Someone Else's Ocean

“Deal with it!? You ran away!” Her breathing was erratic. She had totally planned to play the house card. But how much of a threat would it be anyway if the stipulation was to return to New York?

“Are you taking the house away?” I pressed on, unafraid of what she would say. There was nothing she could do to me that the world hadn’t done already.

“Of course not, Koti,” she feigned offense.

I heard my father ask to speak to me. That card I wasn’t ready for. He was still disappointed I lied to him with my promise to come home for Christmas.

“I have to go, Mom. I have a renter calling.”

“Koti! We haven’t seen you in a year! You’re breaking your father’s heart.”

“I know, Mom, and I’m sorry. I’ve already apologized for that. I’m not ready.

“Koti.” My father’s voice was a mix of concern and growing impatience for both of us, I was sure.

“Dad, I’m sorry I can’t talk now.”

“Listen to me, you either get on a plane or we will.”

“Dad, I have to work,” I said weakly, his deep voice piercing my heart. “I can’t just leave; my boss depends on me.”

“No more excuses on either side.” I knew his stern words were also meant for my mother, who I was sure was the reason my father hadn’t already shown up in St. Thomas. I knew she was sure I would come running back for financial help, guidance, or both. Another disappointment for her.

“I need to see my little girl.”

His words struck hard and I did my best not to let him hear it. “Soon, Dad, I promise. I love you both. I’ve got to go.”

“Koti—”

“Dad, I’ll call you back. I love you.” I hung up as my heartbeat sped up and my face flamed.

I lay back in bed panting, a tear rolling down my cheek. In and out. Breathe. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. You’re okay. You’re okay.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes passed before I lifted my newly drained bones off the bed and submerged them in a shower. Twenty minutes and half a Xanax later, I was dead to the world.

Disco barked as I turned on my side and looked out the window toward the Kemp house before glancing at the clock.

2 a.m.

Unable to handle her yapping, I ripped myself away from the bed and slid on my flip-flops.

I could feel the tension behind the door before I knocked. Seconds later, a T-shirt clad Ian answered with wide, helpless eyes.

“Have you picked her up?” I pushed past him to see Disco in her box in the middle of the living room. “Ian, she can’t see that you’re here and that’s why she’s freaking out!”

“Well, she pisses and shats everywhere!”

“She’s a puppy,” I said, pulling her from her prison. “You have to take her outside every hour or so and reward her when she pees or poops.”

“I’m well aware,” he snapped. “So, you take her.”

“I can’t, I’m allergic,” I said with a mock cough. He crossed his arms as I held the dog toward him. Disco whimpered and scrambled in my grip before she leaped at him. He was forced to catch her and when he did, I could see the delight cover his face. He was reluctantly smitten. He looked over at me with narrowed eyes. “You are conniving.”

“Thank you, I do my best. This is a puppy we are talking about here,” I said, looking at the dog with longing. “Puppy breath, puppy love. Seriously, don’t miss out on this.”