The Weight of Rain (47 page)

I lock the front door, curious about his intentions, but still wallowing in too much self-pity to safely ask without exposing how thin my façade is. I sit on our single couch and watch as he rifles through the fridge and freezer, already knowing he won’t find much.

Not once does he ask for direction or for my approval on what he’s making. He simply sets to work, opening drawers and cupboards that he digs through, rarely showing any emotion. It helps to watch him. The focus in his eyes and tightly sealed lips, the speed of his hands as he dices and cuts, and the movements he makes between the stove and his workspace all remind me of watching him in the shop. There’s an intensity when King sets his mind to something, an impenetrable focus that I respect and admire because I understand it so intimately. I wonder if this is what I look like when I work. I hope it is.

It’s not long before he delivers a plate to me with scrambled eggs filled with sautéed onions, a pepper I didn’t know we had, sun-dried tomatoes, and cheese. I never would have even considered adding the tomatoes, but they, like King, are unexpectedly my favorite part.

Once our plates are cleaned, I give King a shy thank-you, grab a pair of pajamas from my dresser, and close myself in the bathroom—the only area of space in the entire studio apartment that has four walls and a door.

I stand under the stream of the water and think of the show, recalling my steps, the sway of my hips, the weight on the balls of my feet, how tall I stood. It all filled me with a confidence I never knew I could possess. A beauty and power that somehow felt tangible even if I was the only one who truly saw it. I hold the memories through shampooing and conditioning my hair, and then think of the mural I recently finished at Sonar, the large painting of Kash riding on the wall of the shop and how I’d like to add all of the others beside him. I think of the first sketch I ever drew with charcoal, and receiving my acceptance letter to college.

The power I felt while on stage was exhilarating, fun, fresh, new, but in comparison to the feelings I experience when I complete a piece of art, they all pale.

Why can’t my family see that?

My hair is still wet, pulled up into a bun when I make my way back out to the apartment. I had wanted to be alone, yet now all I want to do is lie down beside King. Thankfully, he knew not to leave me and without me asking, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug, holding me so close to him I can feel each of his breaths and every beat of his heart.

“L
O
!” I hesitate before turning around to face him, knowing he’s going to have accusation and pain in his brown eyes as well as frustration. “Why are you avoiding me?” He isn’t supposed to be here, I know. I heard him working through his schedule with Parker after he let me cry on his chest. His phone rang and went to voicemail four times before he reluctantly answered.

I recognize the anger in his stance first, quickly followed by the accusation as his fists move to his hips just like Mercedes. “I’m not. I’ve just had to get stuff done this week.”

“You’ve left early every day this week.”

“You’ve gotten home late,” I reply.

“I’m busy. Things are crazy with PR and all of the last-minute shoots and interviews.”

I nod, hoping I look understanding rather than unhappy.

“I’ve been thinking about Italy,” King continues.

“So have I.”

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. “What are you thinking?”

“I think we should take a break while I’m gone.” Narrowing his eyes, he flexes his jaw, making me continue even faster. “We’re going to be busy. You’re going to be on a different schedule and traveling, and—”

“Why in the hell do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m trying to explain that to you.”

“We’ve talked about this shit. We both know it’s going to be difficult. Do you think I’m looking forward to having to see your face over a computer screen for three months? Not hearing your voice from beside me, but two countries and an ocean away? Do you think I don’t know how much this is going to fucking suck?”

“All of my life I’ve waited for others. I waited until my dad wasn’t too busy, or my mom wasn’t distracted by some new boyfriend. Whenever it suited them, I was their daughter. This whole art thing has always been a hobby to my mom and a crazy obsession according to my dad. He still hasn’t even taken the time to look at my portfolio. He has no idea if I suck. I doubt he’ll ever know because he doesn’t care.

“We aren’t going to be able to be there for each other. I can’t be there to support you … You’re getting ready to unfold some of your biggest dreams, King, and I am too, and we’re going to miss every single moment of it for the other, and I think it will tarnish our own successes.”

King shakes his head dismissively. “Loving someone doesn’t mean you have to give up on your dreams. Whenever I’m able to attend things, I will, just like you will for me.”

“Conveniences build pain and resentment. Love is only made to bend so far.”

“Dude, come on! We’re late!” Parker calls from the front door.

“You need to go,” I tell him.

“I need you to stop thinking of me like your family. That’s them, not us.” King sweeps a hand across the room, his forearms flexing and his eyes bright with anger.

“I’m not saying you are.”

“Like hell! Lo, you’re worth it. I’m willing to put everything into this. You need to decide if you are.”

I nod, but can’t look at him. I want to believe the conviction in his words so badly. The trouble is—I don’t.

King brushes a kiss to my temple, a gentle squeeze to my sides. “I’ll call you later.”

