Her vision went blurry as she shook her head. “Not fighting.” Kh?i was coming closer. She sidestepped Quân and hurried off. As she slipped outside, she saw Quân stop Kh?i, talking to him with a concerned look on his face.
She sprinted over a long stretch of sand, feeling the coarse grains rub her
feet raw, and eventually found pavement. She didn’t know where she was going, but it was away and that was good enough for now.
Her phone rang and rang, but she ignored it and kept running blindly, from him and from this horrible shame. When she couldn’t stand the ringing anymore, she stopped, dug her phone out of her purse, and turned it off.
As she stood there, lungs burning, mouth dry, feet possibly bleeding, she realized she had no idea where she was. Somehow, she’d ended up on a quiet street lined with little beach homes and tall palm trees.
There was no Kh?i, no Cô Nga, no Mom, no Grandma, no Jade, no one. Just Esme.
And she had nowhere to go. There was a great big world all around, and none of it was hers.
Where did you go when you had nowhere?
* * *
• • •
Khai wandered around the beach for what felt like hours, but he couldn’t find Esme. She’d vanished into the night.
He tried calling her again, but it went straight to voice mail.
The worst feeling crept over his skin. The air was cool, but he couldn’t stop sweating. He yanked his bow tie loose, clawed at his hair, and tore his coat off. He almost chucked it into the surf, but he remembered the velvet box inside his coat pocket. That belonged to Esme. Well, it would once he had the opportunity to give it to her.
How could she just leave like this?
Quan jogged toward him from the opposite end of the beach. “I couldn’t find her down there. Did you see her anywhere?”
What a frustrating question. If he’d seen her, he wouldn’t be standing here alone. “No.”
Quan scrubbed at his buzzed head. “What the fuck happened between you two? Why’d she run?”
Khai kicked at the sand. “I suggested we get married.”
Even in the darkness, Khai could see his brother’s eyes widen. “Wow, okay. I’m surprised she wasn’t happy about that. I thought she was really into you.”
Khai’s grip on his bunched-up tux coat tightened so much the fabric squeaked. “She is. Well, she was. She told me she’s in love with me tonight.” He still hardly believed it.
Quan gave him a weighted look. “And?”
Khai ignored the question and started walking toward the street. Maybe she was sitting on a bench over there, waiting for him. Maybe she’d gotten over her momentary anger, thought things over, and wanted to change her answer.
“And what, Khai?” Quan insisted, falling in step beside him.
He tucked his jacket under his arm and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I told her the truth.”
“Which is . . . ?”
He walked faster, leaving the sand for the pavement, and stared at the late evening Santa Cruz street. There was a bench next to a lonely streetlight, but it was empty. He peered at the parking lot where his car was. No signs of life.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Quan grabbed his arm with a firm hold. “Khai, what did you tell her? Why was she crying?”
He tried to swallow. It didn’t work the first try, or the second, but he remembered how on the third attempt. “I told her I don’t love her back.”
“That’s bullshit,” Quan exploded. “What the fuck?”