If the Sun Never Sets - Ana Huang Page 0,58
his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. “Remember the last time we stood on top of the world?” he whispered. “Macau. Courtney’s birthday. We went bungee-jumping, and you were so scared you tried to back out multiple times. I thought the bungee operator was going to kill us.”
Farrah’s soft laugh mingled with the night air. “I remember. You gave a motivational speech worthy of Tony Robbins.”
“Please. I’m better than Tony Robbins,” Blake scoffed. “The point is, you faced one of your biggest fears and punched it in its ugly face. You can do that again. Whatever your fear is, or however far you fall—you’ll survive. And I’ll be there to catch you.”
Farrah’s breath whooshed out of her. Manhattan lay sprawled at her feet, a glittering, tangled web of lofty dreams and promises. Some broken, some fulfilled, all searching for a sense of purpose in the unforgiving concrete jungle. Nothing except a pane of glass separated her from a thousand-foot tumble over the edge.
Despite the glass and Blake’s secure grip around her waist, Farrah was terrified—because she was already falling. And no matter what Blake said, she wasn’t sure she’d survive if she hit the ground.
Blake flew to Miami the next afternoon, leaving Farrah alone with her thoughts.
Her inner voices were like weeds—expected, fine in moderation, but if there were too many, they’d choke and paralyze her.
Olivia was on another date, and instead of stewing in the silence, dwelling on her dwindling career prospects, and agonizing over her feelings for Blake, Farrah called her mom.
“Follow up with the studios again if they haven’t replied to you by Friday.” Cheryl Lau’s voice crackled over the phone. “Some people are so lazy they probably haven’t gotten to your resume yet. You’re a NIDA competition winner. You graduated top of your class from CCU. They should be beating down your door.”
“I know, I know.” Farrah painted a fresh coat of red polish on her big toe. She’d rather not spend money on professional pedicures until she secured steady employment. Or you could start your own design studio, one of her stray inner voices whispered. Farrah squashed it. “Where are you?”
She could barely hear her mom over the sound of waves and people chattering in Cantonese in the background.
“I’m in San Diego for the association’s annual retreat.” Cheryl sniffed. “So much drama. The membership chair’s wife filed for divorce right before the trip, and he drank so much yesterday he passed out on the beach. So stupid. He’s lucky he didn’t get mugged.”
“Wow. You’re living on the wild side,” Farrah teased.
“Hmph. I should’ve stayed home. All people do here is gossip, gossip, gossip.”
“You say that every year, yet you go on the retreat every year.”
Her mom had a love-hate relationship with the local Chinese dance association she’d joined right after Farrah graduated high school. As in, she loved to say she hated it, but Farrah knew it was all for show. The association provided a much-needed source of entertainment and company for Cheryl, who’d lived alone since Farrah moved to New York three years ago.
Guilt prickled the back of Farrah’s neck. She should call and visit more often. Even though her mom had a robust social life, Farrah worried she was lonely. Cheryl hadn’t dated anyone since her divorce, and she was only in her fifties. Still plenty of time for a second chance at love.
“Well, I come for the food and dancing.” Cheryl yelled at someone in the background, “Be quiet, I’m talking to my daughter!”
Farrah laughed. “It’s okay. Enjoy your trip. I can call you later.”
“No, it’s fine.” Cheryl hesitated. “You’re coming home for Christmas, right?”
“Of course. I always come home for the holidays.”
“Good, good.”
Farrah’s spidey senses tingled at Cheryl’s tone. “Mom, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking.” Cheryl cleared her throat. “Anyway, will you be bringing a boyfriend with you? A son-in-law would be the best Christmas present, but I have to vet him first. Moms can always tell if someone is a good egg or bad egg.”
As subtle as a sledgehammer to the head. Cheryl’s gentle nudges about settling down, getting married, and birthing lots of grandbabies had evolved into outright shoves, and Farrah was only twenty-five.
“There are no eggs, good or bad. I’m not dating anyone.” Technically true. Right?
“No one?” Disappointment seeped through the phone into Farrah’s ear. “Not even a date? You’re young and attractive. Maybe you’re not going to the supermarket often enough.”
Ok, the egg analogy was getting weird. “I’ve been