I watch as he passes out. Meanwhile, I’ll die from self-immolation.
Chapter 44
Atlas
Forgetting is the hardest part.
And it’s truly driving me insane.
But trying to forget these intense emotions about my parents and abu and failing my job is too much. Frankly, it’s impossible. That’s why I stalked to the minibar the moment my eyes spotted it when Mafu and I arrived at our suite. It’s not like the Angelics promote casual drinking or ruining your liver, but they had the same idea I did (the right idea).
I need to dull the edges, make this bearable. After I down two shots, Mafu steps imposingly in front of the bar and swipes the glass from my hand. His stark eyebrows furrow and his smooth skin crinkles in disapproval. I miss those long locks because the buzzed hair on Mafu’s scalp displays his exasperation entirely. He scoffs, stealing the bottle of vodka away too. I frown at him.
“Maybe you should slow down,” he says.
“And maybe you shouldn’t butt into my business,” I say. “Give it back.”
“No. If I’m going to share a damn room with you, you’re not going to be piss drunk.”
“Fuck off,” I hiss, teleporting to catch Mafu off guard.
With the forward momentum, I snatch the bottle from his grasp and fall gracelessly onto the carpet. I get to my feet, feel an intense pounding in my head, and the world vibrates and sways until I gather some composure. (There were, like . . . twenty other bottles in the cabinetry . . . I could have taken one of those.)
“Goddammit, Atlas! You’re not the only one here going through shit,” he says, his voice rising.
“Oh please, you have no idea what I’m going through.”
Mafu takes a step forward. He’s lean, but large, and not the type of person to start something with. I take a step back. The bottle is brandished like a weapon in my hands, ready to strike if he tries anything funny. He could easily overpower me any day, both by his special abilities and strength. I almost flinch, but I have more self-respect than that.
“I had to leave my life behind, too, you know.”
“I remember,” I grunt.
“Then you should understand.”
I’m too upset to let him win this fight.
“But your leaving Eureka was voluntary.” If the blow hits him, he’s too collected to let it show.
“You know it wasn’t,” he says, “Ofa left. Mom and Dad followed. They didn’t give me a choice. And come on, man. Do you not think we didn’t get shit for being Polynesian in an entirely white, rural town?”
“Ma, abu, and I aren’t white . . .”
Mafu’s expression softens. I hate when he shows this side of himself: the kind half, the one often hidden behind his gruff disposition.
“Atlas, you know that’s not what I mean. What I’m trying to say is that it wasn’t safe. You staying there wasn’t either. I know it sucks to leave what you knew behind, but this will be better for you. For all of us.”
He’s right. Of course, he is. I’m not having it, though. Not today.
“At least you have a family to return to.”
Mafu sighs, defeated. He shakes his head and veers toward the couch. “I thought you would be happy to see me. Abuelito meant something to me, too, you know.”
Abu's absence still carves a cavity in my chest. I sometimes discover lingering traces of his presence. A ghostly hand on my shoulder, an imparting of wisdom whispered into my ear. In the later years, there was only so much he could do. It felt like he was constantly occupied with something, trying to complete as much work as possible because he knew his life was slowing to an end. Mafu helped me through many of the darker days, but then, as they always do, he left. And I remained behind.
I understand why he withdrew. His family stayed in Eureka for as long as they could.
“Take the bed,” Mafu mumbles. “Just don’t drink yourself silly.”
