The next morning, I wake up to find Kai sipping coffee in bed, one hand resting on my back.
“How are you always up first?” I ask, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window. “And please say you got me coffee, too.”
“I told you, I don’t sleep.” Kai kisses my bare shoulder before reaching toward the bedside table to grab a second cup. “And of course I did.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, sitting up and taking the steaming cup. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”
He smiles. “You mean, do I still plan on meeting my occasionally kind, sometimes vicious, always narcissistic mother for breakfast? Why yes, I do. I’m going to enjoy a delicious frittata and tell her I’ve decided not to participate in the anniversary special.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Cool. She might poison your food, though, so maybe you should get the frittata to go.”
“Ah, but I’m bringing you with me, so you can keep an eye out for misdeeds,” Kai says, leaving a trail of kisses down my arm. “If you’re comfortable joining, of course.”
I’m not entirely comfortable, but then again, I’ve spent all summer doing something that makes me uncomfortable, so I think I can handle a short breakfast. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
After a shared shower that leads to other, less-squeaky-clean shared activities, we dress and take an Uber to the restaurant, a bright, open space with a chrome exterior and a slanted cedar awning. We’re ten minutes early, but Dr. Kimber is already seated at a table on the patio, wearing a royal blue wrap and white slacks. She’s nothing like the braided, smiling woman I remember from the cover of her book, and I feel a pang of nostalgia for simpler times when I thought she was a real-life superwoman. And maybe she is when it comes to saving gorillas, but she’s no hero when it comes to being Kai’s mother.
And for some reason, that’s what matters more to me.
“Sit,” Dr. Kimber says, smiling as we reach her table. “Welcome. You’re both looking well.”
I want to say something cutting, like, Looks can be deceiving, can’t they? but old habits die hard, and for a split second, I forget she’s no longer my idol.
“I love your wrap,” I tell her, and then I immediately want to kick myself.
She smiles. “I ordered you grapefruit juice, Kai. I didn’t know what you’d like, Lucy, so I just guessed a mimosa.”
I love mimosas, but I’m determined to stay loyal to Kai, so I keep my enthusiasm to a minimum. “Thank you.”
“Now,” Dr. Kimber says, stirring a mug of coffee, “I know it’s uncouth to get down to business before you’ve even looked at the menu, but we have a lot to cover.” She turns her attention to Kai, who crosses his arms over his chest in a way that works very well for his biceps.
“I had a conference call with the network producer yesterday afternoon,” she continues, “and it looks like most of the Majesty on the Mountain cast will appear on the special. And after the taping, they want you and me to do a quick segment on Jimmy Fallon, which I know you’ll enjoy. You’ve always liked him, right?”
“Jimmy Fallon’s great,” Kai says. “But here’s the thing, Mum.” He pauses, a bit of the color draining from his cheeks, and I put my hand on his thigh under the table to remind him that it’s okay.
“I’ve decided not to do the special,” he says.
There’s a long pause where no one speaks, and I wonder if I should track down a waiter and order that frittata stat.
“Of course you’re going to do it,” Dr. Kimber finally says with a forced laugh. “I need you there. We’re a team.”
What she probably means is that Kai’s popularity benefits her, too, and that she needs him to sit in a leather chair across from Lester Holt and cry about poor Taji’s murder so the money keeps rolling in.
“Actually, I don’t think we’ve been a team for a very long time,” Kai says, running a hand through his hair. “Since I was about eight years old, I’d say. Don’t you think?”
Dr. Kimber’s mouth puckers, and her gaze darts toward me for the briefest of moments. Then she takes a sip of coffee and shakes her head. “I know things haven’t always been easy for you. And some of that is my fault. But we have responsibilities. You have responsibilities.”
“And sometimes people fail at their responsibilities,” he says, my hand still perched on his thigh. “If you know what I mean.”
He’s thrown down the gauntlet, and his mother smiles tightly at Kai like he’s an annoying child who needs a good timeout. “I’m happy to discuss that with you another time,” she says, raising her mug to her lips. “But make no mistake: you’re participating in the special.”
“I said no, and that’s final.” Kai reaches under the table to wrap his hand around mine. “I’m not a scared little boy anymore, Mum. Besides, I thought you didn’t like dancing monkeys.”
Dr. Kimber drops her mug, spilling coffee on the table, and she scrambles to set it upright. “Kai,” she says plaintively, “you can’t just—”
“I can do whatever I want, actually,” he says, standing up from the table. “This has been a fun reunion, Mum, but I’m gonna see about a frittata to go. Come on, Lucy.”
Kai strides toward the dining room, and I get up to follow, but Dr. Kimber reaches out to grasp my arm.
“Lucy, wait,” she says. “Please, just wait a moment.”
I don’t want to spend a second more of my time with her, but Kai’s already inside the restaurant, and his mother, who I spent decades idolizing, blinks at me like she might be on the verge of tears. I sit down hesitantly, hoping Kai hurries back.
