No matter how long I keep staring at the notebook pages in front of me, the words just aren't coming.
In the morning, I'm leaving. For good. Two whole decades of my life will be washed away and I might never see my Mom again.
Last night, I was so angry. But staring at the empty space on the page-
I'm not sure there ever will be enough words to say everything I'm feeling. Or worse, if I do find them, they'll be cruel. Like a stab to the heart after I already ran her over with a semi-truck.
To the best of my ability, I just spew out things in a vague, measured way. I want to be honest, but I don't want to hurt her more. This already is going to hurt her. I can't keep thinking about hurting her.
It's like I'm getting to write out all my frustrations and pain over the years and finally facing them, but I only get to do it because I'm doing exactly what I have desperately tried not to do. And even if it feels good, even if it saves me-
She's going to be hurt and this time I have to do it on purpose. The situation's painful from every angle.
Hell, painful probably isn't even strong enough of a word.
Despite all the screaming in my head, I write. And I write. And I write until my fingers hurt and my head's racing. By the end, I'm all worked up and angry all over again and I want to hand it to her personally instead of shoving it under the door and disappearing.
This was a long time coming, wasn't it? She probably doesn't know that, not with her head in the clouds.
As I write down my name and end the letter, I hear a familiar scoff over my shoulder.
Mama says, "Quite a production you're making out of this. You're 22, right? You never had to stay here this long."
Her voice rattles me, and I don't need to look back at her to have her rattle me more. Instead, I neatly fold the letter and try to keep my cool, even if my pounding heart and tapping thumb betray me. "Maybe I just wanted to keep seeing you. Both of you. But I stuck around longer than I should."
She starts laughing. "I don't think you're going to get rid of me that easily."
Her tone is the same warm, joking way she used to ask me questions about myself. It'd often be after my schoolwork was done, when my babysitter would pass me back, and she'd wryly ask, "any new loves today, Astra?"
For the first few weeksI said nothing. I was more interested in Animal Planet than whatever she was going on about. But when I was silent, she'd tell me hers. A pretty flower, the sunlight that hit her office during lunch, the pictures I'd made that she framed on her desk. And then every day, once she said she was done, she'd say that she asked because she wanted to know every little inch of me, and that included my day.
So, two months in, I started talking about Nina's bright blue pen light, or the sand dollar we found on the beach, or the question on my math test about starfish that made me giggle (because who had 87 Starfish anyway?).
I told her, once, that I liked the way Nina did her hair and the way she could name more dinosaurs than I could count and I wished she was tiny like me so we could be best friends because she made me feel happy and safe, even when my parents weren't around. She even liked my shimmery skin, too.
I didn't see Nina again.
I went back to talking about pen lights and sand dollars after that.
Sighing, I admit to Mama, "I don't think so, either." I muster up my courage and turn to look at her, her gray eyes so wide and alien that, even though she stands in front of me, she looks a million miles away. "Why did you-" I stop myself. What good will asking a hallucination do? "No, you're going to answer that question in person one day."
"Bold, Tiger. I like it. But will you really go through with it?"
For the first time, I nod proudly and promise, "I will."
A dark overcast covers her face, because how dare I even defy the memory of Joanna Caspen? There's a cruelty to her smile, the kind I used to try to picture every day after Mom said Mama left us. Until now, I never managed to make it look real.
She sneers, "You won't. You've lived your whole life bending over backwards for her, living the life she wanted. Why change now? You'd hurt less people like that."
"Thanks for the trigger words." Rubbing my eyes, I try everything in the book to shut her up, Deep breaths. Counting down from ten. But she just stands there, waiting. So I give her an answer, saying, "Somebody's going to get hurt. At least this way I have a fighting chance to be happy. I didn't realize how miserable I was until-" My eyes fall on James, sleeping in my bed. His right hand is sprawled out on my side and his fingers clutch the sheets where I should be. My chest gets tight, but it doesn't hurt like it does around my mothers. With him, it's a hold, not a squeeze.
"How could I go back after him?" I ask her.
Mama shakes her head, looking in between him and me. "Love ruins the best of us." While the cruelty in her eyes has receded, she still says, "You might still ruin everything else, too."
"I know that. But I have to try."
I half expect some needling retort, or some half-assed coddling, but instead the next time I look to her she's just... gone. My fingers are tapping but she isn't there.
And there it is, where the hold on my heart turns to a squeeze.
