Chapter 1
September
“Some beautiful paths can’t be discovered without getting lost”
-Erol Ozan
Chapter 1
Katherine
I fucking hate California.
The smell, the smog, the girls with tiny dogs in their purses. I’ve never been the kind of girl who fits in here. Maybe I would have if I’d stayed—shallow and naïve, blissfully unaware that real problems existed beyond the beach. Thankfully, my parents’ divorce saved me from finding out.
Six hours and twenty-five minutes. That’s how long I’ve been cramped against an airplane window, wishing I were going anywhere else. I know most people dream of a life on the West Coast, but I’ve already been there and done that. Sure, the beaches are beautiful, but I like the hustle and bustle of the city. It’s who I am. It’s been nine years since I was last here—nine years since I’ve seen my brother, Jack or my father. I’m worried that they won’t like who I am now. I’m not the same little girl they used to know. My heart all but explodes out of my chest as the wheels hit the tarmac.
I’m here.
I can’t quite figure out why, but I’m shaking. It takes everything in me to walk off the plane. I take the time to look at all the people around me as I stroll through baggage claim. My anxiety is nearly debilitating as I wait for my bag. I practically launch myself toward it as it slides into my line of sight. The people beside me stare as I push through the crowd to find the nearest bathroom. I need an escape. I can feel the panic rising in my chest. I’d blame the Los Angeles smog for the heaviness in my breathing, but I know it has nothing to do with the air. I slam the bathroom door open and grip the sink to center myself, looking in the mirror. I close my eyes and try to focus. My shaky hands start to release the grip they have on the sink after a few seconds. I run the sink, splashing a handful of cold water on my face. It stings as it hits my skin but is startling enough to bring me back to reality. As I dry my face, I feel my phone vibrate. I pull my phone out of my sweatpants pocket and unlock it. Jack is here, waiting outside in his G Wagon. His vehicle choice doesn’t shock me; the Mikhailov boys are inclined to display their wealth. For a moment, I contemplate turning off my phone and getting on a plane back to New York. I crumple the paper towel in my hand, tossing it in the trash as I grab my suitcase and push through the door.
The West Coast sun hits my skin as soon as I step outside. I forgot how hot it is here in September. It doesn’t feel bad, but it feels unfamiliar. My eyes scan the pickup lane through the bright reflection of the sun bouncing off the cars and fall on Jack almost immediately. He somehow looks entirely different but the same. He’s taller than he was the last time I saw him, standing about six feet now. His dirty-blonde hair and stubble are perfectly maintained. He is the spitting image of our mother. When he sees me, his face breaks into a smile. A familiar smile, her smile. As I make my way over to his car, his demeanor changes. He almost seems a little nervous.
“Katie,” he says as he pulls me in for the most uncomfortable hug. “I can’t believe how grown up you are, I almost didn’t recognize you.
I hated Katie; no one else on this Earth could ever get away with it. You see, the thing is, I’ve never stopped adoring my brother, even when he stopped calling. Even when he didn’t show up for our mother’s funeral. I always wanted to believe he felt abandoned and that’s what stopped him from reaching out to us: that and our father’s manipulation. I pull back and muster a weak smile and an even weaker wave. I want to give him more, but I’m not sure I have it in me. The ride home is filled with forced conversation. I was hoping it would come naturally, but the reality is that we don’t know each other anymore.
“So, what have you been up to?” he asks, keeping his pale green eyes focused on the traffic. “Not much,” I reply petulantly. “I work a lot.”
He looks to me sympathetically.
“That can’t be all you do, Katie, " he says shyly. “Interests? Friends? *Boyfriend?*” He scrunches his face in horror when he asks about a boyfriend.
Since my mother died, my interests have taken the back seat and right now, I don’t have any friends here. So, I can’t offer him the happy-go-lucky response he wants.
“I like to paint,” I explain. “But I haven’t had the time since Mom died.”
There’s a shift in the energy in the car after I bring up our mother. Jack sits restlessly in the driver's seat, seeming bothered by the mention of her existence.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Katie,” he says softly.
The sincerity in his voice makes it hard to stay angry. I want to scream at him for leaving us behind, for forgetting us, but I’m afraid I’ll fall apart if I do.
“I didn’t know things were that bad, I never would have thought this would have happened.” he persists. “I know I could have been a better brother. I could have been a better son, too.”
How could he have known how bad it was? It’s not like he ever visited. He couldn’t even be bothered to make a phone call all of those years.
“That’s why I think you should try to get to know Dad. He’s not all bad, Katie. I know you’re mad at him; I get it. I spent years mad at Mom for leaving.But one day, he won’t be here anymore, and I don’t want you to feel the same guilt I feel.”
I can’t help but be saddened by his statement. I wondered if he would be overcome with guilt after our mom died. I don’t know how he wouldn’t be.
