Chapter 16: The Octopus

The second the words come out of my mouth, it's like I lose all foundation and fall into panic. My hands clam up and I can barely breathe, let alone speak. James talks me down, says we had time, promises we can think about it first. He falls asleep next to me mumbling comforting musical quotes, I think. For minutes or hours I stare at his face, clueless about what I want to say long after the conversation is over.

He said we don't need to leave yet, but why does it feel like I just got catapulted out the window?

Leaving in the middle of the night isn't exactly what I meant. I don't plan to just go full octopus and leave like a tentacled escape artist, but it kind of... feels that way. The second it came out of my mouth it was a sudden tidal wave of all these emotions and I was drowning and-

Christ, I have to stop thinking about it or I'll have another panic attack.

James is right; rushing isn't necessary. I'll focus on that. We will leave, definitely, just... not right now.

Anyway, by morning my Mom texts both Beck and I with a grand decree- she's going to be gone for two days for a very sudden conference that she previously said, and I quote, "that she wouldn't be caught dead at". Guess getting caught dead is easier than coping with me.

The thought isn't pleasant, but on the plus side, her choice means one important thing: James doesn't have to hide.

After I coerce the newly-admitted home cook to make us breakfast (I've never had eggs so fluffy), James drags me outside and next to the hemlock by my balcony. Considering I'm at least one more cup of tea away from a functioning fish, I'm not too pleased. But James is beaming wide, hands triumphantly on his hips when he announces, "Today, you're learning how to climb a tree."

"What?"

James starts rolling his shoulders, very successfully looking lean and attractive and very distracting while doing basic stretches. My brain goes from anxious cluster-hell to flatline. I'm about one fitted shirt away from going full lemming and following him anywhere, even off a cliff.

And, yet, tree-climbing is still a hard sell.

I cross my arms and say, "Last time I tried to climb that tree I scraped every limb on my body."

"I know, you only mention that every time we stayed on the balcony too long." I roll my eyes, but James hands me a hair-tie from the collection on his wrist and cocks his head towards the affronting flora in question. "Even if we're not going anywhere yet, you probably should learn a couple very essential life skills."

Sweeping my hair into a ponytail, I ask, "And tree-climbing is essential?"

"Absolutely," He says nonchalantly as he positions himself at the base of the tree. "Now, I will say you'll probably have to... change... your hands a little for extra friction, since they're kinda frictionless."

I snort with laughter. "Frictionless?"

I'm amused, but James is nonplussed. He gives me a look that reads, "stop trying to change the subject".

Begrudgingly, I concede, though with a pout. "Knowing how to climb isn't a bad idea."

"Exactly. Now, assess the route. I'd suggest going from that-" He points to the lowest branch and draws a line across to the next with his finger. While the prickly part of me wants to tell him I can figure it out on my own, another part of me knows what my frictionless fingers look like... and that the step-by-step instructions are probably for the best. "-to that branch and then going from there."

Sucking in, I still wonder how my limbs are going to make it all the way across. I have fish-like qualities, sure, but I'm not all that flexible. I pout and ask, "Show me?"

"Why else did you think I brought a second hair-tie?" Collecting his own messy mop of hair, he pulls it together, looking like a sad, tapered ice cream swirl on the top of his head. I can't tell if I find it embarrassing or adorable.

He starts first, shimmying up the trunk, and in a few effortless movements is halfways up the tree. James sits down on a branch and looks at me expectantly. I had sort of hoped I could use his climbing time to compose myself, but that's over before I can even say a half-assed affirmation.

Okay, so that's how an athletic man did it. So how was I going to?

He smirks from above and teases, "C'mon, catch up."

I don't feel great about testing my gangly limbs up in the air, but I also don't back down. Who am I to say no to such a handsome teacher, anyway?

Just like he suggests, I focus on my hands and try to make them bristle on purpose for the first time. To test it, I rub them against each other. Much more friction.