Rubbing the center of my chest, I turn off my desk light and crawl back into bed. James feels my elbow brush his and pulls me right back into his arms, like a human-sized teddy bear. Though it crushes my chest a little, feeling his steady breath on my forehead make my eyes well up, but not in the burning way. I'm being held and he's warm and I'm...
I'm happy, as horrible as that sounds.
Despite my best efforts, my chest shudders and his eyes open slightly. Under his arm, my skin is mixing and it's shimmery and I look like a mess and-
His thumb brushes gently over my soft, shifting bicep. "Astra?"
"Shhh." Despite my initial plan not to, I press my lips to his before asking, "Hold me tighter?"
James ties his wrists around me and seems to start falling back asleep. It isn't special and it doesn't fix anything, but it's everything I could ever want.
In his arms, I feel like I'm home.
He startles me by asking, "What are you thinking of?"
With his breath on my hair like a gentle ocean breeze, I can almost hear the gulls and taste the salt. That helps me think straight.
"Who I want to be when we leave," I say, sounding surer than I feel. It comes out of my mouth, a half truth, but it is the part of what I'm feeling that I want to talk about. And it makes me all too aware of all the moments where I wanted to say something like this to Mom, to Beck, but I knew it broke all the rules of who Kai is supposed to be so I shut up.
But my freckles are on a brown canvas wrapped in a sun boy, and the words come easily.
"I think I'd like to maybe run one of those education stations at a museum or aquarium? I may not know a lot, but I know folklore history and sea creatures." As I say it, the picture forms in my head. Me, dressed in a lame uniform vest or button-down, telling kids about cephalopods. They look bored until I pull out a cuttlefish tank and coax it to change colors and watch them gasp and smile, with their innocent bright eyes. The thought is sugary sweet, but it makes me laugh. "Granted, helps when you are one."
"That sounds wonderful."
"Are you sure? Not about the research station but... taking me with you."
James' golden locks swing my way as he shakes his head, making some of our curls twirl together. "Astra, you helped me when I didn't know who to turn to. You listened to me. You trusted me with... you. I'm sure." He kisses my cheeks, and the corners of my lips rise to meet his.
To think, I spent so many hours staring at the horizon line of the beach, stealing every moment I could. Secret midnights, that's the best I thought I'd get.
But here, looking at him?
I say, my head all dreamy, "You look at me like you look at books."
"Hmm. Really?" He smiles, sleepily, and props his head on his elbow. James' hazel eyes stare down at me like he's looking for something in my face. After a minute or so, he replies, "And you look at me like you look at the ocean. Maybe it's because you get me, and I get you."
"I like that."
He chuckles and kisses me. "Good, because it would've broken my heart if you said it was stupid."
"I couldn't break your heart." I scoff before I kiss him back, expecting that to be it.
But James pulls away, his expression wistful and bittersweet. "You definitely could, Astra Caspen. You could crush it to pieces." When his lips touch mine this time, they feel shaky, more urgent, like he's-
He's just as scared as I am about tomorrow, isn't he?
I clutch his shirt to pull him closer to me, desperate to share any confidence between us. My fingers tremble along the way, but as my knuckles find their way under the hem of his shirt, and his lips fall to my neck, I dive into the storm knowing we'll survive together.
.&&&
"Kai Caspen. Get. Up."
My eyes blink. It's so early it's dusky and dim, hours before my alarm ever was going to go off. At the side of my bed is a practical stranger, someone with frizzed hair sticking out every which way, bags under her eyes, and her clothes rumpled. No calm, collected, perfect smile. All that's left are nose freckles and shoulders stubbornly straight. I ask, stunned, "Mom?"
"I knew it!" She rubs her cheek and throws her hands around, frenetic. I've never seen her so animated, not like this. "I knew something was up, but I didn't expect a whole damn human, let alone the thief the police were asking me about yesterday, but lo and behold, welcome to my hellish morning. You met him at that stupid hatchling bonfire, didn't you? Jesus Christ- And then you invited him home? Who does that, Kai?" My heart falls through my chest as I look back to James, eyes slowly opening. My chest wrenches, in between both of them.
But I already know where I stand, even if this is my worst nightmare.
Pulling on a sweatshirt, I stand as tall as a girl with willow limbs and shivery hands can. I say, "His name is James."
"Okay, cool, whatever. He's still a stranger, Kai."
