds fucking crazy but I feel like I’d die if I don’t have you right now.”

I opened my eyes, my mouth still pursed in motion of a kiss. Every one of my nerves was on fire, as if I might go up in flames ignited by nothing more than the warmth of her breath on me. Only her touch could quench the overwhelming yearning inside of me. I wanted Naomi, too, God help me, I wanted her more than it seemed I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

I answered her by tugging her top upward as joy and excitement surged in my chest. Naomi had returned. My fair-haired queen was here. With me. In my arms. Clad in her scrumptious dark blue bra. And we were still nuts about each other. And I was still nuts about her perfectly-shaped breasts.

Then just as quickly as it began, the feeling subsided. She may be here, but she might be saying good-bye later.

Naomi’s hands found their way under the hem of my tank top, slipping beneath the waistband of my black leggings and coming to rest at the small of my back.

“Naomes?” I said breathlessly, both my index fingers hooked on the belt loops of her denim shorts.

She grinned. “I know. The belt is getting in the way.” She drew away and sat on the edge of the bed. “This will only take a sec, babe.”

I watched as she fumblingly unfastened her leather belt and yanked it off quickly. God, was she ravenous.

Half of me hoped Naomi was back to stay, and the other half—the cautious half—said she was here to say good-bye forever because she was jetting off on a round-the-world feeding the orphans tour. Getting my hopes up would be a futile exercise. I’d had far too much experience with futility lately to want to go there again.

The blonde turned back to me, her eyes dark with want, ready to continue. With a sexy grin, she crawled back to me and wrapped her fingers around my neck. But her expression quickly changed when she saw my face.

“Hey,” she said, looking at me intently. “You all right, Em?” She lifted her other hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair off my sweaty face. “What’s wrong, baby?”

I looked away, biting my lip to keep it from quivering and wringing my hands to keep them from trembling.

Naomi cupped my chin and made me look at her. “Ems?”

I knew it would be futile to keep anything from Naomi. She just knew me all too well. “So . . . how’d it go?” I said finally, my voice cracking. “I mean, the new project . . .”

She paused, and in that interminable wait it seemed as if she held my heart in her hands. “Well, like I told you, we got it. And they asked me to take in charge.”

“Great, congratulations,” I said, trying to work some enthusiasm in my voice. The pessimist in me had been right, fuck’s sake.

“And I turned it down.”

“You . . .” Had I heard her right? “You did what?”

The blonde’s lips curled up into smile number 863, this one a sweet, happy smile that took over her face, adding light to her eyes. “I turned the position down, Emily.”

“But the project meant so much to you. And you’ve worked your arse off for that. And there’s a big meeting in two weeks, right? And your grandpa’s still—”

“Shh.” Naomi put a gentle finger on my lips to stop me from rambling. “Grandpa thought it would be better for me to get my degree and figure out my life first. He said my debut in NorCamp was ‘premature,’” she said, making air quotes. “Mum had stepped in to cover for me in the child aid project. Aunt G’s working on the Haiti Project now.” She leant in toward me and whispered, “I love you, you know. I just want to be with you. I’m crazy about you.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I am.”

When she giggled, I pulled her close. “That’s okay, since I’m crazy about you, too.”

In another second, she reached forward and kissed me, lifting her fingers into my hair, curving into my body, asking me without words to go along with her.

Something in me melted and the icy wall of anger was temporarily replaced by heat. I began to take the lead, my powerful mouth claiming hers, guiding her in a heated dance that urged her to open to me, to allow me access. All I felt, all I knew, was this girl and the crazifying touch of her kiss, her magical fingers, and the whisper of her breath against mine.

Naomi arched against me until I was lying on the bed and she was on top of me, softening into my chest like butter on toast, her fingers tangling in my hair, her tongue sliding into my mouth, tangoing with mine, teasing, tasting, relearning the curves, the valleys. One of her legs wedged between mine and one of mine between hers. In that way, we slid against each other, panting as she worked my skirt up to my hips and squeezed my butt through the leggings. I pulled her tighter to me, kissing her hotly and greedily as if tasting something really delicious. Her body shivered with my touch and kiss.

When the kiss ended, she drew back, propping herself up with one arm, a look of soft surprise on her face. “I’m glad we’re crazy about each other. ’Cos I . . .” Her voice trailed off, her gaze locked on my lips. “Christ, I’m such an idiot for missing out on thirteen weeks of kissing you.”

“I know,” I said breathlessly, running my hands up and down the bare curve of her back. “I know.”

She grinned, the light in her eyes dancing with merriment and want. “You do remember how to do this, don’t you?”

“If I don’t, I’m counting on you to be my tutor.”

She laughed, then grabbed the waistbands of my skirt and leggings together, yanking them both down. 

But I had another plan. “Wait.” I reached for her hands, stopping her. My eyes dropped to her mouth, watching her inhale, exhale. “Do you think the hot tub is still warm?”

“Should be.”

“Do you want to go for a dip?”

The blonde squeezed tight against me, then leant toward my ear. “Why, I thought you’d never ask.” With excitement, she then levered herself off me, her face a picture of desire.

I reared myself up, slipped the scrunchie off my wrist and fixed my wavy hair into a ponytail. Naomi watched the beads of sweat glisten on my neck, and her blue eyes mirrored the hunger she was feeling. I was grinning stupidly. The poor blonde was so Fitched.

She let out a groan, then took my face with both her hands. “But fuck, babe, you look so tasty like I want to eat you right now.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder, I thought as Naomi drew my face to hers for another hot, greedy kiss.

So what the hell is wrong with me?

I wasn’t aware that I had broken apart from my girlfriend until I heard her voice. “Ems,” she breathed, barely audible.

When she saw the confusion on my face, she sat up straight. “Is everything all right?” she asked, giving my knee a gentle squeeze.

What could I say? I turned my gaze away, studying the pile of clothes on the floor so she wouldn’t see the lie in my eyes. Two words escaped my lips. “Of course.”

To be continued . . .