This time, I don't stall by taking fake deep breaths and trying to work myself up to it. I just grab onto the lowest branch and pull. In seconds, I realize my problem isn't grip; it's upper arm strength. When I try to hoist myself up onto the branch, my forearms wobble before collapsing, hanging down like a human tire swing.

From above James calls, "Need help?"

I shake my head and try again to encourage my arms to work how I want. "Nope! I can definitely do this!"

To his credit, James tries really hard not to laugh at me. But I hear his escaped chuckle clearly enough by my seventh flaccid pull-up. That traitor.

Just then, there's a voice from the back door. It says, "What are you two actual monkeys doing?"

Dropping down, I turn around to Beck giving us the most amused look, like he just walked in on a circus act. Well, joke's on him, because I'd be an awful trapezist.

James, casual show-off he is, hops out of the tree and says, "Climbing practice."

"That makes whatever Kai was doing even more tragic." Beck laughs. I wait until James is looking away towards the treeline to mouth that I'm going to kill him, pantomimed knife and all, but he just winks. "Hey, Apollo man, heard you can cook. Could I trouble you in making me some breakfast, too?"

"News travels fast around here."

Batting his eyelashes and flashing an overblown, toothy grin, Beck says, "Only when the rest of the household is chronically anti-cooking."

"I think you earned it for your oh-so-gracious silence." On his way towards the kitchen, James squeezes my shoulder. It almost feels like we're a normal group of friends just having a nice morning.

Unfortunately, when I walked downstairs earlier, the empty space in the house was easy to notice. And her absence being the exact reason why things were never like this was even easier to remember.

Why had mom never tried to teach me how to climb?

Well, other than the obvious reason.

Beck interrupted my errant thoughts, saying less loudly, "Climbing practice? Subtle." Without missing a beat, and long before I can even make plans, Beck catches me before I even realize I'm sneaking around. "You've finally decided to leave with him when he goes, didn't you?"

"I-'' The words I want to say don't come out of my mouth; I can't even manage little white lies. Yes, technically, we aren't leaving yet. If I'm not going right this second, he doesn't need to know, right?

But meeting Beck's black eyes, I know there's never any point bullshitting him. I just nod.

He shakes his head before saying, "One more secret for me to keep. Though, I am leaving tonight, so it won't be a hard secret to keep."

Beck stuffs his hands in his pockets, and my shoulders immediately stiffen. He only ever does that when he's planning to tell me something I won't like. "Kai... You know my sea monkeys?"

Raising an eyebrow, I say, "Yes. If I didn't that'd be more concerning."

"Well, their genus of brine shrimp was cooked up in a lab. They are fabulously adaptive and that's why I study them. However, they don't really have the skills to survive well in the ocean. So they stay where they were made."

If we weren't so similar, making analogies out of research papers, I wouldn't have understood him. But I'm not lucky to be that clueless and my fists clench at my side. "Are you saying that because my mom grew me in her proverbial home lab that I can't be with people?"

Beck grimaces, not liking the way I phrased it. Kai a month ago would've bent over backwards trying to apologize. I'd be lying if a twisted little part of me in the back of my head isn't writhing to beg for forgiveness. But today? Tough luck. If he doesn't like my phrasing, maybe he shouldn't have said it.

At my equally displeased expression, Beck pinches his eyebrows. "No. I'm just- Kai, if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm scared for you. Of course I think you deserve a life outside of this house. But I don't want you to go out there half-cocked and get yourself in danger just because your mom did all this and failed to prepare you."

I cross my arms, which hopefully gets across my cross feelings. "So what am I supposed to do? Lament my lost life and suffer here forever, dreaming of what could have been?"

He pauses, but eventually responds with a hollow, "I don't know."

Even though I feel all prickly, my heart softens, seeing Beck look so... unsure. Beck's the kind of person who is always shamelessly, unabashedly Beck. He's sure of his feelings, his place in life, and what he wants. I've noticed before that my home situation gave him a rare pause, but now...