“You seem like a nice girl,” Dr. Kimber says, her tone congenial. “You and Kai seem to care about each other. And if you care about him, I’m sure you don’t want him making any irrational decisions.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She might be a real-life Mother Gothel, but I’m no Rapunzel. “I want Kai to make whatever decisions he thinks are right for him.”
Dr. Kimber nods as if we’re in agreement. “Of course. I just mean, you seem to have a certain amount of influence over him. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to steer him wrong.”
“He’s perfectly capable of steering himself,” I say, angered by her insinuation and the fact that I don’t have a mimosa to toss at her.
“I understand. But look, Lucy, I have influence, too. Kai says you want to be a senior keeper, right? I’m friendly with Shira Woodrow, and I’d be happy to make a call on your behalf. Women like you and me are achievers. We rise to the top, and I can help you get there.”
At the start of the summer, if someone had told me that Dr. Charlotte Kimber would offer to call the zoo’s CEO and help me get my dream promotion, I would have thought they were crazy—and I might have jumped up and down for joy. But the fact that she’d stoop so low as to bribe me into manipulating her own son makes me nauseous.
“We’re nothing like each other,” I tell her, sitting ramrod straight in my chair. “And I know the truth about what happened the day Taji died. Kai told me. So please, don’t try to give me any lessons about rising to the top.”
She doesn’t flinch at my admission. “Kai’s a storyteller. It’s what he does. He’s entitled to his version of the story, but I wouldn’t go around spreading rumors if I were you.”
“I believe Kai,” I tell her, my voice so loud that other diners glance over. “And by his version of the story, I think you mean the truth.”
Charlotte gives a tepid smile. “I can see that you mean well, Lucy, but don’t be foolish. Get Kai to do the special, and I’ll make the call to Shira. It’s a win-win for both of us.”
It might be a win-win for us, but it wouldn’t be a win for Kai, and even though I started the summer hating his guts, we’ve come so far together. Too far to accept a promotion through her influence when I can get it with hard work.
“You know, Dr. Kimber,” I say, “you used to be my hero. I worshiped you. And I admire everything you’ve done for gorilla conservation, but that’s not enough to stop me from telling you that you seriously, seriously suck.”
I get up from my chair, sliding my purse over my shoulder. “A friend of mine told me that success and happiness aren’t the same. It took me a long time to realize she was right. And one day, I hope you realize it, too, while you still have a chance to make things right with Kai.”
I strut away from the table with the confidence of a peacock, but I can’t resist turning back to deliver one final blow. “And not that it matters, but he looked fine as hell in the blue suit.”
Then, leaving my longtime idol speechless, I march off to join Kai.
Taking our frittatas to go, we venture to La Jolla Cove beach and eat breakfast with sand squished between our toes. The tranquil sounds of the ocean waves crashing are the perfect soundtrack to our meal, and afterward, we walk along the shoreline and look for seashells.
“I feel so at peace,” Kai says, looping an arm around my waist and holding up a dome-shaped shell for me to admire. “With my decision. And with you. Thank you, Lucy.”
“The ocean sure doesn’t hurt, either,” I say, venturing out to dip my toe in the water.
“I know how you feel about cameras, but what do you say to a selfie?” Kai asks, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do I have to say ‘Stay wild’?”
He laughs. “No. You can say whatever you like.”
“Okay then.”
Kai stands beside me with our backs to the ocean, and he holds his phone out as we both give our cheesiest grins.
“Say ‘Wowza!’ ” I say, leaning into Kai.
“Say ‘hotel sex,’ ” he says, laughing as I elbow him in the ribs.
He snaps the shot and sends it to me, and it’s a good one. My hair’s blowing in the breeze, blocking part of Kai’s face, but his smile is undeniable, and we look happy. Carefree. So I forward the picture to Elle and Sam, along with a one-word caption: Joy.
It’s a storybook kind of day, and I feel like I’m living in a rom-com movie montage. We spend hours holding hands as we walk along the beach, stopping for ice cream cones and lemonades and eating dinner at a tiny seafood restaurant as the sun sets over the ocean. When we return to the hotel, we shower off the sand and roll around under the covers, christening this new stage of our relationship with every inch of our bodies.
It’s well past midnight when I realize I never heard back from my friends, which is odd—I fully expected Elle to send me an all-caps text with at least ten exclamation points and fourteen emojis. But when I reach for my phone to make sure the text went through successfully, I realize I must have accidentally switched the setting to Do Not Disturb. I have fifteen missed calls and twice as many texts, a bunch of them from Phil and Lottie. My fingers trembling, I tap my most recent voice mail message and lift the phone to my ear.
“Lucy,” Lottie says, her voice shaky and breathless. “Are you getting my messages? Call me back as soon as you can. It’s Zuri. She’s sick, Lucy. And it’s not looking good.”