Page 28 of The Other Side of Apart
Audrey sucks in a breath, and Dad stares at me. “They can, and they will. Marriage can’t stop that, and you’re not the first one to try. A marriage certificate doesn’t suddenly make Mei Li a citizen. This isn’t your decision to make. I told you to stay away from her, and I meant it. Now I guess you’ll have to figure out how to be with her from a different continent.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
Dad’s jaw tightens. “And what would you do if you found out Nick had been released and was looking for her?”
“I’d say someone hadn’t done their job in San Francisco, so I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Even if that means you never see me again.” I glare at him, my thoughts whirling so fast they kick up dust I can’t see through.
“Hmm. Okay, well…you’ve got it all figured out. Good for you.” Dad nods to the ground, then his eyes land back on mine, hard, not backing down. “Don’t ruin your life more than you already have.” His voice is defeated, an octave lower and worn out. “I love you, son, but you’ve got until Monday. That’s the best I can do.”
Emotions flood me and I’m choking, gasping, flailing. I want to slam my fist into his face for throwing those words around like they’re a weather report. I want him to stop talking and telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. I picture hitting him, how it would feel to put all my resentment into it, but I whirl away, sprinting around the corner to the field.
“Marcus!” Audrey yells, but I run faster.
Grabbing my bag from the bench, I take off out of the stadium, across the street, and through campus toward Mei. I need her right now. He’s lying, just like he always has so he can get me to do what he wants.
I need Mei. Need to get away from Dad and figure out what I’m feeling and what I’m supposed to do with any of this. I just…
I swear, gulping in air, pumping my legs harder, and swiping at tears. I swear again because I don’t wanna cry. Don’t wanna let the fear or hurt take over. I can’t lose Mei. I won’t, law or not.
I ignore traffic signals, cross streets between cars, and jump medians to put distance between me and the showdown at the soccer field. Between me and the look in Dad’s eyes.
After three blocks, I hit a red light and bend over to catch my breath, hands on my knees, nausea rising until I can’t shove it back down and puke in a bush near a lamppost. When the light turns green, I take off again, sprinting the last two blocks, across the parking lot, and up the four flights of stairs. I pound on our locked door, afraid if I stop long enough to dig out my key, I’ll fall apart in the hallway. “Mei, it’s me. Open the door,” I call, my voice wobbly, forehead against the faded brown paint. I slap the metal with my palm. “Please open, Mei.”
The deadbolt clicks. When the doorknob turns, I push through the door and slam it behind me, backing against it. I drop my bag and pull Mei into my arms, my body shaking. Tears burn the edges of my eyes, attempting to wash away the look on Dad’s face. But I can’t shut it out, so I just hold Mei, the envelope from my mom still crumpled in my hand.
Mei leans back, searching my face. “Marcus,” she asks, frowning. “What happened?”
“My dad knows where we are.”
She stiffens. “What?”
I tell her what happened. I tell her how I ran. I tell her that I don’t care even though it’s a lie, but the one thing I refuse to let out of me is what Dad told me to do. That, I’ll never tell her; she can never know. I’ll never step back in San Francisco. We’ll hide if we have to. Go somewhere far away if it comes to that. But I won’t tell her.
My head pounds, and I drop to the edge of the bed, head in my hands. I stare at my cleats, my eyes tracing the laces so they don’t see what’s replaying in my mind.
I blink through the blurriness, but a tear drops between my feet, and Mei takes my face in her hands and lifts it up. “What should we do?” she asks.
“Nothing. This. What we’ve been doing. I’m not afraid of him or what he’ll do.” Except I am.
Her hand sweeps hair off my forehead and guides my head onto her lap. She runs her fingers through my sweaty hair, and I curl against her, not saying a word. She doesn’t ask me to, and sometime in the shadowy minutes or hours that pass in silence, her hands close the gaping hole inside me.
My eyes fly open to pitch black. My face is tight, eyes swollen, my head fuzzy and heavy. Mei’s curled up next to me, sound asleep. The message I wrote on her stomach last night in Sharpie peeks from under her shirt. I watch her sleep in peace without a clue what Dad threatened. I’ll never tell her.
I shift carefully so I won’t wake her up and glance at my watch. 3:27 AM. The fridge kicks on and hums, a TV in the next apartment drones, and my heart beats in my ears as I replay the moment with Dad. I examine every word, formulate what I should’ve said. What I shouldn’t have. Then the envelope dropping to the cement lights up my mind, and I scan the darkness for it, running my hand over the bed. It lays on the desk, crumpled and abandoned. Mei must have pried it out of my hand. I wonder if she read it. I hope she did. She’ll think that’s why I was coming apart.
I slip off the bed, reaching for the wall when I wobble from getting up too fast. My feet are cold from being in sweaty socks and sore from running five blocks in cleats. Mei must have taken them off me last night.
The white envelope glares in the dark, guiding me toward it. I snatch it from the desk, ease it open, and pull out a card. I tilt it toward the night light in the kitchen: Congratulations, Graduate!
So just any graduate. Not her son, not a friend, just a graduate.
Inside, she’s written a note. Her handwriting is straight, tidy. But there’s not much of it.
Dear Marcus. This is a big day I didn’t want to miss, even though I’ve missed a lot of other days. Congratulations. I’d love to talk sometime and hear about your plans. Don’t spend this gift card all in one place.
Cheers, Olivia
I stare at the card, the words fading into the dark. I’ve never heard my mom’s voice. Never seen her handwriting or how she’d approach me. Olivia. Not really my mom. But why did she come to graduation? And she and Dad talked—he has the card to prove it. What was that like, the two of them talking? Did Dad wish his life had turned out differently when he saw her face? Do I wish mine had?
