Chapter 5: The Hermit Crab

The first thing anyone notices about Lynn Caspen is that she has the kind of smile that seems permanent; the kind strangers like to wave to walking down the street (at least from what I can remember, back in Sydney).

As luck would have it, though, there is one person in the galaxy she willingly frowned at, an idiot staring at their hands, counting freckles on their arms instead of looking her in the eyes.

...It's me. I'm the idiot.

To my credit, she's hard to look at like this. Even the freckles across her nose frown.

"To think, you've been sneaking off for god knows how long, putting yourself at risk for some dumb beach. And now you take yourself to a public event? I don't understand..." She says, after a pause, "Kai Caspen, I expect better of you."

Funny, because I, on the other hand, entirely expect the worst from me.

Anyway, her disappointment is the least of my concerns. I'm just sitting here, picking at my skin, bracing for it all to get worse. If Beck told her everything...

I'm a little too slow to realize she starts sharing her damning frown with the man sitting next to me. "And you. How did you not see her?"

"I don't know, I-" Hearing the telltale wobble before Beck's voice cracks, I finally tear my eyes from my shoes and try to sit up straight.

I interrupt her, saying, "Mom, don't blame Beck. I was keeping to myself and stayed away from him. Why would he look for me? He'd assume I was here."

Her eyes narrow and I curl myself back into the stool. Sure, her glare makes me feel small, but I wish I could be even smaller so that she can't look at me at all.

At my slumping shoulders, Mom sighs and does her two-finger press to her forehead, which means she is very, very angry, but she's going to try to keep things diplomatic and logical.

Try being the optimal word.

I squirm more when she's like this because it means I ruined everything and I hurt her and here I go, being selfish, troublesome Kai again. How typical.

If I could disappear, I would, but instead, I'm on this stupid stool. Sometimes it always feels like I'm stuck on this stupid stool, even though I haven't sat here in months.

She nods and admits, "You're right. Tonight isn't his fault. But the other nights..." Back to Beck, she points an accusatory finger. I want to recoil into the void of space. It's been so long since a Caspen inquisition that I forgot what they felt like, and right now, I just want to forget all over again.

Mom's frown starts to look as permanent as her smile. "If you knew Kai was sneaking out, why didn't you stop it?"

"They just wanted to see the ocean."

Scoffing, mom asks, "And you believe that?"

The second the words are out of her mouth, Beck's spine straightens and crosses his own arms, offended. "You don't?"

I blink at him, startled. Fighting Mom directly is never worth it; just this morning we both made that clear. Why does his expression look so defiant? His arms so cross? What does he think he's-

It hits me all at once. Oh. He's standing up for me.

Why though? It's easier to let her win. I know that better than anyone, but I figured Beck knew, too.

But his shoulders stay all tall and strong, even in the face of Lynn Caspen's frown.

Much to my further shock and confusion, Mom sighs and leans against the counter. Was she backing down? "You both know how reckless this is. What if someone had run into Kai, made her anxious, and her skin-" Her eyes scan my arms like they're ticking time bombs. It's harsh enough to leave scars behind, but she isn't wrong, is she?

"The keys themselves are getting locked up. Tonight. And there will be no more secret night adventures."

I swallow. I want to ask, "Does that mean I'll never see the ocean again?"

Even if I don't, even if I know this is a mistake, something primal and panicked climbs up my throat, desperate for the dark, unrelenting, gentle, familiar waters that make me feel whole. "But Mom-"

"Don't make me treat you more like a child, Kai. I don't like being forced to be the bad guy." Though the tapping and shaking are all over my hands, I recede into the waves of my own brain. What can I do? I'm not exactly a shark or a leopard seal. I'm not a fighter. I'm a hermit crab, a turtle, and I belong in a shell, right?

Astra Caspen was supposed to die fourteen years ago. Maybe tonight's just the end of their prolonged funeral.

Mom straightens again and says, "I know you're an adult, and I know it isn't fair. But you're different and so we have to treat you differently."

I knew those words. I knew the rule book and that this is how I needed to live. I understood its purpose and I knew that she had to be right. And yet...

There was a bite to the feelings rocking inside my head, a sense of finality, and to keep the tears away that no one would understand-

"Oh boy, sneaking out at night turns into E.T. in three seconds flat," I joke.

Beck snorts, but coughs it away like it was an accident.

The terracotta general in front of us is far less amused. "I'm serious." Walking forward, Mom presses a hand to my cheek. "Don't make me talk about it again, Kai."

I pull up my knees onto the large stool and hug them against my chest, just waiting for the next wave of bad thoughts. I know what "it" is. I remember "it" every day, and it's always there, lurking in the undercurrents of my brain. It's tall and lovely and somewhere across the world where I'd never see it again.

And then there's the other implications of "it", the threat of loneliness and lab coats and losing everyone I ever loved.

The question in Mom's eyes is simple: "Is the beach worth "it" all over again?"