“I want to try,” I murmur, appeasing Jack to the best of my ability.
It’s half true; as much of a bastard as my father is, a part of me wishes I had that bond with him. Deep down, most girls wish they had that bond with their father.
“He’s excited that you’re home,” Jack says. “I am, too.”
“Is he remarried?” I ask, masking my misery with small talk.
“He is.” Jack looks at me, trying to get a read on my mood. “He married Larissa about five years ago.”
“Are there any more siblings I should know about?” I need to know what I’m getting into.
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Just me.”
That’s good, at least. I look out of the window, praying he’ll change the subject.
“Do you still watch football?” I inquire, desperate to break the tension.
“Every Sunday,” He smiles.
“Do you live close?” I peer over at him as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.
“It’s only about fifteen minutes from the house, so it’s not bad,” he drawls. “Don’t worry, I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” I respond through a smile before turning to look out the window.
“Laguna Beach. Home of The Festival Of Arts and Pageant Of The Masters.” It has been a long time since I’ve seen that sign; my god, nine years have taken a toll on it. It seems dingier than I remember, but maybe the sign hasn’t changed. I have. I’m unsure if I’m nervous about seeing my father or completely dreading it. As we pull down the driveway, my stomach is in knots. When Jack throws the car into park, he looks at me considerately.
“He’s a lot different now, you know. He works less, and he’s pretty involved. Larissa brought something out of him.” He says it in a way that makes me wonder if he’s trying to convince himself or me.
“Larissa, huh?” I ask irritably.
I’m not entirely surprised it took someone else’s influence to get Ivan Mikailov to act like a decent human. We get out of the car, and I stand there soaking in the sun, admiring the palm trees that line the driveway—years in my mother’s one-bedroom apartment make this house look enormous. Everything about it is almost too perfect—the manicured lawn, the freshly painted exterior, the neatly trimmed hedges, windows so large a Prius could comfortably drive through them. It’s breathtaking. I wonder if I might have been better off having just stayed here. That thought quickly escapes my mind as the front door swings open and my father comes barreling down the steps towards me.
“кукла!” he yells as he wraps me up in what almost feels like a genuine hug.
He smells the same, like leather and pine. His once-black hair has gone mostly gray, and his Moscow accent remains untouched by the American drawl. As much as I hate this man, I want to cry when he hugs me. I hold it in, though, because I’m too afraid my tears will tarnish his clearly expensive suit.
“I missed you.” He smiles as he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You have to meet Larissa and see all of the renovations! We cleaned out your old room and made it more appropriate; I’m sure you aren’t still into One Direction.”
He’s right, I got over that obsession years ago. He grabs my hand and leads me into the house. The foyer is still the same as it was growing up. The sunlight catching the chandelier sends little beads of light dancing on the marble floors. I look nostalgically around the room, the same room I used to strut around wearing princess dresses in. I hate feeling like this; it still feels like home.
“Your house looks beautiful, Dad,” I say, trying my best not to make direct eye contact with him.
“It’s still your house, too, you know.” He responds, sadness settling in his voice. I’m beginning to wonder if Jack was right; maybe he has changed. The smell of a home-cooked meal permeates throughout the house; it’s been years since I’ve smelled that. It seems he’s found himself yet another Stepford housewife. Suddenly, the loud clacking of heels echoes from the staircase. I turn quickly and see a woman so glamorous, I could only assume she was married to my father. She is tall and thin, but not too tall or too thin. Her long auburn curls bounce in perfect synchronization with each step she takes. The way she spins her body to face me when she finally reaches the bottom is something straight out of Vogue. She smells like lavender and is wearing a brightly colored sundress. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.
“Oh, there she is!” My father says excitedly.
I brace myself, waiting for a condescending comment and forced hug, but it never comes.
“Hi honey, I’m Larissa.” She says cautiously, reaching her hand out to me.
I take it, “I’m Katherine, it’s nice to meet you.”
My eyes trail up from my hand to meet hers. She is beautiful, but that isn’t what shocks me. What shocks me is how normal she is. She seems natural. She’s younger than Dad, but you can tell it isn’t by that much. Her skin is pale white with light brown freckles splayed across her face.
“Dinner should be just about done. I tried my hand at a pot roast. So everyone be nice. It’s my first one.” she jokes before leading us towards the kitchen.
She gets two points for her humor but way more than that for admitting that she was, in fact, not perfect. I pace myself slowly, falling behind my father and Jack. Right before entering the kitchen, Jack whips around and blocks the doorway.
“You good Katie?” he asks, looking at me sincerely.
I nod my head before pushing past him and into the kitchen. Dad is bent over, pulling the pot roast out of the oven. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cook before.
