It comes and goes in waves.
It always does.
We watch as our young hearts fade
Into the flood.
- "Waves" by Dean Lewis
Katara
I pull up outside of the cemetery and put the car in park. I sit with the engine idling for several minutes as I stare blankly out over the sea of headstones and maple trees that dot the green lawn.
Then I turn off the engine and step out into the gray morning, grabbing the bouquet of lily-of-the-valleys and marigolds that I had bought from the florist before coming here. Those were always Mom's favorites.
The clouds hang low in the sky and the smell of rain fills my nose. It had rained last night, not a lot, but enough to dampen everything and leave moisture in the air.
I go in through the wrought-iron gate and follow the cement path through the heart of the cemetery. I've only been here once since Mom died, but the location of her final resting place is burned into my memory, and I find it easily enough.
A gray slab of carved stone does not do justice for the person my mother was. She was kindness. She was warmth. She was pancakes on Sunday mornings, picking seashells on the beach, road trip snacks and love and laughter and life.
She should be here. She shouldn't be in a metal urn in the ground.
I pull out my phone and FaceTime my brother. He answers, looking somber. His eyes are red-rimmed and I can tell he's been crying too.
"I'm here," I say.
Sokka nods. His jaw works like he's trying to speak, but he can't.
I turn the camera around and show him Mom's headstone. I kneel down in the damp grass, ignoring the way it seeps into the knees of my jeans. I tuck the bouquet into the little holder beside the headstone.
For a little while, Sokka and I just sit there with our mom without saying anything.
Then Sokka speaks. "I can't believe it's been a year. It doesn't seem possible."
"I know." My voice is trembling.
"How are you feeling about it?"
If I was looking into the camera, looking at his face, I probably wouldn't be able to answer honestly. But he can't see me, so I do.
"Sad," I say. "Really sad."
The words are inadequate for the storm I feel inside, but if I say anymore the tears will flow and I don't know if they will ever stop.
They say time heals, but really, it doesn't. Grief is a bottomless ocean. When the loss first happens, you're pulled into the undertow and you're drowning. But somehow as time passes, you find your way to the surface and you gulp oxygen greedily. But then the water crashes over you again, and you're drowning once more. Grief comes and goes like the tides. Sometimes it's all you can feel; sometimes it's gently lapping at your ankles. But it's always there.
"Me too." Sokka's voice is thick with unshed tears. "I wish I could be there."
"You'll be here in a few days." I'm whispering. Tears prick my eyes.
He lets out a shaky breath. "I know, but today is the day. I should be there for it."
"You have midterms. It's okay." I sniffle. "Mom would understand. Dad and I do. Don't beat yourself up over it."
"I'm trying not to."
We talk for a little while. We rehash old memories and share our favorite stories. We laugh and we cry as we talk about our mother. It's painful, but also cathartic. And when it's over, I don't know if I feel better or worse.
After twenty minutes, Sokka has to go to class, so we disconnect the call. Then I get up and make my way back to my car as the waves crash over me. I guess I feel worse.
Zuko
It feels strange to paint without Katara. She has been here every day for nearly a week, and I feel her absence heavily.
We've finished the main room and I've moved on to the kitchen. Katara and I will probably finish it in a few days, and then all that will be left is the bathroom. I'll probably finish that next week while her boyfriend is here.
I'm trying not to think about that.
Uncle shuffles into the kitchen after his fifth tea break in the last four hours. I'm trying not to let it get under my skin. Uncle is old, and definitely not in the best shape. I try to remember that he can't do as much as me or Katara can.
"How's it going in here?" Uncle asks as he makes his way back to the section of wall he's been painting all day.
"It would be going a lot faster if you weren't taking so many breaks." I mutter the words before I can stop them, but Uncle just smiles kindly at me.
"I'm not the young man I used to be, nephew," he says.
I huff out a breath.
"Perhaps you need a tea break, Zuko. You seem very stressed."
"I'm not." But the tone of my voice says otherwise.
"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"
Where do I begin? Katara's boyfriend is coming down for a week in two days and I don't know how much I'll see her. Azula hasn't made good on her promise to have Mai call me and I'm not sure what to make of it. And I'm thinking about how today marks the death of Katara's mother and I want nothing more than to tell her that I know what it feels like and to tell her about my own mom.
