Where Sea Meets Sky(92)
I slowly wipe the pan in my hand and then put it down. Somehow I still feel like a kid in this kitchen. “I have fun.”
“I know,” she says. “But I rarely see you smile. I saw you smile a lot tonight. You’re having fun. And whoever that person is that makes you smile, I don’t really care, as long as it’s happening.”
My brows raise. Who replaced my robot mother with this woman?
She notices and lets out a little laugh, her delicate earrings swinging back and forth. “I know I don’t tell you this sort of thing often, my dear, but I’ve not seen it for quite a while. I know things have been tough—for the both of us. And I know you’re trying your best to do what you think is right. But, as your mother, if you just do what makes you happy, I’ll be happy.” She gestures to the kitchen. “Cooking makes me happy. Running this place makes me happy. Tasting that perfect glass of wine that we created, that makes me happy. And yes, one day, I think another man may make me happy. There’s a lot of happiness out there if you’re not afraid to reach for it.”
I don’t know why but tears are springing to my eyes. She makes a tsking sound with her teeth and comes over, enveloping me in a hug. It’s still a Justine Henare hug, the light, barely touching kind, but it counts. It’s hers and right now it’s for me.
“Take this opportunity,” she whispers in my ear, “and find what makes you happy. You may never get that chance again. Time waits for no one.”
I don’t know why, but “Time” by Pink Floyd starts playing in my head, its lyrics finally sinking in with its potency.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
But my mother is giving me the cue to run. I pull away and see the strange sincerity in her eyes. I nod and wipe away at the one tear that has dared to fall.
“Your father would want you to be happy, too,” she adds, her smile soft. She nods in the direction of Josh, who at that moment is looking across the kitchen island and catching my eye. “Go. Sit down.”
She hands me a glass of wine and ushers me away. I sit down next to Josh on the love seat and try to say more with my eyes than I can with my mouth.
I hope I’m brave enough to let go.
Chapter Eighteen
JOSH
Christmastime in the summer is a real fucking trip. That’s the only reason I think the holiday has snuck up on me—it just doesn’t feel real. In Vancouver, I would be working holiday hours, dealing with the constant rain and cold and the never-ending darkness and exhausted shoppers bumping into you in the streets armed with bags of Christmas gifts.
Here, on the other side of the world, the sun is high in that bright, blue sky all day, and it’s warm—hot, even—and you feel like you don’t have a care in the world.
Though, of course I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a care. It’s officially Christmas Eve now and I haven’t bought Gemma or Amber anything for tomorrow. I probably should get something for Gemma’s mom and aunt, too, since I’m spending the holiday at their house.
When I wake up on a wobbly air mattress on the floor, I ask if there’s some way Gemma can drop me off in Napier so I can do some shopping. Both she and Amber have this sheepish look in their eyes and tell me that they have to go shopping, too. We’ve all totally dropped the ball this holiday.
It’s not long before we’re up and dressed and clamoring downstairs, just in time to see her mother has laid out a spread of breakfast delights on the table—French toast, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, a pot of steaming coffee. Her uncle Jeremy and his kids are already digging in, so we sit down with them. I don’t mind—Gemma’s got a pretty awesome family.
I really like her uncle—he’s easygoing and says the most inappropriate things. His kids are really cute, too—you know, for kids. Gemma’s auntie Jolinda has yet to pinch my butt cheeks, but the week is young.
At first I wasn’t too sure about her mother. She reminded me of my own mom in that cool, standoffish way. But she’s actually not that bad. I can see how Gemma gets some of her traits from her, even if she didn’t get the pale skin and blond hair. There’s warmth inside of both of them; you just have to look for it from time to time.
With Gemma, I’m learning how to bring it out of her more and more. And the more I hear her laugh, the more I feel her, the more I want her. It’s a bit addictive.
Sitting at the table, passing juice and coffee, laughing and talking, I start to get that ache that Gemma talks about. But I know exactly what it is. I like it here. I like being with her, feeling like I’m a part of something with people who care about me. I mean, they don’t know me and I don’t know them, but you can feel the love around the table and it doesn’t seem to matter who it’s directed toward. I’m treated just as well as Gemma and Amber and it’s . . . nice.