Chapter 25: 25. A Poorly Tempered Blade

Keith

A slight change of plans. Instead of meeting Shiro in front of the coffee place where my ‘mother’ is supposed to wait, he’s going to drive us there in his sad excuse for a car. Apparently, he needs to pick up a Christmas tree on the way back for the party his friends are throwing. Trust a group of beach bums to get excited about the snow. If they had to wade through white sludge for a couple of months each day, their fascination would turn sour pretty quickly. Of that, I’m sure.

I almost burned my tongue with how fast I agreed to spend more time with Shiro. It should embarrass me, but at this point, I’m past caring. This meeting has every chance of becoming a shitshow, so Shiro’s company will be my reward, and I don’t intend to let anyone, not even my crippling self-doubt, spoil our day together. 

The driveway remains empty, indifferent to my frequent glances. Not surprising since I’m almost fifteen minutes early, standing on my porch like an over-eager prom date. Annoyed with myself, I sift a fresh dusting of snow that has gathered on the railing through my fingers, enchanted by how the snowflakes glitter in the sun before they melt, leaving cold droplets on my bare skin. 

When my hands lose any semblance of human temperature, I try warming them on the two travel mugs of coffee I prepared for the journey, but their insulation works too well, and my effort proves futile, forcing me to breathe on my fingers if I want to preserve any sensation in them. One of these days, I should invest in decent gloves, but I’m hardly ever in Canada, so I keep forgetting. And during my occasional visits, I rarely leave the set. Perhaps instead of gloves, I should get a PA who’d handle these things for me, but I loathe people poking their noses into my personal business. Someone like Curtis trailing after me every day? A big fat pass with a sprinkle of nope on top.

Where is Shiro? What’s taking him so long? 

One glance at my watch reassures me that he has at least ten minutes to spare. Besides, it’s not his duty to spend a rare day off by accompanying me to a personal meeting that’ll only dredge up resentment and old hurts, so he’s allowed to run a little late. 

A tiny spark of excitement flickers in my chest, despite how much I try to extinguish it, but it’s overshadowed by a much larger notion of impending disappointment. It doesn’t matter what Kolivan says about this woman and her knowledge of private information. Nothing is sacred in the internet age, and there’s no one more dedicated than fans obsessing over their favorite celebrities. I’m pretty sure that if I dug deep enough, I’d learn about the scar on my inner thigh I suffered from burning myself with soup as a two-year-old as well. 

And if it turns out this woman, this Krolia, is who she claims to be? That she is my mother? Will anything change? She abandoned me shortly after I turned two. What excuse or explanation could she give that’d make me forgive her? Not that it matters. She’s probably just another scammer.

Thank god for the rumble of Shiro’s car that jerks me out of my wallowing. Any more of that, and I could only star in a regency drama series, gazing longingly out of windows with one manly tear rolling down my cheek.

Shiro pulls over, announcing his arrival with a jaunty honk. Glimpsing his open face through the car window chases away the clouds of crappy mood that have gathered above my head, and as I collect the mugs and make my way to his minivan, I’m unable to stop a huge smile from exploding on my face like a glitter bomb of happiness.

“Hey, Keith,” he says when I open the door, and the knot of worry in my chest eases under the velvety caress of his voice. I climb into the car and settle deep in the passenger seat. 

Shiro’s wearing a dark blue turtleneck that brings out the warm grey of his eyes and fitted black pants clinging to his thick, muscular legs. Legs that feel great clamped around me, which I know from hours spent in that position on set. A drop of heat trickles down my back, and I wriggle against the backrest to tamp down that inappropriate feeling.

“I’ve brought you something for the road,” I say and hand him the cup with its sugar content. For anyone else, it would be a caffeine fix, but not for Shiro. No, the saccharine abomination deserves another name.

“Thanks. But aren’t we going to a coffee place?”

“Oh, that’s… dammit. Didn’t think of that.” 

“It’s okay, I’ll take one for the team and order hot chocolate and a muffin,” he says, grinning. “Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.” 

“Yeah, even if I didn’t already know, I’d guess you’re new to acting by your eating habits. How you manage to stay this fit while regularly consuming an amount of sugar a medium-sized bakery uses up in a year is beyond me.”

“I started working out a lot after the surgery. Takes care of the calorie burn, plus, apparently, it makes me look like a brick wall. That’s what Lance says, anyway,” he adds, shrugging. His massive shoulders make the point for him by stretching the material of his sweater to its limits, and my mouth waters.

“Lance should keep his comments about my, uh, colleague to himself.”

What the actual fuck? Where did that come from? And did I really just growl?

Shiro huffs out a small chuckle as he accepts the mug. When he takes a sip, and a blissed-out expression relaxes his face, I forget about his friend, feeling like I won a freaking lottery.

