The Real Thing Page 14

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I think your phone’s ringing.”

  “What?” I peek at his pale face, his pinched eyes.

  “Your phone.” He nods to the side of the couch, keeping his eyes closed tight. “It’s vibrating. A lot. It could be the coast guard.”

  It takes me a second to understand, but when I finally get it, the constant buzzing registers and I fly across the room to grab my phone.

  “Hello?” I say, but I get nothing but the sound of a dropped call.

  “Was it them?”

  Staring at the number, I rise to my feet, Eric following my lead.

  “Alaskan area code,” I whisper. “I’ll call back … if that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay.”

  He takes a step toward me, but I turn to shield myself from him. I’m still trying to get the blush out of my cheeks.

  It rings and rings, and doesn’t go to voice mail or anything. Disappointment crawls in the pit of my stomach, hollowing me out. My arm swings down to my side as I click my phone off.

  “Whoever it was, I must have missed them.”

  I feel Eric take another step toward me, and his knuckles lightly stroke the back of my hand. I surrender to his touch, twining our fingers together.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice sounds unshaken now. His cheeks have gone back to their natural color. I open my mouth to ask him to talk to me—to tell me if I moved too fast or if he’s scared or what. Just anything to understand. But my cell vibrates in my palm, and I twist it around to see my dad’s picture and a text.

  Whenever I miss you, I look at the ocean, for there is where my heart is. Better late than never, right, bug?

  I clutch the arm of the couch, but it doesn’t prevent me from dropping to my knees in sweet relief. My finger is on the call button in a second, and Eric is crouched by my side in the next.

  “Please tell me you are on land.”

  My dad’s beautifully gruff laugh pushes me all the way to the floor. Eric doesn’t let go of my hand.

  “I’m fine. We just lost signal for a few days.”

  “No shark attacks?”

  “No shark attacks.”

  “But you’re still out there.”

  “It was just a signal glitch. Three more weeks, then I’ll be back on solid ground.”

  I lean forward, hitting my head against Eric’s firm chest. “For how long?”

  Dad takes so long to respond I know I’m not going to like his answer.

  “A couple weeks.”

  “Then you’re back out.”

  “Mia, you know how this works.”

  “Yes.” I sigh, pushing my face into Eric’s warmth. “And I hate it.”

  “I know. But I love it.”

  “I know.” We have this argument every time this happens. Eric rubs his thumb over my wrist and I straighten, resting my butt on my heels. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Just fine.” He pauses. “And I hate to say it, but I’m in the middle of a catch so …”

  “I better get a text tomorrow morning.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, bug.”

  He hangs up, but I keep the phone pressed to my ear. Tears drip from the corners of my eyes, and I make no effort to stop them.

  “He’s okay,” Eric says, and I nod, finally dropping the cell to my lap. He tilts his head to the side and studies my face. “Are you okay?”

  I nod again, but then I’m shaking my head. I’m not okay. I’ve never been okay with Dad working on the ocean. And I want to scream that to him. Make him understand how anxious I get when I think about all the different things that could happen. But I know Dad, and his love for his job, for the ocean, is far too strong, and that’s something I can’t understand. But it makes him happy, and so I understand that.

  “Em?” Eric prods, and I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.

  “I just … I hate the ocean.” I wipe the other cheek. “It’s terrifying.”

  His breathing pattern changes again. The color in his cheeks start to drain, and I squeeze his fingers. I don’t understand what’s going through his mind, but I know him well enough to know he’s nervous about whatever he’s going to say or do.

  “Come here,” he says, helping me to my feet. My hand stays in his as he leads me out to the balcony. The night air is warm and humid, not nearly as comfortable as our air-conditioned condo, but it’s calm and relaxing nonetheless.

  Eric moves his hand from mine to the small of my back, then stands behind me as I lean against the railing. I look out at the vast ocean, and a shovel digs itself into my stomach at the sight of all that blackness, all that depth … all the scary who-knows-what hidden just beyond my vision.