Instead, I say, "I just want to get this done. We're supposed to open in a little under two weeks, and we still have to set everything up."
"Zuko, you're a bad liar." I narrow my eyes at him, but Uncle just shakes his head as he chuckles. "Is it Miss Katara? Are you worried about her?"
"Of course I am!" I snap. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "And it's stupid, because I barely know her."
"It's not stupid. She is quickly becoming a good friend. Of course you are worried about her." Uncle's expression softens. "And you're also worried because you know what she is going through. You want to help her, and you feel helpless because you're not sure how."
Sometimes I hate my uncle's uncanny ability to just know what's wrong with me. This is one of those times.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I just don't want to overstep. She doesn't know that I know about her mom, and I don't want to weird her out."
"Then perhaps you should simply be a good friend and just reach out to her," Uncle says. "Give her an opportunity to open up to you."
I look up at him in surprise. Why didn't I think of that? There's no harm in sending her a simple text.
"Uncle, that's genius."
He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "You're welcome, nephew. Why don't you go take a break and send her a text? Or whatever it is you kids do these days."
I set my roller down and go out into the main room. I sit down in a chair and pull up my phone. I open up my texts. It's easy to find Katara. She's the only person I've texted in days. I click on her name and then my thumb hovers over the digital keyboard. I have no idea what to say. I get up and hurry back to the kitchen. Uncle is painting and humming under his breath.
"What do I say?" I ask him.
Uncle looks up at me, surprised. "You don't know what to say to her?"
I shake my head as heat burns in my cheeks. Never in my life did I see myself going to Uncle of all people on tips for how to talk to girls. I half-expect him to laugh at me, but he doesn't. Of course not.
"It just has to be simple. Something like, 'hello, I just want to see how you are doing'."
I roll my eyes. I would never say that to her. But I look down at the phone in my hand, and it comes to me.
I glance up at Uncle. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, nephew."
I go back to my seat. I take a deep breath, and type out the message to Katara.
Z Hey, I hope everything is OK. I miss having you here to help me out. Uncle has decided not to be a flake today, but he's not as much fun to paint with as you.
I send the text message before I lose my nerve and change my mind. I hope she doesn't take it as flirting. I've watched my words with her carefully ever since I learned about her boyfriend. I don't want her to get the wrong idea about me.
I sit there for a few minutes before it dawns on me that she might not text me back right away, and there's still work to do. With a sigh I stand up and slide my phone into my pocket, but not before I thumb on the volume. I want to make sure I hear it if she texts me back.
I go back into the kitchen and grab my roller. My stomach is doing nervous little flips, and I try to push it back. It's stupid. It's just a text.
"Did you figure out what you wanted to say?"
I nod. "I did. Now hopefully she texts me back."
"I'm sure she will, Zuko."
I hope so, I think. I wish I could see her, but I know how hard this day is. The anniversary never seems to get any easier, either. Mom's was a few months ago, right before everything in my life went wrong, and even though it's been five years I still broke down.
My thoughts drift back to Katara. It's easy to imagine her here in this kitchen with me, a paint roller in her hand with her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. She looks good in her paint-splattered jeans and t-shirt, way better than I ever could have imagined anyone would.
And she's so easy to be around. I don't feel like I have to put up a front or pretend to be someone that I'm not. She makes me trip over my own words and makes my head spin like I'm drunk, but with her, I can be me.
She doesn't recoil from my scar.
We have passed hours in these rooms, talking about everything and nothing, it seems. Sure, we're still just getting to know each other, but everything between us feels so natural. We're settling around each other. She's beautiful, inside and out. I can't believe I feel so intensely about someone I've barely known for two weeks, but I do. I can't explain it.
All I know is that I am hopelessly falling for this girl, and she doesn't even know it.
Katara
Instead of heading towards home, I take the 101 towards Wheeler.
My heart settles like a ball of lead in my chest and my fingers tremble against the steering wheel. It's there, halfway between Wheeler and Brighton, that my mother's ghost truly resides.
I'm on auto-pilot as I follow the familiar curves that trace Nehalem Bay. The trees are a green blur and all I see is the open road.
I slow down as I draw near that sharp corner. I pull my car off on the shoulder of the road and cut the engine. I sit in the silence and stare at the powder-blue cross that sits under the canopy of evergreen trees.
