Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Mia returns home that day still bearing a glimmer of giddiness from her talk with Akin.

She had been so certain that, after what happened to Erin and the hollow years that followed, she would never speak to any of the five again.

This is their last year in high school. What comes next is the inevitable disbanding of most relationships—and of her chance to make things right.

Mia is planning to move far from Braidwood, as far as possible. And it is likely that the others will follow suit, she believes.

But what Doctor Jo said grapples with her reasoning. This is not an ordinary situation where ordinary advice can suture what they had torn.

It was never about how much time passed, but about what happened that wrenched them apart.

However, she knows in her innermost being that if Erin were here, she would riot. She had believed that family and wouldn’t stand for anything ripping it apart, not even her own demise.

After all the therapy, Mia feels more revived by that moment with Akin than she ever felt with years of counseling.

Mia hates it and hates them, but Doctor Jo, she’s different. It is rare when she dispenses counsel. She often just listens to Mia ramble or they’d just eat or drink in silence.

Mia’s mind is like a raging sea storm and Doctor Jo is the lighthouse leading her to refuge from her own upheaval.

Opal has that in her father.

Akin has that in his mother.

Aries has that in his brother and grandmother.

And Mia has that in her mother and has found it in Doctor Jo, too.

Mia drops her bag in the passageway and waltzes into the kitchen, her footsteps floaty and light.

She goes for the fridge, opening the one door to inspect the inside, searching for something to make a late lunch from.

“Chicken wrap in the microwave.”

Mia’s hand smacks her chest. “~Jeez~, woman, stop that.”

Irene comes into view, standing in the archway with a smile.

“It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy.”

Mia scoffs and heads to the microwave to take out a subway-length wrap. “This is huge.”

Irene steps forward. “Well, if you don’t want—”

“I never said that.”

Mia scampers over to the island counter and puts the plate down, then goes to the drawer to retrieve some utensils. She settles behind the plate and starts eating the wrap piece by piece.

Irene analyses her for a moment. Something is clearly different. The air around her is like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room, her voice is boisterous. It seems like something very good must’ve happened to her this day.

“So how was school?”

“Same old, same old,” Mia says while chewing.

Irene eyes her dubiously. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Mia’s head tilts to the side. “Well, apart from Akin asking me out this Friday.”

“What?” Irene shrieks and darts to stand on the other side of the counter, directly opposite her. “Akin as in that bony kid from back in the day?”

Mia snorts. “I can assure you, he’s no longer that bony kid. Still sweet but much taller and burly, super ~jacked,~ but still has that superior bone structure.”

Irene grins at the description. “Sounds like you’re besotted, my dear.”

Mia pauses her eating to glare up at her with full cheeks.

Undeterred, Irene leans forward to rest her folded arms on the edge of the counter. “So. Is this like a ~date~?”

Mia nearly chokes on her food and flaps her hand in the air as if to swat away the assumption.

“He invited me to his ~family~-owned and ~family~-themed restaurant. We went there all the time as kids, remember? And he just wants me to see the new upgrades.”

Irene rises to full height with an astounded expression.

“Oh, honey. Sur la Meris no longer that cute diner it was. It has expanded, and the renovations turned it from family to swanky. Where do you think the other moms and I met? The place is very high-end now.”

Mia shrugs, still eating. “And?”

“And you should look the part, dress nicely and—”

Mia stops, dropping the knife and fork on her plate with a soft clink. “I don’t want to look like I’m doing too much. I’m not trying to impress him.”

Irene smiles patiently. “My love, this isn’t for him. This is for you. This is the perfect time for me to ask you—when was the last time you did your hair?”

Mia’s lips part.

“I don’t mean at home. I mean going out to the salon to do it~ properly~. Professionally.”

Her lips seal shut.

“Exactly. When are you meeting?”

“Friday evening.”

Irene knocks her fist on the counter like a judge rendering their verdict with a gavel. “After school, we go straight to the salon. You have something nice to wear? Preferably a dress.”

“I do,” Mia says with a dry smile. “And it includes pants.”

***

“Irene!”

“Charlotte.”

