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30 Days Earlier...



Nick

Lauren was brushing her hair. She was angry and pulling the brush through roughly, making this horrible sound that set my nerves on edge and made me grit my teeth in rage. AJ told me once I had mild misophonia when I’d complained about noises he was making chewing food like a savage. I thought of the resulting argument every time a noise made me feel like this - like my entire body was being raked over a cheese grater. Misophonia or not, I couldn’t help how pissed off the sound was making me. My muscles were tensing up.

Finally, she stopped brushing her hair, shoved the brush into a drawer and came out, her sleep pants loose at the ankles, and climbed into bed without undressing.

I frowned, staring at the Rolling Stone I was reading.

Usually we had sex after a fight.

“Turn off the fucking light,” she said, her back to me, curled in a loose fetal position.

“I’m reading,” I answered, voice matching her tone.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

We both fell into silence for a long moment.

The tension was so heavy in the room that not one of the many pets we shared were in there. Nacho had hovered by the door for a good ten minutes, but he’d hiked it when I’d slammed the dresser drawer a little harder than was necessary.

I turned a page in the magazine.

“I need a break,” she said. The words were so quiet, I almost didn’t hear them at all. I blinked at the magazine page, where Bruce Springsteen was grinning up at me, and tried to comprehend the words she was saying. Lauren rolled over and looked at me, and, as though saying it once hadn’t been enough, she said, “I need a break.”

“A break?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“A break from what?” I asked.

“This,” she said. Her voice was thick. “You. Us.”

I lowered the magazine to my lap and turned to look at her, more annoyed than anything else. I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think she’d do it. “Why are you fuckin’ being like this? It’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not being ridiculous,” Lauren snapped. “Sometimes living with you is like being around a misbehaving two year old.”

I rolled my eyes. “I make one little mess...”

“It wasn’t just one little mess,” she argued, “If it was just one little mess it would be totally different, but it’s not, Nick, it’s just not. You always do this to me. The messes are not one and they are not little and there’s no appreciation for it. When was the last time you did the laundry? Or cleaned the toilet or vacuumed the hall or started the fucking dishwasher? I’m not your mother.”

“I in no way think of you like my mother,” I said.

“You better not, I’ve met that woman,” Lauren shuddered. “But that doesn’t change the rest of it. Nick, I am always cleaning up after you - always - and you just take it for granted that I’m going to do it. You never think about me.”

“I think about you,” I replied.

Lauren shook her head, “You really don’t. You don’t think about anybody but yourself, Nick, you’re self-centered. And I get it, you’ve been on your own so long and in this insane bubble of a life that you’ve never had to think about anybody else. Nobody else has ever had the balls to tell the great Nick Carter off for being inconsiderate of others.”

“Jesus Lauren, you make me sound like an asshole.”

“Well sometimes you are,” she said simply, not really in a mean tone, just in a matter-of-fact sort of way that somehow stung worse than if she’d bellowed it at me.

I scowled.

“I just need a break from being your keeper,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say. “You’re divorcing me?”

“No,” Lauren replied, “Just taking a couple steps back for a little bit.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I asked.

Lauren laughed in that way that wasn’t really from amusement but more like a huff of derision or a silent ‘I told you so’. She shook her head, “I don’t know, Nick. Maybe figure it out yourself.” She rolled over again.

“Well where the fuck are you gonna go, huh?” I demanded.

“I’ll go to Alex’s. Or my father’s. Whatever.”

“I’ll hire a housekeeper,” I said as an alternative option.

“It’s not that,” Lauren answered, “It isn’t just the cleaning. That was just the current example. You’re just --” she sighed. “I knew you were like this, I don’t know why I didn’t --” she paused. “I just thought it would change once we were married, that you’d be more -- I don’t know. Nevermind.”

“More what?” I asked.

“Nevermind,” she said.





Kat

I was getting my hair re-dyed in a salon in Los Angeles. My head could’ve picked up radio signals with all the foils that was up in it and I glanced up from the Mental Floss magazine I was reading to see a breaking news story flash across the TV. There’d been a tsunami in Kenya. My heart accelerated, and I dropped the magazine onto the rack.

My mind whirred; that was my home, my family out there. I'd come home to do some promotional stuff for Wild Heartlands, otherwise I would have been there. Where was Nanny and Taji? Where were Azizi, Tia, Zahur? Fakira? Safu? I was worried for them all.

My phone vibed in my pocket and, with shaking hands, I pulled it out. It was Michael, the Wild Heartlands office design specialist. “Kat,” he said with a shaky voice, “Kat, there’s been a tsunami in Kenya. Seventy-to-eighty feet high waves.”

“Fuck,” I gasped, "I know... I'm staring at the news." My voice shook. People were looking at me. I realized I must’ve looked hysterical. I swiveled the chair away. “Have we heard from anyone?”

“No,” Michael answered, “No one in the field. It was projected right for the Lamu-Kiwayuu area, though."

I felt sick. So it really had hit them, then. I could feel the world starting to spin a little and I stood up. I needed to get there, to get to them.

"Are you okay?" My stylist had come over, a concerned look on her face.

I had another ten minutes under the foils, but I flailed, trying to yank them out as panic flooded me. "No," I choked, "No, I need to go home. My family needs me." The TV screen was showing the projection lines of the waves, according to the South African meteorological society. Michael was right. The waves had been projected directly into the Kiwayuu bay. I felt hot tears burning my eyelids from within. "Oh Jesus," I croaked.

The stylist looked up at the TV and saw the projection animation running over and over. She looked back at me, "Honey that's in Africa, that ain't here." She waved for me to sit back down, even as I continued to pluck foils from my hair and chuck them at her. "Your hair's going to be only half set!"

"So it’ll be a lighter shade than I planned. I can't stay," I replied. I realized I'd forgotten entirely about Michael on the line. "Get me whatever you can for travel arrangements," I barked into the phone. "I'm on my way."

I rushed out of the salon, only pausing long enough to pay.

When I got to the office, I ran inside from the lot. I couldn't remember the drive. It was a blind haze, a cloud of memories and fears running through my mind like an old fashioned movie. Michael was hunched over his computer, the TV in the corner blaring the news. A blonde newscaster was talking about the tsunami in an alarmed sort of tone that heightened my tension.

"Tell me you booked me something," I begged, chucking my bag onto my desk and rushing over to Michael's.

"Everything into Nairobi and Lamu is shut down," he said. "I'm trying to reroute you through Kampala -" he looked up and stopped midsentence. "What happened to your hair?"

"I was at the salon; I ran out mid foil," I relied. "Book whatever it takes. Just get me to Kiwayuu."

"I'm doing my best."

I wrung my hands and paced. "Nobody's called?"

Michael shook his head.

"They need to call."

Michael didn't reply.

"I'm so scared." My voice cracked.

"I have you booked to Kampala and a rental car will be waiting at the airport," Michael said. He swiveled in his desk chair and looked over at me with a nervous sort of expression, unsure how to comfort me.

My phone vibrated from my desk and I leaped at it like a puma. It was my father. "Daddy," I gasped into the phone.

"Thank God. You're stateside. I saw the news. Did you hear --"

"Yes," I gasped, "I'm so scared."

"You're okay baby girl," he said, his voice shaking with relieved nerves. "It's going to be okay, and I know you, you'll help the people who were affected when you can. It'll be okay."

I couldn’t answer. The comforting sound of my dad's voice allowed the tears to pour down my face.