People have been by recently. There's fresh flowers and ribbons and even a teddy bear or two. That warms the icy stone that is my heart. People still care about my mother. People remember her.
Dad has been on the phone nearly all day as friends and family call to check in on us. He's taken every call in stride, but I can see the strain in his tired eyes. I know he'd love to take the phone off the hook, like he did those first few days after the accident when the phone wouldn't quit ringing.
I've gotten texts and messages from friends and family. I even got one from Aang. I'm sorry about your mom. If you need to talk, I'm here. I deleted it without responding. Jet called me that morning between classes. It was a short call, and his responses were measured and cautious. When we got off the phone, I cried.
I haven't heard from Zuko, but he doesn't know. I don't hold it against him.
I exhale slowly and open the door. The damp earth and pine needles are springy underfoot as I cross the distance from my car to the cross. The knees of my jeans are still damp and stained green from the cemetery. I kneel down in front of my mother's cross. A tear slips down my face.
"Hey, Mom."
My voice shakes. There's a painful lump in my throat and I try to swallow it down. There's a photo of her, sealed in plastic to protect it from the rain. She's smiling and she looks so beautiful and alive that it hurts.
"I uh, I miss you."
The breeze picks up and tousles my hair and chills the tears on my cheek. I close my eyes and imagine that she's right there beside me.
"I miss you so much. I can't believe it's been a year. That doesn't seem possible." I sniffle as more tears start to fall. With them, words fall from me too. "So much has changed, Mom. I've changed. Dad, too. He drinks too much, but I can't tell him to stop. He misses you so much. I know that's why. And Sokka…he's thrown himself into his studies. He tried to put on a brave face for me, for Dad, but I can tell he's hurting. And I'm hurting. So much."
I bow my head and my tears fall onto the backs of my hands. My shoulders shake as I give into my tears.
This isn't fair. My mother should be here. She should be alive. It's not right. She had so much life left to live. She didn't get to see me graduate from high school. She won't see Sokka finish college. She'll never meet her grandchildren. How can fate be so cruel as to take that away from us? From her?
I think back to that night. It had been raining, much like it had last night. Mom and I were on our way to pick up Chinese food for dinner. It was about 7 pm, and dark out. Mom was driving carefully as she always did, but it wasn't enough. The deer came out of nowhere, caught in the headlights. Mom slammed on the brakes and we hydroplaned on the wet road. The car spun and spun and spun before it crashed into a tree. I remember the sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal; the horn blaring as the airbags deployed. Most clearly though, I remember my mother dead beside me.
I broke my arm and fractured my hip in the crash. Thanks to physical therapy, I was able to walk at my graduation two months later. My family was there. Dad, Sokka, Gran-Gran. Even Pakku, Gran-Gran's grumpy boyfriend. Jet was there too. But the person I wanted the most wasn't.
After a while my tears slow down and I stop shaking from the sobs. When I've composed myself enough I lift my head and wipe my face on the sleeves of my windbreaker. I wish I had Zuko's hoodie.
"I made a new friend," I say to the cross. I smile as though I'm really talking to her. "His name is Zuko. I think you'd like him." I let out a small chuckle. "Dad seems to, and you know how he is. Zuko's very sweet, and he's so kind. I don't know him well, but I know that much." I twist my fingers together. "I think maybe he came into my life for a reason. Toph and I aren't friends anymore, and I don't really know what's going on with Aang. And I'm pretty upset about it. Heartbroken, really. But Zuko...it's been nice having him around. I wish you could meet him."
I fall into silence. I can hear the birds chirping in the trees and the sound of the waves lapping against the cliffs. The smell of rain clings to the air, but beneath it I can smell the sweet decay of leaves in the loam. And of course, there is the ever-present smell of sea salt.
In my back pocket, my phone vibrates. I pull it out and check the screen, expecting another message of condolences. To my surprise, it's a text from Zuko. Despite my melancholy, I can't help but smile.
Z Hey, I hope everything is OK. I miss having you here to help me out. Uncle has decided not to be a flake today, but he's not as much fun to paint with as you.
I look up at the cross again. A small brown teddy bear is looking back at me. Tears well up in my eyes again, and I don't know if they're sad or happy, or maybe some cocktail of the two.
"Yeah, Mom," I whisper. "I really think you'd like him."