Every time she looks at me like this, I feel like a monstrous tidal wave that could wash us all away. My skin is getting soft and I'm almost sure that some spots are fading to orange, like a helplessly patchy sunburn.

Back to looking at my toes, I promise, "...I won't."

Mom kisses my forehead. I know it happened from the sea brine smell of her research projects soaking into her hair. But otherwise, I swear I don't feel it.

Why am I like this? Why can't I feel it?

Her cheek pressed against my black hair, Mom asks, "What would we do if anything happened to you, Tiger?" Before she pulls away, she adds, "At least no one noticed you."

All I can see in my mind's eye is blonde hair and soft lips on my own, definitely noticing me.

It's more than I can ask for, to be seen once, isn't it? Now it's over. That had to be enough.

As my head tries to savor the bittersweet dead dream of sun-haired lifeguards, Mom steps back and smiles down at me, looking like the Lynn Caspen she's supposed to be. All the weight that has been pressing on my chest during our conversation is gone. Mom's happy again.

I think, "at least I did something right."

With almost a hop to her step, Mom says, "Now, help us sort some samples before bed. I didn't get to finish them earlier because I was so worried about you."

I frown. "I don't really-"

"Kai." Mom doesn't stop smiling, but she doesn't blink, and I could've sworn in the back of my head I could hear Mom saying, "You owe me."

With a limp sigh, I change my tune and nod. This is the hierarchy of human family structures. I am but a mere subordinate. I relent, saying, "Alright. I'll help."

It was already late when I got back, an 11 pm twilight, but the three of us ignore the darkness and empty the crowded contents of Mom's Jeep. She has countless Petri dishes of cephalopod microbial samples, jars of organs and chilled corpses for dissection. I always hate this part, seeing my own skin everywhere. I learned a long time ago to keep talking to Beck and pretend it's fake, like costume jewelry dipped in formaldehyde.

The process doesn't take too long, only until 2 am. Considering some of the other late-night sortings we've done... It could've been worse. Once I had to take a final exam on three teas and a Red Bull. And even then, I had to wash my keyboard later because I got it slimy.

With Beck and me in her sights, Mom barely pays us any mind. She just keeps flitting from sample to sample, organizing with alarming speed, her smile still going. How does she keep smiling like that?

It always makes me feel tired just looking at it.

In the empty space and lack of attention from our motherly ruler, Beck leans over with his forehead crinkled, like he's trying to solve one of life's greatest mysteries. "Real talk: how did I not notice you?"

A snarky part of me wants to say, "because I'm forgettable," but that's not exactly a fair answer.

I shrug my shoulders and turn towards another sample pile. I don't need to talk about Astra and the lifeguard by the fire, watching Beck try to fall in love to the music, right in plain view. Not when he's never known Astra, and that'd just cause more trouble for everyone.

Rebuffing him, I say the first excuse that comes to mind, "Hoodie, I guess."

"Liar. You don't even own a hoodie. You always complain they stifle your fabulous hair."

My heart stops dead. He's right. I don't.

In movies, everyone always wears hoodies to conceal their identity. It felt like an easy, obvious answer. Instead, I look like an idiot.

"Y-You're right." Still not looking at him, I explain it away. "But I have... one. From our high school science fair. I sacrificed my hair for turtles." When, from the corner of my eye, Beck's forehead wrinkles only seem to deepen, I change tactics, saying, "Anyway, it was easy to avoid the tall guy falling all over himself, trying to flirt."

Beck's voice gets even quieter than his half-assed whisper. "You saw that?"

"How'd it go?"

"Wouldn't know. I got her to dance with me for about five seconds and then your mom called. I even missed the turtles. So, no recording this year."

I wince. So, I'm not the only one who had their night interrupted by the harsh reality that was our life of hiding a human-shaped cuttlefish.

Moving to touch his hand, give it a brief, affectionate squeeze, I chicken out at the last second. Hand squeezes are soft and human and, of all nights, I really don't fit the bill. Hand squeezes and sympathy don't change what I am, and when have I ever been good at comforting, anyway? I can't even comfort myself.

Instead, I settle for: "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm sorry it's all over. You always looked so... peaceful after beach nights."

"I'm sorry about that, too," I say, and walk away before Beck can turn me into a helpless sad sack. It isn't his fault, of course, but... There's enough dumb mourning that I can't avoid.

The least I can do is leave everyone alone while I do it, right?

I tuck my final sample into a tiny fridge on Mom's desk and trudge upstairs to change and get ready for bed. As I tug off my overalls and shirt, I wonder if I should just get rid of them. They don't feel real anymore, not when I can still vividly see the turtle touching the edge of my sleeve or the lifeguard's hand brushing my pocket.

In the silence and darkness of my room, I lose layers of clothes and, with each one, have to quiet the tightening of my chest, the gasp of my breath. That's the only way the tears burning my face feel okay.