  The water laps against the shore, and I watch a couple kissing in the shallows. A normal response would be recognizing the romance in that, but all I can think about is jellyfish, and how it’d hurt like hell if one brushed up against their ankles.

  “The ocean is scary … but it’s beautiful,” he says into my ear.

  He clearly sees something I’m not seeing.

  “I guess.”

  “You stubborn woman.” He chuckles, and his hands slide from my waist to the railing, and his front presses against my back. “Terrifying things can be beautiful, you know. Trust me on that one.”

  “Okay, give me an example.”

  He’s quiet for so long I wonder if he’s mad at me for my attitude. Tearing my eyes away from the couple on the beach, I turn in his arms. I settle my hands on top of his on the railing. His chest is so close to mine, and our hips bump against each other. Whatever I was about to say flies from my brain. He presses his forehead against mine and takes a long breath, closing his eyes. His hands start to shake, and I tighten my grip on them because it looks like he might pass out.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “The ocean scares you,” he says, flicking his eyes open to mine.

  “Yes …”

  “You scare me.”

  “What?” I pull back to focus on his face, mostly to see if he’s teasing, but he looks terrified. “Eric, we’ve known each other forever. Why would I scare you?”

  His hands tremble in mine again, and he takes another deep breath. I can see the pulse in his neck, sweat forming on his brow, and I don’t know what to do but wrap my arms around his waist and hold him. It takes him a few seconds to hug me back, but soon his hands slide around me, scorching my skin and snatching my breath right from my lungs.

  “You make me nervous,” he says over my head. “I’m not good at relationships.”

  “You’re doing okay so far.” Granted, it’s only been a day, but still, I’ve felt more with him than Jaxon and Kyle combined.

  His arms twitch and he shifts his weight. “You scare me, because I want it all with you. Every damn thing, Em. I just don’t know how to do that.”

  The dots in my head still aren’t connecting, but my fear of him not wanting me that way dissipates. I’m left with part sweet relief, part helplessness, because I’m not sure what to say to make him feel better, but my chest swells because he said what I wanted to hear.

  He wants it all.

  I squeeze myself hard against his warmth and his Tide and the buttons on his shirt.

  “Just be with me.”

  He smiles and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.

  “I can do that.”

  His body starts to relax, and soon he’s swaying with me to the sound of the ocean. And in that moment, I see his point.

  Scary things can be beautiful.

  Chapter 16

  Eric Matua posted on Emilia Johnson’s timeline

  3 hours ago

  You. Me. Couch. Tonight.

  Emilia Johnson likes this

  * * *

  I’m just changing the oxygen tank for Mrs. Buckley when I get a page from Liv at the front desk.

  Eric, y
ou have a visitor.

  Mrs. Buckley doesn’t move as I adjust her breathing tube. She’s one of the quiet ones. Her granddaughter comes in about three times a week and they just sit together. It’s weird, because some of our most vibrant residents with lots of family get maybe a visit a month if they’re lucky. Mrs. Buckley gets three a week, but doesn’t say a word.

  I tuck the tube around her ears and make sure it’s out of the way before I wheel her to the rec room.

  “TV or book?” I ask, waiting for her one movement of the day. She nods slightly toward the television, and I pat her shoulder so she knows I saw and wheel her to the screen.

  “Eric, did you get my page?” Liv asks through the small walkie I have clipped to the back of my scrubs. As soon as I pop the brakes on Mrs. Buckley’s chair I hold it to my mouth.

  “Yeah, be up in a minute.”

  It has to be Em. I haven’t made many friends since I moved back, and Mom isn’t planning a visit till my birthday in July. And if it is Em, I need a minute.

  I duck into the hallway bathroom and reach for my medication, which I’ve decided to keep on me. Last night I couldn’t breathe. I could barely think. There’s no way I can do my job if that happens again, so I crank the faucet on, pop in a pill, and drink from my palm to wash it down.