I knot my fingers, trying to thread the needle between the person in me that wants to scream and the other that would happily shrivel to the ground, groveling. I can't be either right now, not if James and I still want to-
Shoving it out in one breath, I say, "Why does it matter? I'm 22. In a normal world, I probably wouldn't even be living at home. Or if I was, we'd be capable of having a healthy conversation about night-time visitors, but we can't even have a healthy conversation about what I want in life."
Her arms stilling waving everywhere, Mom gestures at the multiple bags packed on the ground by my practically empty desk. "And what the hell are those bags for?"
There's a part of me that trips there, wants to fall to her knees, apologize for ruining her mother's smile, the cardinal sin of the Caspen household. But then , behind me, James squeezes my hand. Our eyes meet and he nods, standing up to finish up the final toothbrushes and hairbrushes of our packing, like she isn't even there. His honey eyes are steady and sure, and I knowI have to be that, too.
I take a deep, full breath before saying, "I'm leaving. With him. And you can't stop me."
"I thought you were just having a late-in-life teenage rebellion, but I see it's some pretty boy thief that's warped your head. I thought you were smarter than that, Kai." Her eyes narrow at James, who's pulled on a shirt of his own and just finished putting away my favorite pillow. "What is he doing? Tell him to stop right now."
If my brain wasn't a category 5 hurricane, I'd laughed at how she talked about James like he was some pet dog I could call off.
James knocks me back into the timeline, picking up two of the bags and holding out one to me. "Astra, let's just go."
The panic on my mother's face flashes like lightning's struck it. Her brow darken and her eyes zeroes in on me, livid. Her question comes out like a demand: "What did he just call you."
"Mom-" I sigh and pinch my eyelids shut to collect myself, before opening them wide and admitting, "Astra. He knows me as Kai and Astra."
"You told him?"
"It's my secret to tell."
Her jaw's tight enough to be wired shut. I'm half convinced it is until she opens her mouth. Her words are low and cutting, like nothing I've ever heard from her before. "You know what, you're right, you are leaving. But you're leaving with me."
I shake my head, confused. "What?"
"Washington's over." Mom grabs my wrist before I can step away, a vice grip on my arm. "If you're going to be reckless, we can't stay. And I'm going to have to completely reassess your privileges, if all it takes is one stupid boy to want to put your life in danger-"
I wretch my wrist away, even if it feels like trying to rip my arm off. "No! Mom, life is dangerous. And James didn't do anything to me." I step back, and James is right there for me to run into. His hand on my waist, he helps steady me. My wobbly voice gains strength and I say, "No one should ever be locked away. I get that to you I'm broken and a burden and-"
Mom frowns. "Is this about what I said when you were a kid? Again? It was just a scientific assessment."
"Stop interrupting me."I almost wanted to ask how many times she'd interrupted me, but I don't think the answer is worth asking. All my life, it's like I was born to be her sidekick. When was the last time we did anything I wanted? When was the last time I said anything I wanted? Was I just floating through life, with no other purpose than to try to balance barely surviving and make her happy?
When did that start? And how dare she, my mother, let it?
Crossing my arms, covering my chest, I say, "You've always treated me like a burden. I'm sure your head is like a catalogue drawer, and from day one you've classified me as some problem you have to fix. But unless I decide to turn full cuttlefish in front of anyone, who is going to believe that something is different about me? Weird shimmers, oddly soft skin, they're an inch away from normal weird shit. We could've said I was naturally sweaty and as a family we used a lot of lotion. All you had to do was help me learn to cope with it and I could've been normal. Normal enough, at least." I look around my room, a place I used to see as my little sanctuary. It isn't until that exact moment when I finally fully accepted what James and Beckk had been telling me all along. It's a prison, isn't it? "Instead, I've been stuck inside for so long that you've made sure neither of us see me as human."
There's this exhausted look to her, with the bags under her eyes weighing down her face and I can't tell if she looks remorseful or just desperate. Mom says, "You're not human, Astra."
I'm tired of this, the conversation we never have to have but she always drives home with every mention of cuttlefish or shimmers or every little goddamned "danger".
It's time to stop it, once and for all. If James can move forward, so can I.
Taking one step toward the door, I say, "My body might not be, but I was raised by humans. I grew up with humans. I don't know anything else. I'm human."
"Objectively-"
"Stop." I swallow air to catch my breath before admitting, "Yes, objectively I am something alien. But that really doesn't matter, does it?" With fists clenched, I demand the answer I've been wanting since I was 8 years old. "What happened with Mama?"