“Did I nail the caffeine-to-sweetness ratio?”

“It’s perfect. If you ever decide to switch careers, you have a future as a barista.”

“That’s a load off my chest, although coffee shops probably frown on putting two drops of espresso into a buttload of sugar.”

Shiro rumbles out another laugh, and I’m quickly becoming addicted to that sound.

“So, where are we going?”

“Jimmy’s coffee.”

After I give him the directions and Shiro punches them in the GPS, we’re off. The traffic stays low on Sunday morning, so we cut through the city in a criminally short time, even with the extra ten minutes we spend looking for a parking spot and another ten it takes to walk from the lot to the café. With each step, my nervosity ratchets up until my throat closes and drawing air into my lungs becomes too difficult.

We find the coffee place tucked in a side alley, and I come to a halt in front of its cute yellow doors that appear as welcoming as the gates of hell in direct contrast to their sunshiny color. Shiro throws a worried glance at me and touches my arm.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I squeeze out around my crippled vocal cords. “Just having a case of the jitters.”

“I’ll be there the whole time,” he says, and the hand gripping my sleeve can’t be human because the heat from it seeps through my jacket, sweater, and T-shirt until it reaches my skin where it finds purchase and leaves goose-bumps everywhere.

“You don’t have to do this. Say the word, and we can leave. I’ll call this woman and cancel.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you. It helps to have someone—thank you,” I say, incapable of expressing how much his support means to me, so I default to polite phrases.

Against all odds, against the rationalization and awareness that Krolia will be a con artist or a deranged fan, I still hope that I’ll find my mom. That I’ll get the chance to ask the questions haunting me. Why did she leave? Is there something wrong with me? Is that why I push everyone away?

Shiro watches me with a greater dose of sympathy than I deserve, and his hand runs up and down my sleeve in a soothing motion. 

“My parents died in a car accident,” he says after a while. “Drunk driver. I went to the funeral. Saw the coffins go into the ground, but I still hoped, you know? Afterward. When I heard a phone ring, I hoped it was the police calling there was a mistake and my parents were alive, even though it couldn’t be true.” 

Fuck. How did he figure out what was weighing on my mind? 

“I’m sorry, Shiro.”

“It was a long time ago, but I still miss them sometimes. Sometimes, that trickle of hope sneaks in.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if I want her to be real or another con artist, but I guess I won’t find out standing here, right? Let’s get this over with,” I say with a crooked smile that sits wrong on my face.

“Okay. I’m right here if you need me.” Shiro sends me a reassuring nod but takes a step away, and I regret losing the reassurance of his warm, solid body.

With a grim set to my mouth, I turn the knob and push the door open. This early on Sunday, the place doesn’t have many customers. Several people sit around round tables arranged in a row on one side. A counter manned by a bored-looking barista stands opposite them, with a specials board hanging over coffee machines that could moonlight as alien spaceships, but I spot no one fitting Krolia’s description. 

“I don’t think she’s here,” I say. A wave of disappointment and relief crashes over me.

“Maybe we should check upstairs,” Shiro says, one step ahead, guiding us toward the stairs by the far wall I completely missed, and of course, he’s right. Once we reach the top floor, I immediately notice a woman sipping a cup of cappuccino while staring into her phone at the table closest to us. My mother.

She hasn’t spotted us yet, so I take a moment to study her. There are two options: either she’s using her likeness to scam me, or we really are related. The echoes of my features on her face are hard to miss. We share the prominent slashes of cheekbones, the pointy chin, the thick black hair, and the overlarge blue eyes. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a loose blouse as if she’s expecting a job interview instead of her lost son, and the bouncing of her feet suggests she’s at least somewhat nervous about our meeting.

I approach the table with Shiro at my heels.

“Krolia?”

Her head snaps up.

“Keith! You came. I can’t believe it.” She jumps to her feet to hug me, but I shy away. The moment turns from slightly uncomfortable to awkward, but she blows past it. 

“Please, sit down so we can talk.” 

Dazed, I plop down onto a chair. Shiro follows my lead, but he stays quiet, unobtrusive. Out of the way, yet nearby, as he promised. His calming presence steadies me and gives me the strength to continue.

“So, um, you obviously know my name, and this is Shiro.” 

“Lovely to meet you,” Krolia says. “What’s your relationship with my Keith?”

The ‘my’ sits oddly with me. With Shiro as well, based on the scowl creasing his brows. 

“We work together.” 

“Are you an actor too?”

“Yes.”

The curtness of his answer speaks volumes. It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s not impressed.

A server drops by to collect our orders. Shiro gives me a smile when he asks for a cup of hot chocolate, and it goes a long way toward loosening my insides tight with nerves.

