Page 82 of Embrace

My mom takes my hand in hers, and a sharp jolt goes straight to my heart. It’s been so long since I felt the warmth of her hand. For a second, I try to forget where we are, who she thinks I am, and just bask in the warm touch.

Then something more painful, more desperate makes me pull in closer, forcing me to crouch lower and pull my mom into a hug. She chuckles in surprise as I hug her tight, trying to hold her for as long as I can. Even if it’s not me she’s hugging.

My eyes sting and my vision blurs just before I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale her familiar scent. It yanks me back to the day I left for Dalton. Mom had refused to say goodbye, her arms crossed stubbornly, her lips pressed in a line. But just as I climbed into the car, she had pulled me into the tightest hug, as if it could tether us forever.

I let myself live in that memory, basking in the way her arm moves up and down my back like it used to, squeezing almost as tightly as I do. I miss her, and yet she’s right here in my arms.

“We were only apart for a second, Kai,” she says softly in Japanese.Her voice pulls me from the memory, dropping me back into this cruel reality, where she doesn’t know me, where I can only reach her by becoming someone else—my dead father.

When I finally let her go, she’s not smiling anymore. She’s got that familiar faraway look in her eyes. Her gaze drifts to my hand, lingering on the tattoos crawling over my knuckles. I watch the recognition falter, confusion settling across her face like a shadow.

“What…what’s this?” she whispers, her voice catching. “You don’t have these.” Her chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths.

I try to stay calm, stepping back so I don’t crowd her. The research I’ve read on dementia rolls through my mind like a teleprompter. Stay calm, go along with it, don’t stress her out.

“Where’s my husband?” she says, sounding increasingly frustrated. “Who are you?”

“He’s here. I’ll go—”

That’s when Kiyomi rushes inside, shooting me an apologetic look. “Mom, look who’s here to see you,” she says, gesturing to the doctor trailing behind her.

Kiyomi moves to me, placing a light hand on my shoulder. “It’s late. You should go home, Kian. I’ll update you,” she says softly.

I reluctantly nod. “Call me, okay?”

Kiyomi smiles. “I promise.”

My sister gives Scarlett a hug, thanking her for coming, giving me one last look before we head out.

Everything in me wants to stay, and I linger for a minute. Scarlett doesn’t say a word, she just wraps her arm around my biceps, staring down the long hallway with me.

She steers us toward the parking lot. “Where did you park? I can leave my car here and drive us back in yours.”

Who are you?

“Kian?”

I shake my head, focusing on Scarlett. “I didn’t. I took an Uber—I couldn’t even think when I got the call.”

She nods, steering us the other way. “I have my car. I’ll take you home, okay?”

When we get to her car and I offer to drive, she waves me off. I shake my head and get into the passenger side just as she starts the ignition. The radio crackles, but when she presses a button to turn it off, she hits the CD rotation instead. It whirs to life and “Over the Rainbow” starts to play.

The song shocks the breath out of me.

Scarlett quickly moves to turn it down. “Sorry, I didn’t know that CD was still in there.”

I stop her with a delicate hand on her wrist.

“You want it on?” she asks.

I nod, my eyes fixed on the console for a long moment before a quiet laugh slips out. I drop my head against the headrest, letting the chords wash over me like they were sent straight from my dad. It’s the song he always sang to me.

This time the grief doesn’t hit me. Instead, I just let myself bask in how ridiculous the timing is.

Scarlett doesn’t make me talk during the drive, and I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I know, the car’s stopped in front of the hockey house.

We exit the car and stand there for a minute. I barely hear Scarlett’s ramble about when she’s going to come back to check on me. How she’ll be finished at this exact time and how long it takes to drive from campus to my house.