Her anger, her self-righteousness, wavers when melancholy seeps into her dark green eyes. "Tiger..."
"What happened?"
Mom grabs her own elbow, like trying to hold herself together. "She was scared. I tried to get her to understand you, but it was like the more data and tests I showed her, the more she struggled. I just wanted her to see how remarkable you were and how important it was for us to protect you. Then that day she took you to the park, she finally believed what I was telling her. And then... she also believed she didn't want a child like you."
A part of me wants to feel the guilt I expect, with all the pain soaking through her skin. I know she's hurting. But so many times like this, I'd bring up Mama, she would hurt and lash out, and I'd shut up and try to fix my "mistake".
But asking about Mama was never the mistake. The mistake was that Mom let me think I was responsible for asking questions, for causing trouble, for the pain... All of it.
Thinking of Mama, the woman I'll never get to cast real judgment on, I feel my own anger flare. "Or she didn't want to participate in the science experiment you were making me into."
For the first time ever, Mom's shoulders slump and she looks unsure of herself. "I dont know."
"And because of you running away, I may never know." I pause to catch my breath, but don't lose momentum. I continue, "I can't keep doing this. Maybe it's stupid and reckless, but I don't want to be all alone just because I'm different. I want more."
"You wouldn't be all alone. You'd have me." This time when she reaches for my hand, she misses. I make sure of it. Mom's following look of dejection is hard to bear, but not impossible. She says, quietly, "I don't want to lose you."
"That's not a good enough reason to take the rest of the world away from me."
Adjusting the bag on my shoulder, I walk past her, onto the landing. James follows. Even though I can tell from his tense muscles and rare frown that he doesn't like any of this, I appreciate he let me handle it. I needed to handle it. Though, I'm sure he would've been more eloquent and poetic about it.
She;s my Mom, though. For once, this is my responsibility.
Behind us, just as my toe touches the first step down, she calls out. "I'll call the police." I turn my head and she's shaking, somewhere locked between that indignation I woke up to and the solemnity about my childhood. Seeing her shake all over makes my stomach drop. She says, "I'll tell them he kidnapped you. You can't make it to the airport or the bus stop or even the train if I do."
I'm stunned. Can she really stoop so low?
"What?"
"Walk away and he can go." She steps forward and reaches out her hand. "If you care about him, stay here and figure things out with me. We can still talk, right, sweetheart? We can be a family and he can leave town safely."
I know it's a bullshit deal. I know my Mom, calm and collected, her bun swept up perfectly and every item of clothing in immaculate place.
But who the hell is this?
"I-" Before I can respond, I hear a loud, aggressive knock on the front door and the frantic look in her eye suddenly makes sense. She isn't actually trying to convince me; she's trying to slow me down.
My heart beats through my chest. Not like this. Not to James. He said I could crush his heart, but him-
I cut my eyes at her, furious. "What was that?"
"Shit. They're early." As my glare deepens, she shrugs like she didn't do anything wrong. "I had a criminal in the house, what was I supposed to do?"
"Not be an absolute asshole and talk to me first?" When she doesn't react, I scoff. "Nevermind."
Turning to James, I'm still panicking, but I have an idea. An awful, horrible idea, but it's my fault this was happening to him. And I'm not going to make him walk into custody and give up his necklace just because my Mom is a self-righteous-
I grab his hand and give him the worst fake smile I've ever attempted in my life. "James, you have to trust me. Go to Baltimore and live with Reese and Liz. Be an amazing teacher. Just don't forget me, okay?"
Funny thing is, I think he would've saved me if he could.
But he wasn't the one practicing their cuttlefish powers, was he?
Confused, he stares down at me, trying to read my face. "What-"
Kissing him, I focus on everything about him. The smell of cinnamon and ancient books. The almost inaudible humming he does whenever he's reading "silently". His smile when he finishes cooking something, like he's just surprised everyone (including himself) with something delicious. Everytime his hand finds mine and makes me feel like we can maybe, actually, do anything. That moment I've dreamed of when he and all his sweaters and cut-off jean shorts and lack of shoes became real and I held him under the stars. Last night, when he looked at me like our hearts shared beats and I realized, without a doubt, that I loved him.
And when I pull away, my skin shifts and I'm exactly who I need to be right now: James Chambers.
Both his and Mom's eyes are saucers, but I start to bound down the stairs before they can react. Throwing the front door open, I say, "It's me, Okay? It's James. My hands are up. I surrender."