Keith's perspective
I stepped into my house, shedding my suit and loosening my shirt, my mind still reeling from Eira's parting words. Her eyes had welled up, and for a moment, I thought she'd break into tears. That fleeting vulnerability unsettled me; I had never been one to make a woman cry.
I sighed, attempting to shake off the lingering emotions. Now wasn't the time for distractions. My thoughts needed to focus on the inexplicable changes within me, the inability to revisit the past, yet still sensing the future.
What was happening to me?
Only one person held the answers: my mother, who shared this enigmatic ability. But she'd left LA six years ago, returning to Japan.
I reached for my phone to call her, but my hand hesitated. Memories of the incident that drove her away resurfaced, and I faltered.
The past was a sensitive topic, especially that fateful event.
That fateful summer break during college still haunted me. I returned home to chaos, shattered glass, scattered debris, and the eerie aftermath of a violent argument. My parents' heated voices echoed through the halls, my mother's bleeding hands a stark testament to the intensity of their fight.
The revelation shook me to my core: my mother was struggling with drug addiction. I couldn't reconcile the fact with the woman I knew. She had seemed so normal, to put together. But the test results my father showed me left no doubt.
Their divorce followed, and my mother pleaded with me to join her in Japan. "Kiyoi, come with me. I'll take care of you," she implored, using my middle name as she always did. But I was consumed by disappointment and anger.
"Leave me alone," I told her, the words still etched in my memory. "Don't contact me again."
Now, with hindsight, I realized my cruelty. I hadn't stopped to ask why she'd turned to drugs or offered support. I'd simply turned my back, letting her disappear from my life.
Regret and uncertainty gnawed at me. I never did what needed to be done.
Despite my harsh words, my mother never truly abandoned me. Even after she left for Japan, she continued to show her love and care through thoughtful gestures. Every Christmas, New Year's, and Easter, gifts would arrive, each one a symbol of her unwavering devotion. Yet, I stubbornly refused to acknowledge them, leaving them unopened.
She'd call me countless times, but I'd ignore each one, determined to maintain my distance.
But last year, everything stopped. The gifts ceased, the calls silenced.
Now, irony twisted in my chest like a knife. The same mother I'd pushed away, I now longed to hear from. Her absence echoed through my hollow heart, filling me with regret and annoyance. Why had she finally given up on me?
The ringing phone jarred me back to reality. I checked the screen to find Ethan's name flashing.
"What's up?" I answered curtly.
"Did you get home safely?" Ethan asked.
"Yes," I replied.
I reciprocated the concern. "How's your mother doing?"
Ethan's tone turned somber. "She's still the same."
I empathize with his struggles. His mother's dementia had been a long-standing challenge.
Ethan shifted gears. "If you're still uneasy, I can replace your driver."
My mind wandered to Eira. Minutes ticked by as I weighed my options.
"Just let her be," I finally said.
Ethan accepted without question. "Alright. See you tomorrow."
The line went dead.
The next day, I donned my suit and tie, then stepped outside, where Eira awaited me. Her usual radiant smile was replaced by a somber expression, her eyes clouded with hurt. I couldn't fault her; my thoughtless words had wounded her, and remorse weighed heavy on my conscience.
"Good morning, sir," Eira said, bowing her head. "I'm deeply sorry for yesterday's outburst. I was completely out of line, I shouldn't have said those words to you, I must have lost my mind. Please, don't fire me; I desperately need this job."
I handed her the car keys. "Let's go; I'm running late."
She looked up, hopeful. "Does this mean you're no longer upset with me?"
I remained silent, but she took my gesture as forgiveness, swiftly moving to the driver's seat to start the car.
As we drove down the street, I instructed Eira to pull over in front of a cozy café. She obliged, and I stepped out, expecting her to follow. However, she remained seated, looking perplexed.
"Why aren't you coming out?" I asked.
"Do you want me to come out too?" she replied, seeking clarification.
"Yes," I confirmed.
Eira then exited the vehicle, trailing behind me as we entered the café.
I pushed open the café door, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped me. Eira trailed behind, her eyes scanning the cozy interior. We joined the short line, and soon it was our turn.
"Morning," the barista greeted. "What can I get you?"
"Cappuccino, please," I replied.
Then I turned to Eira. "What would you like?"
Her eyes widened, hesitation flickering across her face.
"Uh, sir...you're asking me?" she stammered.
I nodded.
After a pause, she spoke softly. "Caramel macchiato, please."
The barista smiled. "Coming right up."
As we waited, Eira's gaze lingered on me, puzzlement evident but I acted like I didn't see her.
Our coffee arrived, and we settled into a quiet corner. I took a sip of my cappuccino first, then noticed Eira's hesitation.
"Why aren't you drinking yours?" I asked.
"It's nothing," she replied softly, before slowly lifting her caramel macchiato to her lips.
Eira pulled out cash from her pocket. "Money for the coffee, sir."
She extended her hand, but I waved it off.
"I didn't tell you to order it so you could pay," I said.
"How can I accept this, sir?" Eira asked, perplexed.
"I'm just your driver," she added.
"Take it as an apology," I replied, averting my gaze.
Eira's confusion deepened. "What do you mean, sir?"
"For how I acted towards you yesterday, I am very sorry about it." I apologized.