My footsteps are slow as I leave the office in search of Mercedes. I told Kash I was accepted the day after I told King. He didn’t seem surprised in the least, but he did appear sad. I asked them both to allow me the chance to tell Mercedes, knowing the news would be difficult for her to hear from anyone, but especially if it came from someone other than me. I find her in her room, finishing homework.

“Took you long enough. Were you guys playing smoochy face this entire time?” Her eyes remain on her notebook, but I see the sarcastic smile in the tightening of her cheeks and temples.

“Want to go on a walk today?”

She moves her head up to face me, narrowing her green eyes with speculation. “Why?”

I shrug absently. “It’s nice out.”

“No it’s not.”

“Let’s go.” I lift my chin in the direction of the door.

“You aren’t breaking up with King, are you? I mean, I know he didn’t handle things right at dinner, but I really think he was just trying to figure out what was going on. You know King. He would never let someone hurt you.”

I look to the side but keep my face mostly forward. “This has nothing to do with King.”

“Are you going to tell me about your brother?”

“There isn’t much to say,” I lie.

“Then why are we going on this walk?”

“Fresh air.”

Her eyes are slits of disbelief, but she doesn’t push me for any more. I’m grateful because I still don’t know how I’m going to tell her.

We pass by Robert’s house, and I note that all of his lights are off. I think Mercedes does too, as her attention seems to linger for long moments, searching for a definite conclusion.

When we arrive at the bus stop, I don’t have a destination in mind, so I ask Mercedes if there’s anything she’d like to see or do.

“Let’s get on whatever bus comes next.”

I raise an eyebrow in question, knowing that there are areas of Portland I would never willingly bring Mercedes to. I reserve the right to disagree until the bus comes and the lights inform me we’re headed to downtown. We find a shared seat near the middle. Mercedes sits tucked in beside the window, and we both stare out at the streets of Portland. It’s starting to drizzle, the skies darkening. It makes some people scurry, attempting to reach their destinations quicker, while others pull out a prepared umbrella or hat. Several, however, keep their pace. The rain is like an old friend to them, or perhaps they, like King, realize you truly can’t hide from it. Can you really hide from anything?

I know there are several reasons I have delayed telling Mercedes about going to Florence, the first being I know how much it will hurt her. She has been left by so many, and I hate choosing to be another that does the same. The second and selfishly more prominent reason is that each day that passes, I find more and more reasons tipping the scale to stay, but I still know I need to go. This is my dream.

“Didn’t you say Charleigh works at the greatest donut shop in Portland?”

I close my eyes to rid my thoughts and look to Mercedes. Small dark hairs are curling and sticking out near her temples. I’m sure mine are doing the same, and it makes me smile. “Yeah. You want to go get some?”

“I think we both need one.”

I suck in a deep breath through my nose.
You have no idea
.

Then again, this is Mercedes. She likely does.

Although it’s past four, there’s still a short line in front of us. Blue Star Donuts is never empty. Their lines attest to how truly delectable the elaborate yet simple concoctions are that fill the glass cases.

Mercedes wanders to the far end while I stand in line, her eyes growing as she looks over the platters and names of each donut.

We order an odd number of the confections, neither of us able to commit to any one, therefore selecting over a dozen. “We’re going to have to hide these. Parker doesn’t even taste his food. He just inhales it,” she tells me.

I smile, my mouth full of an apple fritter that is melting over my tongue, sending happy sugar shockwaves through my taste buds directly to my brain. It dulls the thoughts of leaving, of staying, of last weekend, and of breaking her heart.

“H
OW DID
it go?” Kash asks as Mercedes drags herself down the hall to change out of her damp clothes.

“I didn’t tell her.” I can’t look at him as I admit the words. He doesn’t reply, and his previous movements to unload the dishwasher stop.

“Are you second-guessing going?”

I shrug, still not able to look at him. “No. I just don’t know how to say it without making her hurt.”

“You’ll be back.”

“But I’m still leaving, and she’s going to have to get yet another new nanny. I don’t think you understand how difficult this will be for her. How much she has loathed going through nannies.”

“I know my daughter.” Kash’s words are a warning, one I should likely follow.

“Obviously not as well as you think you do.”

Kash drops his chin, his eyes wide. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I’m picking a fight with him. I realize this, yet I can’t stop it. I need someone to yell at. I need someone to yell at me. Hopefully it will be loud enough to try to dim the screaming in my own head. “What’s your deal with Summer? You do know that Mercedes wants a mom, right? And I’m not suggesting you up and marry someone because of it, or marry her tomorrow, but—”

Kash shakes his head. “She’s a child. She receives more love than half of the kids on Earth. Last Christmas she asked for a chimp.” Kash’s eyes grow wider and he extends a hand palm up. “Should I have given her one?”

The irritation in his voice baits me to continue, but the sorrow in his brown eyes that are pleading with me to stop makes my tone softer. “You have to give her some credit. She’s ten, Kash. She loves you so much and is absolutely terrified of talking to you about her mom because she thinks it will make you sad. She loves Summer. Summer loves her, and Summer loves you.”