It isn't just an awkward pause. It's like he's stuck, tripping on it over and over.

Contrary to the tension and discomfort between us, Beck takes my hand in his. "It's just, when I said to take opportunities with James, I didn't mean..." He exhales and lets go of my hand. "Maybe I'm just being selfish. Maybe I got used to our little dynamic, me finding ways to get you small freedoms and playing hero." When he looks straight at me, finally, he blinks like he's hit a breakthrough all his own. "You don't need me playing hero, though, do you?"

Taking his hand back, I said, "You deserve to be a better hero than sneaking scraps for a cuttlefish. Think how many community events you could do without having to worry about me, or the fact you could actually bring someone home for once. Maybe even have a friend group or fall in love. A social life for Beck Faysol, who'd have expected that?"

"Shut up." Beck ruffles my hair, annoyed, but smiles. "You've grown up a lot, and quick. Just don't let that James nerd take all the credit."

Suddenly, looking at the face of the only person who smiled and laughed and at least tried to cry with me over the years, I wonder: am I even going to see him again?

Eyes welling up a little, I squeeze his hand a little harder. "I'm going to miss you."

As if he can read my mind, Beck says, "Hey, running away from home doesn't mean you don't have to take my number and text me the second you get a phone and then every day after that, too." Shaking his head, all his jokes were gone and all that was left was the kind Beck I always knew was there for me, in his own way. "I'm pretty sure you're my best friend, Kai Caspen, and you becoming a whole, real person won't change that."

"I thought you always knew you were my best friend. And not just because you were my only option." Kicking the grass a little, I add, "But I'm happy to hear it was mutual."

"I should've told you before."

The conversation could've tumbled on forever, but then James calls to tell us food is ready and we don't keep talking. Instead, we go in and eat eggs like it's the first time we've had a good meal in years.

We pretend the rest of the day that the conversation didn't happen. Beck, James, and I make food, help Beck pack for his family visit and watch Armageddon in the background (one more Willis for the road, y'know?). Seeing him happy for me, I realize Beck wasn't just helping Mom keep me here like some reluctant jailer. He's one of the only things that kept me sane in what felt like an impossible situation.

I've always known he was never going to be my out; he loves this job too much. But he always hoped I'd find my way.

Later that night, when James is taking a shower, Beck and I find ourselves sitting on my balcony staring at the stars.

Among the eerily silent moonlit atmosphere, Beck asks, "You're going to be gone before I get back, aren't you?" Before I can respond, he shakes his head. "Nevermind, don't tell me, I might have a drunk panic or something after a particularly stressful family meal where Aunt Effie won't stop asking about my "inevitable" arranged marriage to her best friend's daughter and screw it up for you. I'll just... I'll adapt when it happens." Beck ruffles my hair. "Like always, be careful, Kai."

"I will."

I mean to wake up early in the morning to say goodbye, and I guess I do. But Beck is three steps ahead of me (like always) and left even earlier than that. There's just a note on his door that says, This isn't goodbye, so we don't need one. PS: I made sure to take care of the Sea Monkeys. So don't worry, they don't need you this time. Underneath that is his phone number and a few colorful threats if I don't call him.

I guess now there's only one person to figure out how to say goodbye to then, huh?

Over the next day and a half, I write a thousand theoretical plans of action. Will it be sentimental? Bitter? Walking away in the night or going out in a blaze of glory?

The night before my mother's coming home, I'm laying next to James (he fell asleep reading me Carmilla). Glancing around my room and all the mixed emotions of memories, I decide one thing: I will give her a shot to show me how I want it to go. Maybe that's reckless in itself, revealing some of my secrets to a woman willing to lock me away for fourteen years, but.... I have to try, right?

That morning, when I hear the garage door open, I'm already in the kitchen before her.

"Oh! Kai! Good morning, Tiger." She kisses my forehead, but it's like an optical illusion. There's absolutely nothing there anymore. If my eyes had been closed, I never would have known she even touched me.

