Then the screen filled, and there he was—Marcus, older, paler than I remembered, reading glasses pushed up into his hair, and behind him a kitchen, warm and lived-in.
He looked at me for a second.
Three years of silence cramped down into a moment.
“Huh,” he remarked. “Mai. You owe me twenty bucks.”
“What?” came from off-screen.
“I said he’d call before the broadcast. You said never.” He turned the phone, and there she was, folding what appeared to be an enormous burrito. She squinted into the camera, and her whole face opened up.
“Chase!”
She crowded into the frame next to Marcus.
“Oh my god, you look terrible. Doesn’t he look terrible?”
I had no doubt I did, because I felt it. For years I’d been imagining how this call would go. I’d played it in my head over and over, how his face would contort as he weighed my apology against his shoulder, and in every version, I came up wanting.
I had not imagined Mai being there.
“Hey,” I managed. “Hey, Marcus. Hey, Mai.”
“Hey yourself,” Marcus replied, easy. Then—because he’d always read water better than anyone, which was why I wanted him on every wave—his eyes flicked over my face, and he set the easiness down.
“Mai. Give us a?—”
“Absolutely not. I’ve been waiting too long for this.” She planted her chin on his shoulder. “Talk, Chase.”
So I talked. Not all of it. There wasn’t a version of tonight long enough.
What came out was smaller and felt worse.
“I think—” The word stuck. “There’s something I need to do. Something that matters. And if I do it, the money stops, and the money is—Marcus, the money is the point of me. It’s the only thing I’ve been good for.”
I took a deep breath.
“I’m calling because I think I can’t do this anymore, and I needed to say that to your face before I decided, because it’s your life I’d be deciding with.”
Silence on the line.
Mai’s eyes had gone shiny.
Marcus looked at me like he used to look at a lineup. He’d always been good because he was patient, willing to wait for the right wave instead of jumping in feet first.
We’d balanced each other like that.
“Chase,” he said quietly. “Did you think you were renting my forgiveness?”
“That’s not?—”
“Did you think if a payment bounced, I’d take it back?” He shook his head slowly. “I forgave you in the hospital, man. Sure, I was pissed atfirst. My career was trashed. But as I lay in that bed, you know what I was doing? Replaying the wave. Not your call—everything that I had done wrong. I wanted it too. I was twenty-one and thought I was immortal, and I paddled with you because I wanted that wave more than I’d ever wanted anything else. I wanted the glory. And if we’re all being honest, I wanted out of your shadow, and that made me stupid.”
He let out a breath. “But I’m older and wiser now. And I would appreciate it if you stopped editing me out of my own decision so you can feel guilty about it.”
“Marcus, I should have never had us out there! Your career?—”
“I run a grom program now. Did Mai tell you that?” he interrupted me. “Adaptive surf coaching. I’m good at it. My life didn’t end, Chase. But I kinda feel like the important part of yours did. You used to love surfing, man. Now I see you on TV and…well, you aren’t the same.”