Zuko
The day seems to drag on with an agonizing slowness. It seems like time is dragging its feet, and each time I look at the clock I can't believe so few minutes have passed. It probably doesn't help that my irritation is mounting with each tea break Uncle takes and every moment that goes by without a text from Katara. But I'm not mad that she hasn't texted me back.
Uncle has given up on any form of communication with me. My tone is clipped and snappish, and I feel a little guilty for it. But mostly I don't. I'm wound tight with restless energy again, and it's not enough to take it out in cream-colored paint on these walls.
I feel like I did when I was a child, when I would do something wrong and I would be waiting for my father to come home and dole out my punishment. He was always a big believer in "spare the rod, spoil the child" and I lived my childhood in perpetual fear of him. This feeling in the pit of my gut reminds me of that.
Of course, it just boils down to anxiety. It's just a matter of being worried about Katara and worrying because she hasn't texted me back. I want to know that she's doing okay. I need to know, like I need air to breathe.
And that fact scares me. I barely know this girl. I shouldn't feel this strongly about her. It's irrational.
The bell above the door chimes and I startle, like a deer, nearly dropping my paint roller in the process. I turn back toward the doorway that leads into the main room, but of course I can't see anything from where I stand.
But then I hear her voice, and my anxiety falls away like smoke on the breeze.
"Hi, Iroh. Is Zuko here?" Her voice is a melody.
"Hello, Miss Katara! I didn't think we would be seeing you today. Yes, Zuko is painting in the kitchen. Go on back."
I hear her soft footsteps on the tile. My heart has picked up its pace in my chest.
Katara steps through the doorway. Seeing her is like the beginning of spring after a long winter. She's got her hands stuffed into the pockets of her windbreaker and the knees of her jeans are stained with grass and mud. Her hair is loose and falls to her waist.
It's the first time I've seen her hair down, and I didn't know that she could possibly be any more beautiful, but she is. Her eyes are bright kaleidoscopes. Her skin is pallid beneath the warm caramel tone, and there are shadows beneath her eyes.
She gives me a small smile. "Hi."
"Hi!" I put my paint roller down and step closer. A smile splits my face. "I didn't think I'd see you today."
Katara reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes skim the room, taking in the work Uncle and I have done. Then they fall back on me.
"What can I say? I couldn't stay away." A blush rises in her cheeks. "It looks like you and your uncle have gotten a lot done."
I snort. "More like I've gotten a lot done and he's drunk a lot of tea."
"Then I guess it's a good thing I came back."
I settle my gaze on her. "Yeah, I guess it is."
For a moment neither of us says anything. The atmosphere is like a held breath. I want to tell her that I know about her mom, and that I know what it's like. But that feels intrusive. I think about Uncle's words, that she'll tell me when she's ready. I just need to be patient.
"Did you want my help?"
Katara smiles at me, and there's hope in that look. I understand it. This is a day of pain, and she's looking for a distraction.
I open my mouth to answer but at that moment Uncle appears in the doorway. We both look over at him.
"I think we can call it a day, nephew," he says. "I don't know about you, but I am tired."
"Katara and I were about to—"
"I think we all deserve a day off." Uncle gives me a pointed look, and I press my mouth into a thin line. "Why don't the two of you go do something fun?"
I look at Katara. Her brow is slightly furrowed as she glances between Uncle and I. I want to shake him. Could he make it any more obvious that we know?
I choose my words carefully. "Do...you want to?" I look at her in a way that I hope tells her that I'm fine with whatever she wants to do.
Her hand comes up to brush her hair back again, but it's already tucked behind her ear and I think it's just a reflex. She peers up at me from beneath her eyelashes.
"Um." Katara's eyes widen. "Yeah. We can take a break. If you think we can."
"Of course we can," Uncle says cheerfully. He waves us off. "You two get out of here. I'll get this cleaned up."
But instead of moving to clean up the paint supplies, he shuffles back into the main room.
I rub the back of my neck. "Sorry."
"Don't be." She steps deeper into the room and closer to me. "I don't know what you want to do, though."
"Whatever you want to do." I shrug. "I'm new around here. What do you do for fun?"
Katara drums her fingers against her thighs as she thinks. "Well...there's some really nice trails, if you like hiking. I was going to go on some over spring break with Aang…" She trails off.
I've never hiked a day in my life, but it's what she wants to do, so I'll do it. I'll put the stars in the sky if she asks me to.