And she doesn't even notice that I look confused and don't react.

On instinct, she walks towards her office to unpack all the work she's brought with her, but I follow her every step, right up to her desk she had commissioned the second we moved to Washington. She left her old one in Australia, after all.

I don't ask about the conference. I don't want to get distracted, or worse, let her distract me.

Directly, I ask, "Mom, what do you think about my future?"

Mom crinkles her brow but never even looks up from her papers, like I'm sleep-talking about ridiculous things like were-bears and pineapple pizza. "What do you mean? You. Me. The most amazing work-from-home marine biology center with a giant space for tide pool simulations. It's perfect."

"What if I don't want to work for the university?"

"I mean, we could always see if a smaller school will give you a grant. It'll be harder, but with some of your papers you've already done and my references, you'd be a no-brainer for most nearby research."

It's almost impressive how she doesn't miss a beat. But it makes me feel sick to my stomach. She has an answer for everything, this different version of me that fits into her mental scenarios.

With painfully innocent, bright eyes, she looks straight at me and asks, "Oh, or do you mean you'd rather get your Masters and PhD already? Because that's fair, and we definitely could work something out-"

I cut her off. I can't take it. This never was going to go the way I wanted, was it? She'd never think what I want is...

"No, Mom." Swallowing, I muster up all my miniscule confidence and do not ask, but tell her, "What if I wanted to work outside of the home?"

Laughing, she continues unpacking her work, having moved onto her cuttlefish samples. "Very funny, Kai."

"I'm not joking."

Slowly, Mom's smile falls and transforms into this confused glower.

And so the fairytale spell has been broken.

Indignant and guarded, Mom crosses her arms and asks, "Did you miss the last 22 years?"

"Considering it's my life, no, I don't think I did. But who knows, I haven't really been living it anyway." The bite at the end of that even stings me, but I need to keep up my momentum or I'll run out of steam. I'll just end up churning waters all alone in my head. Again. Like always. I can't keep doing that. I won't. "I think it's time we try something new."

"I don't want to go over this again with you."

I lean onto her desk and clutch the corner edge. How long is she going to avoid me?

"No. Please do. Remind me how your eight year old child had an unpleasant, somewhat traumatic experience and an overall sheltered life and you took that as a good reason to lock them away in a proverbial castle for the next 14 years. Who are we protecting at this point, really?"

Mom glares at me. She glares at me like I'm some stranger and I've taken her child's body hostage. "Kai Caspen, you do not get to take that tone with me-"

"Right, my bad, I forgot my tone was supposed to be thankful that you even bother to take care of me." I push off the desk and feel decades of repressed frustration rise like a Kraken.

So this is it. This is what situation we're dealing with; we will not go quietly.

Exasperated and holding my ground, I say, "I can't even talk to you about Mama. I miss her. I want to see her, talk to her. She didn't... I don't like her choice, but she's still-" I can feel the hot tears in the corners of my eyes, and it makes everything blurry, but for the first time in my life that sadness in my Mom's eyes doesn't push me down and shut me up. "I have to sneak around just to see her face. Do you even remember it? If not, I'll happily give you a quick reference."

And then, before I really know what I'm doing, I do it. It's probably too far. But I can't stop myself, not when my skin is already turning a familiar brown and my eyes are gray and my face is older and my freckles are gone for the first time. Under much longer lashes, I'm breathing heavy and staring at the horror on her face. It feels good, in an awful, unstoppable way.

I ask, "How about this? Did I do a good job?"

"How did you-" Just then, the doorbell rings. Mom looks shaken up, but she still manages to point an accusatory finger at me. "This isn't over. Do not move an inch." She rounds the corner and, just before she's out of sight, she pops on her perfect smile like a mask.

Even by the front door I can still hear her, however faintly. "Hello, how can I help you?"