  It sucks that I need a damn drug to touch my girlfriend.

  After a couple of those weird breathing exercises, I leave the bathroom and weave my way around the residents in the hallway. My heart’s pumping, because I know I’m going to have to eventually explain what happened last night, and I don’t think a few minutes at work is going to cut it. Tonight. I’ll talk to her tonight.

  I push open the door to the front lobby, and instead of my sexy-as-hell girlfriend, it’s a six-foot-four, three-hundred-pound Samoan—who really needs to shave that damn soup strainer—that I haven’t seen in a year.

  My older brother takes three steps, pulls me into a bear hug, and slaps my back.

  “Son of a bitch,” I say, swatting him back. “What are you doing here?”

  “Son of a beesh!” squeaks a voice from behind my massive brother. I laugh and let go of Tolani, crouching down to my three-year-old nephew, Isaac, who I never would’ve seen if he didn’t just repeat my obscenity.

  “You realize the wife is gonna blame me once he brings that phrase home,” Tolani says as Isaac hides behind his leg. Damn, that kid’s gotten tall since I last saw him.

  I straighten back up. “He’s talking.”

  “All the time, usually.” He turns to his son. “You remember Uncle Esekielu?”

  Isaac shakes his head and pushes against Tolani’s leg. My brother laughs and bends down. “I know. He looks different now. He used to be real fat.”

  “Yeah, like your dad,” I say, punching Tolani in the shoulder. Isaac cracks a smile. “So, seriously, what are you doing here?”

  “Ah, visiting Ma.” He pauses to scratch his chin and looks behind me at Liv, who’s currently on the phone. “And I was wondering about your appointment. Thought I’d steal you for lunch.”

  “Hell, yeah. My break’s in about fifteen.”

  “Hell, yeah!” Isaac says, and Tolani growls.

  “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

  “Sorry.” I laugh, taking a step toward the employee offices. “Let me go tell the boss.”

  He slaps my back one more time before I head the way I came. I wonder if he knew how much I needed him.

  * * *

  I meet up with my brother at a Chili’s, and Isaac and I play tic-tac-toe on his menu while we wait for our drinks. He doesn’t like to play X’s and O’s, but I’s and M’s—his initials. He also won’t let me touch the green crayon because that’s the color of boogers and that’s gross. The logic in kids’ brains …

  “Where’s Candace?” I ask Tolani when our food arrives. Isaac grabs the orange crayon from my fingers and tells me not to play with it while I eat.

  “Stayed home with the little Matua. I think she was happy for the break from this one.” Tolani nods toward Isaac, who’s jamming the crayon into his mashed potatoes. Little hypocrite.

  “So, why visit Mom? I thought it was so you could show off your baby.”

  He takes a big bite of his mushroom burger and talks around it. “She’s been complaining about the AC, so I thought I’d take a look.”

  “And she didn’t call me? I’m closer.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, we both know why she didn’t call you.”

  Hey. “I fixed the one in the condo.”

  His food finally goes down his throat. “Yeah … how is that place? Haven’t been there in a few years.”

  “Still looks like a grandma lives there.” With the exception of Em’s laundry on nearly every surface. I picked up what I thought was a bunch of yellow strings hanging off the back of the couch. Turns out it was her bikini top. Then I wondered where the hell I was when she wore it.

  Tolani takes a sip from his drink and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Even still, I bet it’s nice living alone. I never got to experience that luxury.”

  Right … I didn’t tell the family about Em staying with me because A) Mom would flip and start planning the wedding, and B) Mom would flip and start planning the wedding.

  Back when Em and I were around each other day in and day out, Mom’d drop hints about colleges that had both a good football team and massage classes. She’d invite Em to family parties and to celebrate holidays with us, and at one point she mashed both our names together, so if we wanted to name any future children, we had a good Samoan and Floridian name. I think Em found it funny, but I found it embarrassing as hell.