After a white-hot, hazy half-hour curled up in my closet, there's a knock on my door. I wipe off my cheeks, looking as innocent and bright as I can. It's about as effective as a 20-year-old light bulb flickering on a dark night, but lucky for me, Mom's good at tolerating faulty equipment.

When I open my door, Mom steps inside and pets my hair. "I'm sorry if you're upset with me right now, Tiger."

"Don't. I understand." Twisting my hands, trying to shut up the tapping that no one will ever hear, the brain waves that are my burden to bear, I keep shaking my head. "I just wanted to see the ocean."

Kissing my hair again, even though it feels more like an ocean breeze than anything else, Mom prepares to start talking all philosophical. I can tell from the way she bites the inside of her left cheek before talking. "Everyone wants things they can't have. You just need to remember you have to be safe, too. You aren't like any other 20-something." Mom kisses my hair again like it's some magical bandaid. It started when I was little; a way to make me feel better after nightmares. They were the one thing I always ran to her for.

But now she does it all the time, and I-

Maybe it makes me ungrateful, but I wish she'd stop.

Using a soothing voice, like trying to speak a lullaby, Mom offers, "Maybe for your birthday I can rent the beach out and take you? You, me, and Beck make a whole day out of it? We can barbecue fish and I'll make lemon bars?"

I feel a pit grow in my stomach, but nod. "Sure. That sounds nice."

Before Mom can try to use whatever distraction tactic of the day she picks, I do the leg-work for her. I won't make her keep talking about it. Pointing at my electric kettle, I say, "I'm going to make some tea, sit on my balcony. Is that okay?"

Mom exhales with relief. "Of course, sweetheart." She gives me one final kiss to the forehead, even more airy than all the others. "Goodnight."

"Night."

And then she shuts the door behind her and I feel sick to my stomach.

While my muscles make tea without thinking, the rest of my brain is on overdrive, stuck on that closed door. I almost gave up on them. I almost chose a different life. So I chose this, right? So I needed to suck it up, right?

When I was 18, I was desperate to go to an in-person college to have a dorm room and meet people. I even got myself accepted, a private room, and weaseled myself some accommodations for my "skin condition" to boost my chances. Mom still said no. Simple enough. But I had anticipated the outcome and had squirreled away money to take a flight to California and go anyway.

The night before, though, I chickened out while packing. I missed the window for getting federal loans and skipping town, so eventually my acceptance faded away.

It's just, when I walked downstairs and saw my Mom yelling at cephalopod skin fibers, I couldn't-

Anyway, it just means that now I'm 22, almost graduated, and I stayed. Even though I've had $500 cash tucked away all this time, I chose this. I always knew this could happen. It was an accepted risk. So, why am I making a big deal out of this, right?

Eager for tea, I take the device off its burner before the light even goes off.

I want- no, need- something warm and cozy, since everything feels so... cold.

I know my heart should ache right now, and it does. My beach is gone. I will never see it the same way again, and I have to accept that Astra is gone, too.

Things are different now and nothing can change that.

For some reason, though, a stubborn little thought keeps tumbling around my head: to James, Astra isn't dead.

I do not add honey to my tea before heading onto the balcony.

I try to shut my brain up, focus on the starry sky and the slight chill of the June night. This is a time for lamenting and eventual acceptance, not thinking about impossible dream boys that never can be real and definitely would never want me forever.

The only person who definitely wants me forever is Mom, and even that's complicated.

Honestly, I'm just embarrassing myself, aren't I? Getting so hooked on the first boy that kisses me. Who am I, Indiana Jones getting starstruck by blue eyes and Nazi tits? It isn't like James' hands were all that comforting, or his lips that perfect blend of gentle and firm, or his voice like a damned sugar-high but in a surprisingly nice way.

It's just... it's the first time anyone looked at me like that. Like I'm the dream.

Funny, because I'm barely real.

The best dreams come true, he said? As if.

I hear a rustle behind me when my fingers brush my knee a little too rhythmically, and I groan. "I don't want to hear it tonight, okay? So go away."

There's no response. If I see taunting gray eyes when I turn to my left, I swear I'll scream.

I mean, I won't, but it's not the conversation I want right now. Having to hear her mock me for everything that happened today could send me right over the edge.

Because she's the only one who'll see Astra anymore.

It didn't matter, though, did it? It was all gone now, no matter her taunting. I wouldn't see Astra, the beach, or the sun-haired boy, ever-

Just then, the branch of a Hemlock falls onto my balcony and I jolt, coming face to face with the shocked, hazel eyes of a lifeguard. Blushing, confused, and half-convinced this was a dream, I just stare at him as he groans and brushes off his knees. With a chuckle, he stands and extends a hand to me, that awkward, trying-to-charm smile wide across his face. "Hello. Sorry for the intrusion. My name is James. Mind if I stay here for a bit?"