“Okay, I think we’re done!” Larissa exclaims before grabbing a pile of dishes off of the counter. “Let’s eat!”
Jack and I do our best setting the table while Ivan and Larissa cut into the roast and pour everyone a glass of wine. The room is silent, with only the sound of forks hitting the plates filling the room.
“So, uh, Larissa, how did you guys meet?” I ask meekly.
I’m not exactly happy to be here, but I won’t live in awkward silence either.
“Oh!” She giggles. “It’s a funny story.”
“Here we go,” Jack says, rolling his eyes comedically.
“So I used to bartend at Marine Room Tavern, and Jack over here was a regular. He and his friend, uhm, shit, what’s his name again, Jack?” She asks.
Jack looks over at her, and you can tell he’s about to laugh. “Brant.”
Holy shit, Brant Murphy. Jack’s best friend for as far back as I can remember. I used to love when he would come to the house. He would always joke around with me. He was Jack’s only friend that never treated me like the annoying little sister. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome either.
“So it’s probably been about a year of me serving them when one night, the cops show up and start carding everyone.” She continues laughing, “And suddenly, Brant, he just gets up and runs. Immediately, it clicks that these kids have been tricking me for a solid year. Anyway, Jack ends up getting caught, and the police call your dad to come get him. So yeah, something about me illegally serving his son alcohol really impressed him because here we are.”
We’re all laughing now; I hate how much I’m enjoying this dinner.
“Oh, Katie!” Jack roars, immediately gaining my attention. “Speaking of Brant, I’m going to meet up with him for drinks tonight, and I was doing some thinking. I know you just got here, but he’s been running the company for a while now and could use some help. I was thinking maybe I’d ask if he could get you in as an assistant or a receptionist. It probably doesn’t seem all that interesting, but it’s something to do for now.”
I stare at him, confused.
“Oh, did Mr. Murphy retire?” I ask.
Jack’s expression changes as he stares down at his plate.
“Uh, no,” he says, “he passed away seven years ago.”
Shocked, I stare back at him, my fork stopping halfway to my mouth.
I know I shouldn’t care this much. I haven’t seen the Murphys in almost a decade, but I couldn’t think of a family who deserves that loss less. Plus, I know what it’s like to lose a parent. If I remember correctly, the Murphys were a really close family, like something out of a sitcom. Their mother, Melinda, was a fantastic woman; I never left their home without a plate of food and a hug. I hope she’s okay.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
And it’s true, I was.
“Anyway, I think it would be good, honey,” Dad interrupts.
“Definitely, plus we all know how much you love Brant,” Jack says with a chuckle.
“Shut up,” I say with a smile, my cheeks getting hot. “But yeah, I think I could manage that.”
Can I, though? I know Jack is happy to have me back, but I don’t plan to be here for too long. I should at least try and pretend to be happy for his sake. For a minute, I stare at my food and push it around with my fork. My thoughts are drowning out the sounds of Dad and Jack talking loudly about some house they want to sell in The Valley. It didn’t come as a shock to learn he followed in Dad’s footsteps as a real estate agent. As much as I love my brother, I want to go home.
After dinner, I bring my bags to my room and start to unpack. The walls are still the same shade of pale pink I begged for when I was seven. I hate pink, and I hate myself for ever wanting pink walls. My posters are all gone; there are fresh flowers on the nightstand and a brand-new king-size bed. If I had to guess, I would say Larissa probably designed my new room. I sit down on the bed, enjoying the silence. I’m exhausted from my flight and hoping they leave me alone. I could tell Larissa sensed my discomfort tonight; that’s another few points for her. I shut my eyes and try convincing myself that this move could be good. I can’t remember the last time I had this much privacy. On one hand, my father’s excitement makes me feel good, but I feel guilty for feeling that way. My mind starts to wander to my mother. She hated my father, so wanting a relationship with him feels wrong. He put her through so much, though he’d never take responsibility for it. I can feel the familiar sense of dread coming over me. So, instead, I begin to envision my first day at Murphy Athletics. I wonder if Brant is still the same fun-loving kid he was ten years ago. I doubt it. I remember everyone saying he’d play football professionally one day. Considering Jack wants me working at Murphy Athletics, I guess life had other plans. I used to sit outside with Jack and Brant when I was little and attempt to participate in everything they did. I was so taken by Brant. He just had a way about him that I hope hasn’t been diminished by his unfortunate circumstances. I wonder if he’s still handsome. He’s always been ridiculously handsome, but he never gave the impression that he knew it. His eyes were a light shade of brown, overtaken by a substantial amount of green, and his dark hair always had this perfect flow. I roll over and stare at the wall where my One Direction poster used to be. Somewhere between wondering if this house could ever feel like home again and wondering if Brant Murphy is still the same kid he once was, I slowly drift off to sleep.
