The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient #2)(75)

He strode past the family and friends dressed mostly in gray robes, sitting cross-legged on the rugs on the floor, and approached the altar. One of the monks up there handed him a stick of incense, and Khai accepted it awkwardly. He didn’t know what the hell to do with it. This was his mom’s scene, not his. He stabbed it into the giant bowl of rice with the other incense and considered the photograph in front of the statue. Andy standing next to his blue Honda motorcycle.

Andy wore the same smartass grin he flashed every time he delivered a great comeback. He always had a comeback, always. Sometimes, he even thought up things to say in advance, so he’d be ready when the occasion came. Not like Khai, who either froze up when people teased him or didn’t realize he was being teased in the first place.

He touched his fingertips to the picture, and the coldness of the glass surprised him. He didn’t usually spend time contemplating philosophical questions about life and humanity, but right now, as he stared at his cousin’s likeness in paper and resin, he wondered what made a person a person. Was it something mystical like a soul? Something scientific like neural connections in the brain? Or something simpler like the ability to make someone miss you ten years after you’d died?

He recognized the dull emptiness inside of him as missing someone. He missed Andy. And he missed Esme. But that wasn’t the same as being heartbroken. Quan was wrong about that.

When she stepped into the pagoda and set her shoes by the front door with all the other pairs, his entire body froze.

Esme.

She wore the same shapeless black dress from before, and for a confused moment, it felt like she’d walked straight from Michael’s wedding here. But two weeks had passed. Logically, Khai knew that.

Her eyes met his. Her expression was tense at first, but after a moment, her lips curved slightly. It wasn’t her usual brain-scrambling smile, but it was still a smile. Sharp needles of sensation pricked his skin from head to toe, and he dragged air into his lungs with effort.

She padded barefoot around all the people on the rugs and stopped next to him by the statue and Andy’s picture. “I came to help with the food after,” she said in a low tone.

The monk handed her a stick of incense, and she inclined her head and thanked him before pressing the incense between her palms and bowing to the statue the way Khai should have. After she stuck the incense in the rice bowl, she considered the photograph of Andy, touched the motorcycle, and gazed at Khai with an unreadable expression on her face.

“It was his?” she asked.

He didn’t think he could speak, so he nodded. The motorcycle had been Andy’s most prized possession, and Dì Mai had given it to Khai, saying Andy would have wanted him to have it. His mom had been angry at first, but when Khai didn’t ride it, she’d forgotten about it.

Most of the time, Khai forgot about it, too, and that was what he preferred. He automatically pushed the motorcycle and accompanying memories to the back of his mind and focused on Esme. Her skin was paler than normal, and she’d lost weight, but she was still unmistakably Esme. No one else had eyes that specific shade of green. So pretty. The need to hold her became a visceral ache in his muscles and bones, but she stepped away before he could act.

She padded around the sitting area and sat on the edge apart from everyone. His mom waved at him from where she sat with Dì Mai, Sara, Quan, Vy, Michael, and other family members, but he walked past them and seated himself next to Esme.

“Why are you—You should sit with family,” Esme said with a deep frown.

A metal bowl rang, signaling the ceremony was beginning, and he was grateful. He didn’t know how to explain himself. He just needed to be at her side.

A skinny bespectacled man in gold robes and Buddhist rosary beads launched into a speech on loss and time healing all wounds, and Khai tuned the words out. He couldn’t breathe. It was like someone had him in an invisible choke hold. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, but he hadn’t worn a tie and the top buttons weren’t fastened. He shouldn’t feel this way.

Cameras flashed now and then, and videographers filmed the speech as the crowd listened in rapt attention. His aunt had invited a celebrity monk from Southern California to the pagoda, and it was a big honor to have him speak about Andy. Khai, however, wished he’d stop. Every time he heard his cousin’s name, this suffocating sensation worsened.

It was like Sara’s wedding, except his eyes were burning and his skin was tingling, like blood was rushing back after circulation had been cut off. What the fuck was happening?

The metal bowl rang again, and countless off-key voices sang incomprehensible words. Incense, chanting, somber faces, Andy. He’d experienced all of this before, but it was different this time. He’d had time to absorb and process. A lot of time.

And now barriers in his mind fell, swamping him in confusion. The emptiness inside of him expanded. The missing grew until it overwhelmed him. Andy memories flooded his head, a childhood together, school together, and that last night when he’d waited and waited for Andy to show up. And he never did. Khai’s throat knotted, his lungs hurt, his skin flushed hot.

A small hand pressed on his jacket sleeve and traveled down the length of his arm to rest over his knuckles. He clasped Esme’s hand tight, and she gazed at him like she understood. But how could she possibly, when he didn’t?

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go outside.”