Mia watches her mother hug a blonde woman with the most complex updo she has ever seen. A local-grown version of Dolly Parton. The hairdresser ushers them inside and Mia keeps the hood of her maroon hoodie on.

“I thought we were going to Sally’s?”

Charlotte’s eyes snap to her with a TV-personality smile. “There’s nothing she can do that I can’t do better, sweetheart,” she says with a curated southern accent.

“Charlotte, this my daughter”—Irene’s eyes pierce her with a reprimanding look— “Mia.”

Mia pulls a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“I’m sure,” Charlotte says teasingly, smiling good-naturedly.

“My daughter has a…special event this evening, and I was hoping you could help.” Irene snatches off Mia’s hood as if exposing a vigilante.

Charlotte adopts a serious expression, and she circles Mia, evaluating her carefully. She reaches out, fluffing out her hair, feeling the texture, and assessing the breakage.

“This is going to take some work,” she says with a nod. “Fortunately, you brought her to the right place.”

Irene goes to the waiting area, and Charlotte directs Mia further inside.

Charlotte starts her off with a wash and conditioning treatment. When that’s done, she mixes up the treatment and brings it over to the station where Mia is seated.

She begins the sectioning and hand-painting process and works section by section, painting specifically selected strands, then and covering them with aluminum foil.

When it’s time for Mia to sit under the dryer, childish boredom paws at her. Not having anything better to do, she takes out her phone and gives social media an empty-headed peruse, only to be interrupted by an incoming text.

Akin

my mom won’t stop hassling me about tonight. She keeps tryna play matchmaker.

Mia

Lol, you and me both, star boy. You should’ve seen her face when I told her :O

Akin

Haaa! Anyway, almost done with practice, see you in a few hours.

Mia

Bet.

When the timer goes off, it’s time for rinsing and applying a protein treatment. And she finishes with a blow dry and trim.

Charlotte swivels the chair around like revealing a grand unveiling. The power of having good hair.

Mia turns her head from side to side in sheer, speechless shock, never knowing that her hair could be this voluminous.

Espresso-brown tresses with a well-blended result, a soft natural look buffed to a shine, waves of vibrant brown flowing to her waist.

“Yeah,” Mia says dazedly. “You’re way better than Sally.”

Charlotte grins and shoots her wink through the mirror.

Irene totters over with a growing smile. “Charlotte, you truly are a miracle worker.”

“Oh, stop.” Her manicured hand goes flying. “God blessed these hands. It would be foolish of me not to use them.”

They both thank her and Irene makes her way to the front desk to pay. Mia heads outside to wait by the silver Volkswagen. When Irene emerges, she unlocks the car and Mia enters first.

“Now for the hard part,” Irene says while climbing inside. “Finding an outfit.”

Getting hair done eats at one’s time, but choosing the right outfits eats at one’s patience.

When Mia arrives home, she bolts for the front door, only to find it locked.

She whips around. “Why’d you lock the door?”

“Since some kidnapper is snatching up kids that you were friends with.”

Irene walks up the front porch with the keys ready in her hands, and opens the door. Mia rushes inside and darts up the staircase, entering the first room on her right.

She goes for her wardrobe and flings all the doors open in sequence, eyeing down the rows of shelves. A montage of trying on clothes ensues, mixing and matching with various pieces until she decides on the perfect one.

“Mia!” Irene shouts from downstairs. “You’re going to be late.”

“Done,” she appears, stepping off the last stair.

“Okaay.”

Mia does a dramatic twirl, showing off her outfit. A matching black two-piece; a pants set. A one-shoulder crop top with black straps that crisscross over her midsection, paired with high-waisted pants.

“You look amazing, baby.” Irene’s eyes drop to her shoes, admiration devolving into animosity. “Though I’d love to see you wear it with heels.”

She glances down at her black and white, high-top sneakers. “What’s wrong with my kicks?”

“Nothing,” Irene says with pride swelling in her chest. “You look perfect.

“And if Akin says any different, he’ll be cut from the soccer team,” she adds sweetly.

Mia frowns through her smile. “Why?”

“Because I’ll break his legs.”

***

The waiter wafts by to drop off his comment.

