KINA
Kara had left.
She didn't even give me time to say anything properly before she was gone again, like she always did, leaving behind only a faint trace of her presence and the small paper bag she'd dropped on my desk with a roll of her eyes.
I stared at it for a few minutes. I wasn't exactly in a hurry to open it.
Maybe it was just the embarrassment from earlier, nearly crying in the cafeteria like a total idiot, sat in the bathroom, dragging myself through a long, achy day, but I suddenly felt a little nervous. Something about the way she'd said it was from Mom made me… hesitate.
Still, I peeled the top open.
Inside was a small thermos flask, warm when I touched it, wrapped up in a soft hand towel with faint cherry blossom embroidery at the corners. Underneath it, there was a tiny ziploc pouch of dried hawthorn flakes and a sealed bottle of herbal medicated oil that I hadn't seen since high school.
I blinked.
It wasn't much. But something about it, that quiet, subtle kind of care that always came from my mom in odd, almost passive-aggressive ways hit me square in the chest.
The thermos was probably filled with ginger and red date tea, a rainy season staple she'd been forcing down my throat since I was little. Good for circulation, she'd always say. Keeps the chills out. Though I hated the ginger in it.
I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My chest still felt tight, but… not the same kind of tight.
I'd call her after work, I decided. It'd been a while anyway. Maybe she'd pick up this time.
Trying to shove my feelings somewhere quiet, I sat up straighter and got back to work. My cramps came back in waves, sharper this time, but I gritted my teeth through them. I had a whole day of backlog to clear after missing yesterday, and there was no way I was going home without clearing at least the top layer.
By the time most people had packed up and left, the office was mostly dark. Only a few dim lights above the corridors and the soft glow of my computer screen remained. The silence was kind of comforting. Still, my lower back throbbed and my shoulders were stiff. I let myself slump back in the chair for a minute, stretching.
I picked up my phone.
No new notifications.
I opened my messages anyway, even though I already knew what I'd find. Aaron still hadn't replied.
Something unpleasant twisted in my stomach, deeper than the cramps. I stared at the thread of texts for a moment, then sighed and hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Straight to voicemail.
My lips parted, then pressed together again before I gave a tiny, awkward sigh and spoke.
"Hey, um… just checking in. Again. I know you're probably busy or… or just don't want to talk, and that's okay. I just… hope you're okay. Yeah. Okay. That's it. Bye."
I hung up, immediately regretting the whole thing.
What even was that?
With my thumb still hovering over the screen, I switched apps and hit my mom's contact.
The phone rang for a while before she finally picked up.
"Hello?" she said, voice sharp and plain, not even trying to sound interested.
My stomach dropped a little, but I forced myself to sound cheery.
"Hi, Ma! It's me! I got the flask and the snacks and the oil… thank you, really."
A beat of silence.
Then, "Mm."
I waited. Nothing else.
I pushed forward with a small, awkward laugh. "How are you doing? How's your knees? Is the weather bad over there too? Kara said it was raining last night…"
"They're the same as always," she replied. "And I'm not dead yet, if that's what you're asking."
I chewed the inside of my cheek. That tone—cold, blank, vaguely irritated wasn't anything new. But it still made me sit a little straighter, like I was in trouble for something I hadn't done yet.
"Well, I just… wanted to check in. It's been a while. I've been really busy lately, and—"
"I know," she interrupted. "You've always been busy. Too busy to think properly. Too busy to take care of yourself. That's why I had to send those things through Kara. I know you'd never remember on your own."
I winced a little, even though she couldn't see me. "That's not true," I said with a small laugh, trying to keep it light. "I do take care of myself. Just… not like the way you would."
"You moved out without telling me."
That stopped me.
Her voice hadn't raised in volume, but it felt louder. Deeper. Like it carried all the things she never said.
"I worked my fingers to the bone raising you, Kina," she continued. "And you repay me by running off, hiding everything, and living in some shoebox like a stray cat. You've always been selfish like that."
I swallowed. My fingers curled slightly into my lap, gripping the fabric of my skirt. "Ma, I didn't mean it like that…"
But she was already going. And I, just like always, sat quietly and took it.
My mother's voice drifted through the speaker, the same cool, clipped tone she always used with me, like I was a mildly annoying client she couldn't quite shake.
"Your stepfather is still upset, you know," she said, sighing. "After everything."
I stared at the nearly empty glass on my table. "What is he mad about exactly?" I asked softly, though I already knew.
"You leaving the house like that, of course. It was so dramatic, Kina. You didn't even wait until things were settled."
Settled. As if anything in that house had ever felt settled. I wanted to laugh. The man had called me a stain to my face more times than I could count. He once said I was a bad omen, the kind that walks on two legs and drags misfortune wherever she goes. And yet, I was the disrespectful one for finally walking away?
I bit the inside of my cheek, choosing silence over the rage bubbling up in my chest.
But then she cut through my thoughts, her voice suddenly lighter. "Anyway, Kara's birthday is in two weeks. We're having dinner. You should come and stop being such a… such a recluse."
That was the word she landed on. Recluse. Like I was a stray cat hiding in alleyways, avoiding the warmth of family. Ironic, considering warmth had never been handed to me freely in that house.
Still, I murmured, "I'll come."