Chapter 3: Zoned out
The Rossi backyard was a controlled chaos of color and life, a stark contrast to the manicured perfection of the Johnson estate. Tomato plants strained against their cages, herbs spilled over the edges of terracotta pots, and a fat bumblebee buzzed lazily from one vibrant flower to another. The air was warm and thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine.
“So then I told him, if he thinks I’m paying full price for basil that looks like it’s been through a war, he’s got another thing coming,” Maria Rossi said, waving a trowel for emphasis. She was on her knees, digging with a vigor that belied her age. “Emma, honey, pass me that clipping, would you?”
Emma stared blankly at the pile of gardening tools beside her, her mind a thousand miles away. She was back in that library, hearing Allan’s voice, so pleased and confident. Everything I’d been hoping for. The words were like splinters under her skin.
“Earth to Emma.” Her father, Leo, nudged her foot gently with his own from his lounge chair. He lowered his newspaper. “The clipping. For your mother.”
“Right. Sorry.” Emma blinked, grabbing a pair of shears and handing them over. Her movements were slow, automatic.
Maria sat back on her heels, wiping a forearm across her brow. She left a smudge of dirt on her skin. “You’ve been about as present as a ghost all afternoon. What’s going on in that head of yours? Trouble at the gallery?”
“No, the gallery’s fine. Show’s coming together.” Emma’s gaze drifted over her mother’s shoulder, to where the late afternoon sun painted the fence in long, golden stripes. She could still see the exact way Kai had held herself after the kiss, that practiced, elegant composure that was like a fortress wall. A wall Emma had been trying to scale for years.
Leo folded his paper. “Is it that Tanaka boy? He seemed nice enough at the fundraiser last month. A bit… polished for my taste, but your mother thinks he’s handsome.”
“He is handsome,” Maria affirmed, returning to her digging. “And from a good family. But that’s not it, is it? This is your ‘Kai face’.”
Emma stiffened. “I don’t have a ‘Kai face’.”
“You absolutely do,” Leo chimed in, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “It’s the same look you got when you were sixteen and she went to that summer program in France for two months. All mopey and dramatic.”
The accuracy of the memory was a direct hit. Emma felt a flush creep up her neck. She picked at a loose thread on the knee of her jeans. “It’s not… It’s nothing. Just friend stuff.”
“Friend stuff,” Maria repeated, her tone dripping with gentle skepticism. She plunged the trowel into the soil with a soft thunk. “Honey, I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s the same way I looked at your father when we first met, before he finally got his head out of his you-know-what and asked me out.”
“Maria,” Leo warned, but he was laughing.
“What? It’s true. You were oblivious.” She turned her attention fully to Emma, her dark eyes soft with concern. “So, what did she do this time?”
The simple, direct question shattered the last of Emma’s defenses. The garden, the buzzing bee, the smell of jasmine—it all faded into a dull hum behind the roaring in her ears. She hugged her knees to her chest, making herself small.
“She kissed him,” Emma said, her voice barely a whisper. “Allan. I saw it. And then he… he told me about it. He said it was ‘everything he’d been hoping for’.” She mimicked Allan’s earnest tone, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.
Maria let out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s cold.”
“It’s not cold, it’s just… Allan,” Leo said, trying to be reasonable. “He’s a decent guy. He probably didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“I know he didn’t,” Emma snapped, the frustration finally boiling over. “That’s the worst part! He’s just happily walking down this perfect, pre-approved path, and he’s taking her with him. And she’s letting him. She just stands there, being so… so correct.” She spat the word out, echoing her own bitter description from the library.
The word hung in the air, heavy and final. Correct. The opposite of everything Emma was, everything she represented to Kai. A life of rebellion, of messy emotions, of inconvenient truths.
Maria stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. She walked over and sat on the edge of Emma’s chair, wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Emma leaned into the solid, comforting warmth, the familiar scent of her mother’s perfume cutting through the garden smells.
“You can’t live your life waiting for someone to choose you, baby,” Maria said softly, her voice a low murmur. “Especially when they might not even know that’s a choice they’re allowed to make.”
The truth of it was a physical ache. For years, Emma had pushed, she’d flirted, she’d left doors open that Kai consistently, politely, closed. She’d watched Kai compartmentalize her into the ‘safe, fun friend’ box, and it was killing her.
“What do I do?” The question was a plea, stripped bare of all her usual bravado.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Leo said, his voice gentle. “You can’t force her to see what she’s not ready to see.”
Emma pulled away, swiping at an angry tear before it could fall. She looked out at the garden, at the wild, untamed beauty of it all. It was so unlike the Johnson’s pristine world. She was so unlike the world Kai was supposed to inhabit.
Maria squeezed her shoulder. “You have to decide what you need for yourself, Emma. Not for her.”
The momentum shifted inside her, a slow, tectonic grinding. The self-pity began to harden into something else, something sharper and more determined. Waiting had gotten her nowhere. Hiding her heart had only made it more vulnerable. The image of Kai’s composed, unreadable face solidified in her mind, and for the first time, it didn’t fill her with longing, but with a spark of defiant anger.
She was done being the secret. She was done being correct.