“Looks like you’ve been stood up.”

Akin checks his phone for the ninth time. “I’ve only been waiting for six minutes. Mind your business.”

Two more minutes pass before the elaborate door of Sur la Meropens and in walks Mia. Her advent beckons his attention, luring his gaze as she ambles inside, visibly stunned by the sumptuous enhancements to the interior.

Akin could call her over but he decides to indulge in the moment a little while longer, watching as she strolls inside, admiring the architecture, her face suffused with wonder.

The Emerald globe lights mounted on brass fixtures shine on her, polishing her pallid skin with an ephemeral glow.

His gaze sneaks a peek at her body, her all-black outfit, the cool black straps twisted around her soft stomach.

Mia continues from the patisserie into the main dining room, where cherry-red leather covers banquette seating that forms a strip down the center. And that’s where she spots Akin herself.

“Hey.”

“Heyy.”

Akin slips out and goes in for a hug.

His embrace is firm and his arms are strong around her frame. His cologne drowns Mia in his scent like being under a waterfall of crisp fragrances; a potent earthy musk with tinges of sandalwood.

They pull away, trading smiles, before sliding into the booth to sit opposite each other. Akin wears an oversized white shirt with denim jeans and white Gucci Ace sneakers.

“I love your Nikes, by the way.”

Mia shoots him a grateful finger. “See, I knew you would appreciate them. My mom was complaining, wanting me to wear heels instead.”

He leans with a faux serious look. “See, that’s why we sneakerheads have to stick together.”

A snort bursts from her. The server comes over to deposit only one gold-edged menu.

He gives Akin a knowing look. And Akin’s response is a playful glare.

Mia takes the menu, pretending not to notice.

“When you’re ready to order, just call me.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“You’re not going to have a look?” A realization slaps an “of course” look on her face. “Right.”

“Yeah,” Akin says with a grin.

Mia flips the long book over, perusing over the versatile list of choices and her eyes stray to the prices. Her eyes widen. She clears her throat and places it down for a moment to look at him.

“Akin.”

“~Mia~,” he says in a sing-song voice.

“I see the building is not the only thing that has been upgraded. Your prices are mad expensive.”

Akin waves it off. “Don’t worry…it’s on the house.”

They share a grin. Mia picks the menu back up, shaking her head with amusement.

“I see what you did there.” She glances back at him with a questioning look. “So I can order anything, you sure?”

“Order the entire menu if you want.”

Once she’s ready, Akin calls the waiter back over and he collects their order, then leaves.

Shortly, an uncomfortable feeling worms its way inside of them, tension making a devastating assault, the air bloating with unsaid words—words that can ~never~ be said.

An unexplainable guilt ambushes Mia from nowhere. She is thinking of Keila.

Akin notices this, her expressing growing more still, a reminiscent look in her eyes.

“What’s on your mind?”

Mia snaps out of it with a sharp sniff. “Sorry, lost in thought.”

“Then let’s get lost together,” he says, encouraging her admission.

And she gives it to him, saying, “Do you think it’s weird that…we’re here about to eat—probably amazing food—while Keila is only God knows where?”

The light in Akin’s eyes wanes. “The truth is…there is nothing we can do. The tragedy is if we do nothing, something bad might happen.

“But if we do something, something so much worse ~will ~happen. It’s not a risk. It’s dangerous, certain, and inescapable. You know this.”

~So we should just let what happened to Erin happen to Keila?~

Mia does not wish to sour a lovely evening, a miraculous event, by voicing her own qualms. It would only lead to further fracturing, which she could not endure. Not again.

She just got one of the six back and does not wish to lose him for a future alternative she cannot be sure of.

Akin’s eyes dart to her chest. “You still wear it…that’s sweet.”

Mia looks down at the broken heart, the rusting pendant that lost its luster. Usually, she would wear it with it tucked beneath layers. But ever since Keila’s vanishing, it has taken a seat of honor on the throne of her chest.

“You still have yours?”

“Yeah, it’s somewhere in my room.” He smiles sadly. “I guess we both have had a hard time letting go.”

“More than I’d ever admit,” she says.