“Listen, um, Krolia, let’s cut to the chase. A lot of women claimed to be my mother over the years. Goes with the territory, I guess. Do you have any proof?” 

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“You look so much like me. But a bit like your father, too.”

“That’s ‘how to scam a gullible celebrity’ one-oh-one.”

“I suppose you don’t have any reason to trust me,” Krolia says and reaches for the handbag hanging over the backrest of her chair. After a brief search, she pulls out a manilla envelope and slides it toward me.

“You can open it,” she says when I keep staring at the innocent object without reaching for it.

I send a helpless look to Shiro, who responds with a smile.

“I’m right here.” 

With a steadying breath, I open the envelope to find it contains… photos. Only a few, but they all show a dark-haired toddler, much younger-looking Krolia, and… my father. Blood drains from my face. The chair I’m sitting on, so steady until now, sways under me, and spots appear before my eyes. The room spins faster and faster until a warm hand wraps around my arm.

“Everything is fine, Keith,” Shiro says. I angle toward Krolia, who watches us with a curious expression. Once she notices my stare, a timid smile replaces the curiosity, but I’m not ready to repay it. Not yet.

“Okay. You’re my mother.” I shove the envelope back at her. I imagined this moment more times than I care to admit, dreamed about it, even, but in the end, it plays out so mundanely. A baby is wailing nearby, the sound biting into my brain. People around us chat and laugh, and the smell of coffee wafts through the air. Nobody gives a crap about my world being turned upside down.

“Yes. I know this might not be what you expected or wanted—”

“There’s only one thing I want to ask. Why? Why did you leave?”

She drops her gaze and fiddles with the spoon sticking from the cappuccino mug to keep her hands occupied somehow. It clinks with every swipe of her fingers, and each clink plucks at the tight strings of my nerves.

“I don’t know how to answer that question without you hating me,” she admits quietly.

“How about with the truth? That’s usually preferable,” Shiro cuts in, and his fingers curl tighter around my hand. 

“When I met your father, I was in the middle of my residency. One day, there was a minor fire at our hospital, and he saved me, or he thought so.” A corner of her mouth lifts, the gesture eerily familiar because I glimpse it now and then in my mirror. 

“He swept me off my feet, quite literally, and I fell in love, but I didn’t plan on having children. Yeah, people would tell me I’d change my mind, that it’s different when they’re your own, but I never felt that longing. I planned to finish my residency and join doctors without borders to travel the world, helping people, but there I was, in love and pregnant. So I stayed. For your sake. For your father’s sake. But it wasn’t a life I chose, and when your father noticed how miserable I’d become, he… he gave me the option to return to my dream, Keith. He said he’d raise you, so I left, knowing you’d be safe and provided for and that I’d get to help people.”

“Is your leaving supposed to be made better by the fact you did a noble job? In case you don’t know, my father died. I ended up in foster care for years, and if Kolivan hadn’t gotten me out—”

The words rush out in a panicked river, catching with each ragged breath wheezing out of my lungs.

Shiro squeezes my hand. “Keith. We can leave now if you want,” he says, ignoring Krolia’s gaze dissecting us.

“No. No, I want to hear more about the job that was more important than Krolia’s own child.”

The server arrives and sets our beverages on the table, interrupting the tense atmosphere for a moment, but my stomach is too squirmy for coffee, and even Shiro prefers to clutch my hand rather than drink his chocolate.

“I’m not trying to defend myself. Just explaining.” 

Her voice wobbles, and when I search her face, I spot a trail of tears on her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Keith. I failed you. When I learned about Clint’s death, it was already too late. You went into the system, and when I finally tracked you down, Kolivan was taking care of you. You were safe. Protected. I didn’t want to interfere and mess everything up.”

“So you think that you were absolved of your responsibility just because someone else stepped up? That I didn’t still want my mom? Or did that idea allow you to jet off to god knows where to pursue your mission?”

Shiro’s grip on my hand becomes almost too painful, and I wriggle my fingers to make him ease up.

“Sorry,” he says with an edge of sadness to his voice and relaxes his hold but starts stroking over my thumb in reassuring motions.

“The way I treated you is my biggest regret. And I understand if you never want to see me again after today, but when I heard you were shooting in Toronto… I’m stationed at St. Michael’s Hospital these days. I knew I could never forgive myself if I didn’t reach out, even though I expected you to hate me.”

“Well, you reached. Eased your conscience or whatever you intended. I… I need a sec.” 

“Keith!” Shiro leaps out of his chair, prepared to spring into action and follow me, but I wave him down. I’ll fold like a house of cards if he sticks around when all I want is a moment of solitude to clear my head.

With a stuttered motion, I leave the table and stumble toward the bathroom, where I splash cold water over my face, hoping it will seep under my skin and settle my uneven heartbeat as well, but no such luck.

