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“I’m not a Hindu,” I snap back. “You know that. I like to respect my father’s culture sometimes, that’s all. And you’re not my husband, which was your decision, I have to point out.”
He glares at me.
“Anyway,” I continue, ignoring the churning of my stomach that tells me he’s partly right, and I should go with him to support him, “a person’s duty is also toward their friends. I need to be here for the funeral. I want to be here to support James.”
“You mean you want to be here with Henry.”
My face burns. “Actually, I want to be here for all my friends. They’re all upset and suffering.” I think about what Henry said, about people needing to develop their own coping mechanisms, and that sometimes it’s okay to put your own needs first. I’m not being selfish. This is important to me, and I’m upset that Cam can’t see why.
Now is the moment where I should tell him it’s over. We haven’t been a couple for weeks, not really. We’re hanging onto the dregs of this relationship, and I’m tired, and I want it to be over.
But there’s one final reason I can’t let go of it. One more thing I need to sort out before I make the jump.
I swallow hard. “Look, you should go and help Em and Alan. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on your mum until you get back.”
His lips thin, and his eyes harden. “Right,” he snaps. “I should have guessed you’d put me last.”
My jaw drops. “All I’ve done since New Year is put you and your family first,” I yell back.
He holds up a hand and says tiredly, “All right, don’t get hysterical.”
Me? I’m so speechless I can only stare at him as he walks away. In the background, Kathy is crying, and I hear exhaustion in his voice as he goes into her room to calm her down.
I’m done. I’m so done. My eyes blur with tears as I finish getting the dinner. I wish I could just walk out. Tell him I’m not coming back, and not have to put up with this misery anymore.
Oh, Henry. I dash the tears away. I want to feel his arms around me. I want to lie in the morning sunshine and have him stroke my back again while he sings songs to me in Maori. I want to feel his lips on mine.
Whoever’s up there, watching over me, please let it come to pass. Give me courage.
And please…oh God, please, by all that’s holy… make me not pregnant. Because if I am, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Henry
It’s getting late, and Rangi still isn’t answering his phone, so in the end, I call Philip.
“What do you want?” he demands.
“Hello to you too.” I clamp down on my irritation, determined not to let him rile me. “I can’t get hold of Rangi, and I wanted to make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.” Philip talks curtly. “He’s in his room, being emo and listening to music.”
“Did Ellie go ahead with the termination?”
“Yeah, apparently it’s all done, thank God. Maybe he’ll pull his fucking socks up now and sort himself out.”
I frown, sad and angry at my brother’s lack of compassion for his son. “Come on, Phil, have a little heart. The kid’s grieving. He had no say in the matter and now he’s lost his girl and his baby, as he sees it.” Ellie’s actually only fifteen, and her parents have forbidden her from seeing Rangi again.
“I should have guessed you’d take his side.”
“I’m not taking sides. I—”
“I’ve gotta go.” He ends the call.
I toss my phone onto the kitchen table, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and head out to the pool. The sun is setting, and the water is the color of cranberry juice beneath the beautiful sky. I drink half the bottle, strip off my tee, then dive into the water and swim the whole length of the pool before emerging to rest my arms on the side.
If I set sail from the beach below and went east in a straight line, I’d probably hit Chile. For a moment I imagine being on a boat, alone, on the Pacific, with just the sun and wind for company, where nobody could contact me. That sounds like heaven. Except for the fact that I don’t know the first thing about boats or sailing, and I’d probably drown before I even left the harbor.