He gives her a contemplative nod. “Do you think it was a mistake that we split up?”

“We didn’t split, we fell apart,” she says, ridding herself of a pent-up breath. “It happened so fast…over a long time. Everything was too raw, then, and I think it was for the best to be apart. But now is a different time.”

“Today is a new dawn,” he harmonizes.

“Today is a new dawn,” she echoes. “Who knows?” Deviating from the seriousness, she says, “How is it possible that a buzz cut has made your already sharp cheekbones even sharper?”

He laughs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you very much,” he says in an Elvis impression, his hand brushing over his head. And then he looks at her, his eyes tracing her face, making her heart flutter.

“We’re not so different, Angelina Jolie.”

She flicks the compliment away with her hand. “Shut up.~”~

In time, their food arrives, and the server lays down her meal.

She has ordered a seafood platter served with Mediterranean rice and hand-cut fries, accompanied by a trio of garlic butters, and deep-fried calamari strips in a savory salt-and-pepper crust with tartar sauce.

Akin is served beef fillet medallions with a roasted bone marrow jus, truffled mashed potato, grilled beetroot, and mange-tout with caramelized onions.

“Wow,” she says, in awe of the quantity and the quality of gourmet seafood. “This is how I imagine Poseidon eats.”

Akin snorts a laugh. “Eat up. We still have a selection of deserts to kill after this.”

Mia takes up a fork with a smile. “Yeah, sure that fits in with the macros, star boy?”

“Ha, ha,” he says flatly, picking up his knife and fork without breaking eye contact. “I’ll just burn it all off in training tomorrow.”

As they continue to relish in each other’s company, quenching a suppressed thirst, the evening darkens into the night, more people filtering out of the restaurant as time speeds by.

Their joint excitement spurs their endless conversation, reminiscing about the time before Erin’s disappearance, and sharing stories about more recent occurrences.

They are oblivious to even the waiter when he comes to gather their empty plates, and even more people are clearing out.

This moment that is theirs and theirs alone is a great reprieve from the great sorrow that is Keila’s vanishing. They know what it means, but this night, they choose blissful ignorance.

“Amelia!”

Mia’s smile falls off her face.

Irene appears inside the almost-empty restaurant, hurrying toward them with urgency.

Akin snickers, and Mia’s hand shields her face from mortal mortification.

“Amelia, I’ve been calling and calling—”

“You know where I’ve been at?” she interjects to point at Akin.

Akin’s snickers die in his mouth. “Ma’am, I’m—”

With her eyes still on Mia, she throws a silencing finger in his direction. His mouth clamps shut.

“It’s quarter to twelve.”

Mia gapes at her. “~Really~?”

“Ha.” Akin checks the time on his phone. “It’s earlier than I thought.”

They both gape at him.

“Clearly, you are someone accustomed to the nightlife,” Irene says in a judgmental tone. “My daughter, however, is not. She spends her weekends home alone.”

“~Mom~.”

“What?” she says innocently.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a good girl,” Akin says and waits for her to look at him to give her a subtle wag of his brows.

Akin then conjures a no-nonsense expression, exiting the booth to look Irene in the eye.

“Ma’am, I want to apologize for not being responsible for your daughter’s time. I should’ve made sure that she was home earlier. I just lost myself in her.”

Irene’s eyes bulge out of their sockets.

Mia facepalms herself.

“~I mean~,” he says too loudly, then dropping his voice to an appropriate volume, “it’s been years since we’ve had an evening like this together.”

He drops the melodrama, somberness driving all play from his voice. “I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed her, how much she’s grown, and I just soaked in every second with her.

“Truthfully, if you had not come, I would’ve talked to her for even more hours. There’d never be enough hours.”

Mia gazes up, heat mounting in her cheeks, flutters squirming in her stomach.

“Because of that ~beautiful~ monologue, I’ll let it slide,” Irene says with a warning finger. “This time.

“Now that business is out of the way”—a smile lights up her face—“it’s nice to see you again, Akin.”

“Likewise, ma’am.”

She gives him a quick scan and glances at Mia. “You were right. He is jacked.”

“~Mom!~”