Fuck. So this is my mother. I expected excuses, or a sob story, or begging for money, but I didn’t expect a simple admission that something else mattered more than me. Who wouldn’t want to hear that from their mom, right? Of course, deep down, I already suspected, which gives me two options. If I leave now, I’ll go back to my old life without losing anything. If I stay, I’ll get the chance to build at least a semblance of a relationship with the person I’ve always missed. 

Perhaps I’ll end up regretting this, but I’m willing to give her a chance. After all, she could’ve lied; she could’ve spun stories and pretended that leaving me was the hardest thing ever, but Shiro was right. I prefer the truth, even if it’s difficult to swallow. Decision made, I push the door open and stalk back toward the table where Shiro and Krolia talk in hushed tones. Tatters of their conversation float in my direction before I can signal that I’m listening in.

“…your son is an incredible person with a loving heart, but there’s… he’s like a poorly tempered blade.”

Wow, thanks for calling me on my short fuse, Shiro.

“Cutting and sharp, but brittle, and will break apart if you mistreat him. And if you do that…” Shiro doesn’t finish the sentence, but the ice in his voice frosts over the mugs on the table, and yet, it sends a rush of heat into my belly. I’m strong enough to fight my own battles, but knowing that someone’s on my side for once, that someone has my back… It’s everything, and I have to temper the urge to throw myself at Shiro and claim him in front of everybody. Now that would give the press some gossip material.

With a little throat-clearing sound, I slump into my chair and thread my fingers through Shiro’s. The gesture is as natural as breathing, and he responds with the same ease, squeezing my hand in return.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I say to Krolia and send her a warning look. “If you want my forgiveness, you’ll have to earn it. But I will not throw a tantrum and waste the opportunity to get to know the person I was hoping to meet for such a long time. So, Krolia. Let’s talk.”

After the initial… awkwardness may not be strong enough a word, but let’s go with that, we spend surprisingly pleasant two hours talking, reminiscing about my father, recounting some of her medical adventures, and discussing my acting career, so I’m almost sorry when Shiro’s gaze falls to his watch.

“I’ll have to take off, but please, Keith, stay. Talk to Krolia some more. I’ll pick you up on the way back?”

“No, I promised you. Let’s go. Perhaps Krolia will clear her busy schedule for me another day as well.” 

“Of course, Keith. Nothing would make me happier.”

I meant to be sarcastic, but her honest agreement knocks the wind out of me.

“We usually get the Sunday free. Maybe you could stop by my house sometime.”

“I’d love that.” She throws me a smile, and this time when she gets to her feet to hug me, I don’t protest and let her arms band around me for a beat. “Thank you for giving me a chance,” she says when she releases me.

“Thanks for reaching out, I suppose. Goodbye, Krolia.”

“Goodbye, son. For now.” 

Shiro’s hand hovers near my back, prepared to offer support if I need it, and I’m so grateful to him for his solid presence, for staying by my side during this encounter I could cry.

We step outside, where the whole situation hits me at once. The impact makes me double over as the air that whooshed out of me during the exchange with Krolia rushes back in large gulps. A man walking his dogs brushes past us, shooting us a nasty look, but turns his head to stare dead ahead when he notices Shiro’s scowl and bulk.

Nothing momentous has happened. Nothing’s changed. I’m still me and knowing who my mother is doesn’t make a whit of difference. With a sort of detached clarity, I notice my hands are shaking. 

“Are you okay, Keith? That couldn’t have been easy.” Shiro takes a beat but then squares his shoulders and throws his arms around me, drowning me in a sea of understanding and acceptance.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispers into my hair, and as fast as he hugs me, he lets go. Probably for the best. Otherwise, I might completely unravel, and I don’t relish the idea of turning into a snotty mess in public, in front of the cute yellow door and every Toronto hipster. Worse, my little breakdown would provide fodder for all the gossip columnists in the vicinity. 

“Thank you for coming with me, Shiro. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“I promised I’d be there for you, Keith. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re giving your mom a chance. She looked sincere, even though I guess you expected something different. And sorry if I overstepped somehow. I only wanted to help.”

“Don’t worry about that. You were great, actually.” 

He directs a wry smile my way.

 “Are you feeling up to hauling some Christmas trees, or should I drive you back home?”

“I think I can handle that. To be clear, you’ll be the one doing the actual hauling, right?”

“We’ll see about that. Might do you good to get your hands dirty, superstar. Ain’t no better distraction than honest work, as my grandpa used to say.”

Shiro beams at me, unaware of the chaotic swirl of emotions jumping through my body. Someone should bottle his smile and sell it as an anti-depressant because, as draining as the whole scene that happened was, my mood lifts when I see the corners of his mouth tilt up. 

From now on, the day can only improve.

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