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Chapter Eleven

EDEN

My living room is almost date-ready.

I’ve scrubbed plywood floors and broken several nails while prying open windows to wash them. My folding card table and plastic lawn chairs look nicer with the drop cloth—now repurposed as a tablecloth. In the middle of the table is a cluster of the tea lights I packed at the last minute, in case the boat was dark at night. Next to them is a Mason jar flower posy, which I bribed a bunch of kids to pick and deliver.

I’m feeling proud of myself for everything I’ve done. So why do I feel a strange, creeping dread every time I look around? Like something that was once familiar has come back to haunt me?

Wait. That’s it.

I swallow hard, turning on my heel. There it is: the half-finished painting of Sunrise Island, still leaning against the living room wall. All those layers and layers of storm clouds watching me… it just feels like a bad omen.

A shiver runs down my spine. I gulp and shake my head. “Nope,” I tell the painting a little too loudly, like bravado will help me contain its strange power. I grab the frame, turning it around to face the wall. “We can do better.”

I flip through the canvases leaning against each other nearby until I land on exactly the right one. “And the lucky winner is…”

This painting is a quirky explosion of colour: an apartment building with huge higgledy-piggledy windows, each apartment reflecting its own family’s lively character. If you took Sunrise Island and transplanted it to a Vancouver high-rise… it’s almost the right vibe. It’s not as personal, but it won’t bring the mood down.

“There.” I step back, casting an eye across the living room. Just as I dig out my phone to snap a photo, it starts buzzing in my hand. Shit, Murph isn’t cancelling, is he?

But one look at the caller ID deflates all my nerves and then some.

George. I grimace. But there’s only one way to know what he wants, so I tap the answer button.

Before I can even say a word, George starts talking. “Eden, Eden, Eden,” he drawls in that used car salesman voice. “You about ready to come to your senses? You’ve cost me so much money, you know.”

Is he slurring his words? I wrinkle my nose, checking the time on my phone and rolling my eyes. It’s not even five o’clock yet. But then, he’s a big fan of long client lunches at the best of times.

“Really?” I snap. “You’re really calling to ask that?”

He laughs obnoxiously. “Yeah. I bet you’d last a day on that stupid thing. We’re in between JJ or Chip’s bets right now, but…” he gives a long-suffering sigh, “I’ll swallow the loss.”

The only reason I haven’t said anything yet is because I’m counting backwards from ten, my teeth clenched.

Four, three, two ? —

With every passing day, I feel more like myself—my real self, not just the parts I think George will like the most. And he’s not going to like what’s coming.

“It’s starting to feel like home, actually,” I interrupt whatever he’s in the middle of saying. “More than your apartment ever did, because it’s really mine. Now, why the hell are you calling me?”

George’s laughter dies off. “Wh-Huh?” Then he huffs with irritation. “Eden. You’re not making this easy. I’m giving you the chance to come home. Just take the deal.”

Ugh. I knew it. Between his daddy’s money and his own oily charm, George always gets what he wants. But it’s finally time to tell him what I should have said all those months ago.

“George,” I tell him, as sharp as I’ve ever been with him. “If that’s what you want, I’m only going to say this once.”

He catches his breath with so much hope that I’d almost feel sorry for him. “Uh huh?”

“ Fuck. Right. Off. ”

I’m counting the seconds of silence. We’re at eight so far.

Nine, ten, eleven ? —

“B-But…” George finally stutters. “But you love me.”

Boy, does he have some balls. I bark a laugh, wiping a hand down my face. “God. No, George. I really don’t. I don’t know whether I ever did… but I know for sure you never loved me .”

“But—”

“We’re done. You missed your chance.”

Another long pause, with only the sound of George’s breathing getting louder and louder.

Shit. Wait. Is he crying?

However mean-spirited George can be, he’s always just reminded me of a lost little boy. And however much I can tease people and rile them up, I don’t have a cruel bone in my body. My forehead creases and I sigh, half-formed apology already on my lips.

“Seriously?” George snarls.

Shit. I can’t believe I almost fell for that trick. But my heart is sinking like a stone at the sound of his pre-rant voice. Sure enough, here he goes.

“Nobody else will treat you this good. They can’t do everything for you that I can. You need me, we both know that. You need someone to look after you?—”

“So that you can have a backup option ?” I cut him off. Whatever sympathy he almost conjured up is gone. I’m not playing nice anymore. “If you really gave a shit about me, you’d start by grovelling. Not trying to persuade me that I’m worthless without you.”

The silence on the other end is so deep that I glance at my phone screen. But he hasn’t hung up on me. He’s just stunned that I’ve grown a backbone. “I—uh—okay, maybe it was… I shouldn’t have—but anyway, that’s not my point.”

Wow. Even for George, this takes some fucking brass balls.

I thump my forehead slowly against the wall of the boat. With every word he speaks, all I can think is how much I’ve changed in a short time—and how much I don’t want to go back there. Not ever again.

“I thought we already had an understanding,” he says, picking up steam as my jaw drops further and further in disbelief. “Listen, we can do a deal. We start fresh. Both of us get what we need. You help with my career, I help with yours. And we don’t have to like each other right away. It takes time to mend bridges, right?” I make a tiny, strangled noise. “ And ,” George rushes to keep talking over me, “you get to leave that shitty so-called boat in the junkyard. I mean, we should live together, for appearance’s sake… but… we can work something out. I could give you the guest room.”

“The guest—” I can’t keep my laughter in anymore. My ribs ache from holding it in. I double over, almost wheezing for breath.

“What?” George snaps. I almost pity him. Who the hell wouldn’t see that he’s only making it worse? Then again, if he could see his hand in front of his face, I wouldn’t be here—literally. So I guess I should be grateful for his obliviousness.

“That’s just it. The only thing I wanted from you was… you . And that was the one thing you could never give me. Without that, it’s not love, George. It’s just a bad business deal. I’m going to find what I deserve. I hope you get what you deserve one day, too.”

“Wh—” George huffs, but I’ve let him waste enough of my time.

“Goodbye,” I tell him, and I hang up.

A grin spreads over my face as I keep tapping at my screen, looking through the menus. As satisfying as that was, I can do one better. I tap the block button, close my eyes, and sigh. “And that’s it.”

George had to show up and rain on my parade one more time. But he’s gone, and I have more important things to think about—like getting to the Sunrise Island grocery store before it closes.

“So… where the hell is that inflatable dinghy?”