  Now that we’re actually together, I should give the family a heads up before they come crashing in in July.

  “Well … uh …” I clear my throat and flick an onion off my plate. “I’m not exactly living alone.”

  “You got a roommate?” Tolani picks up a fry and squishes it between his teeth. “Why? It’s not like you’re paying rent.”

  I run a hand over my head and shrug. “Em needed a place to stay.”

  He chokes, then starts banging on his chest. Isaac leans over and tugs on his sleeve. “Dad, I have to go to the bafroom.”

  Tolani holds his finger up to his son, then takes another sip of his Coke. “Em … as in Emilia?”

  Of course he says it like it’s a big deal. “Yeah.”

  “Dad …”

  “Just a minute, Isaac.” Tolani studies my face for a moment, and I’m wondering What the hell? Just when I’m about to kick him under the table, he shakes his head at me with a smile. “Is she the girl?”

  “What?”

  He reaches for his burger again, the barbeque sauce dripping from the bun. “Come on, bro. The one you said caused the panic attack a few weeks ago.”

  “Yeah … and no.” I shrug. “She was giving me a massage and I flipped.”

  “Did Doc give you Xanax?”

  My stomach drops. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Tolani shakes his head and takes another bite of his food. “Living with Em … that’s got to be fun for you. You must be in some sort of friend-zone torture with her as a roommate.”

  Maybe it was like that for a week. But not anymore.

  My lips turn up. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  His eyebrow raises, and Isaac tugs on his sleeve again.

  “Bafroom!”

  “In a minute, bud.” Tolani leans forward, tapping his fingers on his unused utensils. He’s studying my expression again and this time I do kick him. “Wow.” He drops his voice and covers his mouth from Isaac’s view. “Are you screwing her?”

  I snap my teeth together. “Shut the hell up.”

  “Hey,” he says, and jerks his head toward Isaac. It’s been too long since I was around kids. I forget to filter. But right now, I don’t give a shit.

  “Look, Em and I aren’t just messing around. It’s, well … you know …” She’s muc
h more to me than that, and since my brother witnessed my friendship with her, he should be able to figure it out.

  “That’s not what I meant.” He swipes at his face with his napkin, then scrunches it in his hand. “I meant, have you been able to?”

  I feel a weight on my chest, and I force myself to stuff a large portion of my lunch in my mouth to keep it busy. Of all the people in the world, my brother would understand the effects my anxiety would have on a physical relationship. Though it feels a little weird talking about it in front of his kid. Like there’s some kind of code word for it.

  “Not yet.”

  He nods. “But you guys are …” His eyebrow lifts, and he checks to make sure Isaac isn’t listening. Don’t think he is. He’s too preoccupied tearing Tolani’s sleeve off.

  “Yeah. I’m working on it. It’s …” Getting easier? Harder? I actually don’t know.

  The booth creaks as he settles back. He takes the last bite of his burger and says, “It’s about time is what it is.”

  I loosen up, shaking my head at my food. “I’ve only been back in the States for a couple weeks.”

  “You never had to leave.”

  Yeah, I did. I needed the change of scenery. I thought it helped, yet I just downed a Xanax an hour ago, so maybe it was a huge waste of time.

  “Well, tell Mom about your roommate before we’re here for your birthday.” He chuckles around a fry he sticks in his mouth. “Better prepare your girlfriend for what’s coming, too.”

  I flick an onion at him. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Daddy?”

  Tolani sighs, squeezing himself from the booth. “All right, buddy, let’s go.”

  Isaac gives my brother a big smile and jams another crayon into the potatoes. “That’s okay. I went.”

  “You what?” he says, leaning over and examining his son’s pants. A low growl rumbles from their side of the table.

  “Ah, shit.”

  It takes everything in me not to call him out on the language.

  Chapter 17

  Emilia Johnson

  about a minute ago

  OMG, this book is killing me!!!

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