"Hello, Ma'am. We're just doing a soft canvas of the neighborhood. There's been a theft the past month and the victim is really pushing us to ask the locals if they might've seen the culprit." My breath catches and all that gusto I have in my lungs deflates like empty sails. I'm instead gripped with mortal fear. Is his Dad seriously this persistent?

After seeing my mother and her own endless denial, I guess I should be less surprised.

The officer speaks again, "He's a 5'10 caucasian male, hazel eyes, shaggy blonde hair. He was last seen at the turtle hatching on the beach a few weeks back?"

Even if it's the most boring, clinical description of him, it's still him. James.

I can almost picture Mom tapping her nose, that performative thoughtful mannerism she used at conferences, in front of colleagues, or whenever she's trying to mock a question I asked. The kind that, no matter what, was always going to be rejected. "Hmm. I can't say I've seen him, but I'll ask my research assistant when he gets back from a family trip."

"That's all we can ask, Ma'am. Have a great rest of your evening."

The door slams and I'm brought back to my body. Before I can pull myself together from the James shock, she storms back in and the fake smile is already gone. Her frown oozes from every word coming out of her mouth: "How long have you been testing your abilities with Beck? Because I know you wouldn't just play with all this cuttlefish business on your own. What are you trying to do, deliberately hurt me?"

I blink. Hurt her? "It's not about you."

"Then what is it about?"

"Me." I press my hand to my chest. It feels overblown, but it- she isn't listening, and can't she see that I-

Half-breathless, I beg her to open her eyes. "I'm miserable, Mom. I can't live like this. I can't keep hiding."

"You're not miserable. You're-" At my head shaking, she stops talking. But then Mom scoffs, and I'm suddenly exhausted. I'm so tired of it. I've been tired of it for years.

She still wasn't listening.

Throwing her hands out wildly, Mom says, the volume of her voice increasing, "Then what am I supposed to do? Let you go out there and get hurt? Risk destroying this family for some beach time and ice cream trips?"

"Would you really be happy to let me rot away in my head, stuck in this house for the rest of my life? If you didn't do this, I could've gone to high school- I could've had friends- I-I could've-"The more I try to explain, and the more I see her growing cold and defensive, the less energy I have. What's the point if she's not listening? No wind left in my tiny sails, I stare at my feet and say, "It would be better than this."

"Go to your room. We'll talk about this once you've cooled down."

"Once I've-" I look up at her, but her face gives nothing away. It's a familiar look, like I'm a child having a tantrum.

So am I supposed to be her grown up Kai or a child? What is it? Because I can't be both. And if she thinks I'll ever cool down from this, she'll get the great honor of even more disappointment.

For the moment, though, I concede. "Fine."

As I walk out of her office, she adds, "And the second Beck comes back, we'll be talking more about your reckless little experiments."

I don't bother to respond.

In there, she looked at me like a stranger. And if I'm being honest with myself, it isn't the first time. I always used to chalk it up to her protectiveness and her own pain. I got that losing Mom was hard for her, too, and I thought it bonded us.

But no. Despite her fixation on me, I'm a stranger to her, aren't I?

The second I get back into my bedroom, I slam the door and say aloud, "I want to go. As soon as possible. I'm sure this time."

James, lying on the bed, raises an eyebrow. "That was brusk."

I flop onto the bed and the words start careening out of me. "My mother is in some sort of cloudy land of denial and I can't do this anymore. I can't save her from her own bullshit and save me at the same time." I turn towards him, I place my hand on the back of his neck, I soak in his attentiveness and honesty and this uncontrollable feeling of wanting to tell him everything.

Kissing his mouth a little too roughly, I add, "Let's go to Baltimore. Let's leave and you can be a teacher and I'll work at some research station and we can be people."

His face is hard to read as he looks down at me, but the part that matters is that he asks, "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure about anything."

He kisses me back, much softer. "Okay, let's go in the morning."

And here, in his arms, is the only place that feels real anymore. To think I thought he was the dream. Apparently, almost anything can feel like a dream when your life is a nightmare.

It was about damn time I woke up.