Chapter Text
Bonnie came back to the house her parents bought when she was only five years old every summer; it became something ritual, unchanging, and almost sacred. Three hours away from where she was living, a city with tall buildings and heavy traffic, in which her friends and nearly everyone in her life lived. Whatever they said, this kind of summer retreat always let her live life a little slower, to experience the stillness, the salty wind, and the sunlit beach with golden hues spill across waves. Bonnie loved sitting somewhere under the shades, listening to the rhythmic whisper of the sea, and yet was embraced by the warmth of the sand.
Their family used to have a housekeeper who was caring, but she had already reached the age where she had to retire. Bonnie and her parents said goodbye to the old lady a few months ago, and just five days ago, her parents announced that there would be someone there to fill the position, temporarily. Bonnie didn't expect much, probably someone middle-aged with a warm heart. Also, her parents wouldn't be coming back this year since they were busy with their work piling up day by day. Thanks to that, she would have more time for herself and she wouldn't have to answer all the questions at dinner.
But to her surprise, it was a young woman, probably 4-5 years older than her. Bonnie arched a brow, gaze drifting to the tall, slender figure lounging on the white bench out front. The sunlight caught in loose strands of hair as the wind tossed them gently across her face, painting the scene in gold and motion. Her hand softly turned the page in front of her eyes, a gentle sigh of understanding, sometimes furrowed brows of concentration. Bonnie hesitated a bit before heading her way to the front gate, where her parents’ sunflowers were blooming in awe.
"Hi.”
The older girl stopped for a heartbeat, and she slowly closed the book. Bonnie didn't know why she always did everything so slowly and so attentively, so composed, it made Bonnie frustrated.
"You must be Mrs. Borattasuwan's daughter, if I'm right?” She spoke a few words, soft but firm, somehow like honey being poured into Bonnie's ears.
But also too distant.
"I am,” Bonnie replied, staring down at her shoes, thinking about why the conversation was so awkward. “I guess we can be friends this summer, yes?”
The older girl didn't reply, well, Bonnie guessed she might take this as a yes, then. She bunglingly struggled to drag her suitcase inside, even though it was a small one. Bonnie exhaled; she had never experienced this kind of embarrassment in front of someone's presence. Especially someone this new to her world.
"My name is Emi. Let me help you with that.” Emi said, eyes burned Bonnie's face. "You might need some more nutrients.”
Bonnie felt humiliated. She went to the gym 6 days a week, and that one day out of the gym? She would never eat something off the charts. No one ever told her that she was weak or that she might need some more food to boost her strength. She might look skinny, but the person who was offering help at the moment was even skinnier than her! In her furious state, she couldn't seem to notice the edge of Emi's lips curled up.
“I'm Bonnie, by the way,” Bonnie said while looking at Emi's back.
“I know. Your parents told me about you firsthand.” Emi replied without turning to look at Bonnie; even so, she could feel Bonnie's hateful eyes on her.
“I'm afraid we won't get along anytime soon,” Bonnie mumbled, brows furrowed even more at the thought of Emi's non-stop bickering, and why she never backed down.
“We will.”
Bonnie shook her head a little in disbelief. She thought she had turned down her volume, but Emi must have had sharp ears. Emi continued to carry her suitcase up to her room, Bonnie was slowly following her behind, eyes fixed on the older girl's shoulders. Bonnie concluded that Emi was even thinner than her, like her shoulders were hardly skin over bones, and there wasn't any fat or meat in there. Her eyes then trailed off to Emi's waist, where she found it exceptionally lean; her fitted tee embraced her body like it should, showcasing every curve she had. Bonnie did have a full meal with her eyes all over Emi's back without actually realizing what she was doing, so when Emi stopped midway, she bumped right into her.
“Sorry, I wasn't careful.” Bonnie scratched her head, spoke tentatively. What the hell was that, Bonnie!?
“I'll be staying next to your room, in the guest room, you know that room, right?” Emi paused, and she looked at Bonnie like she was waiting for an answer. “I will be downstairs making lunch. What do you want to eat?”
“Can you make Pad Krapao?” Bonnie had been craving this dish for over a week now, because it was summer, her friends were out of town for vacation, and her parents were busy, so she didn't have the chance.
“Sure thing.”
Bonnie glanced over the staircase railing, watching as Emi descended with that steady, unbothered composure of hers. With a sigh, she pulled out her phone to call her parents, just to let them know she’d arrived. Then, without wasting another second, she headed off to take a cool shower. The heat was unbearable; she felt like she was being cooked alive in a giant pan of boiling oil, with only the faintest whisper of a breeze for mercy.
.
When Bonnie walked to the kitchen, Emi wasn't there anymore; she couldn't spot the older girl anywhere near, but her cooking was already on the table, still warm. A whole dish of Pad Krapao, with a sunny side up fried egg with non-burnt corners. How did she know Bonnie wouldn't eat burnt corners eggs?
It was amazing. The rice was not clumped together; it was tender and fluffy. Stir-fried pork and basil was extremely on point, moist and full of flavor, a bit spicy to her liking, but it was not something bad. Even the best Pad Krapao back in her city, where she used to go with her friends, wasn't this good, or maybe it was the one who made it? Bonnie laughed at herself for thinking that way. Emi was nothing but a distant older girl who probably thought of Bonnie as someone childish, and way too skinny to even carry her suitcase.
A rustling sound attracted Bonnie's attention, and she quickly finished her lunch and put the dishes into the sink before darting out to the sound. She squinted her eyes at the sight of Emi in her beige shorts, oversized tee, which she had changed into. Her hair tugged under the gardening straw hat, sweat running down her neck and slowly passing by her collarbone. Emi moved all the daisy pots to one side and the rosemary to one side. She sniffed the rosemary a little before organizing those daisies again.
“Have you watched enough?” Emi asked without turning again, eyes still fixed on the daisy pots, which are in full bloom.
“I didn't watch you.” Bonnie flustered. She hated it when someone caught her red-handed. And Emi seemed to do it very often.
“Right, if you say so. How was the meal?” Emi brushed the dirt off her knees before standing up straight. Each step she took toward Bonnie was laced with that same maddening, almost arrogant confidence, like she knew something Bonnie didn’t.
“Good. It was good.” Bonnie lied a bit. She didn't want to admit that it was beyond good, it was excellent, delicate, 3-Michelin-starred worth of a meal.
Emi looked at Bonnie with one of her eyebrows raised. Bonnie felt cornered; she didn't know why she was being put on the spot in her own house, by someone her parents employed to watch the house, and Bonnie during the summer season. This summer season. Bonnie wouldn't want to see her every summer after, such a headache to deal with someone older, smarter, and certainly could read people like open books.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a bad liar?” Emi chuckled softly.
You see, Emi had this cocky little attitude, too arrogant, too erratic, but her smile was something else, radiant, disarming, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Especially under this whole summer concept of sunlit pavements, green bursting from every corner, wind slipping through every open space like a melody. Bonnie hated it.
Of course, Bonnie stood still without replying to such teasing questions. Suddenly, she missed her old housekeeper a little too much.
“I'm gonna head out to the beach, would you like to go together?” Emi asked, and she walked at a low pace to the back of the house, not fully waiting for Bonnie to answer. It was something she questioned herself; it didn't matter if Bonnie wanted to tag along or not.
Emi pulled out a grey bicycle, a Louis Garneau one, which Bonnie had never seen before in this house. She hadn't answered the question yet, observing the older girl's action as she reached out for a small, sloppy backpack, seemingly heavy, and put it on her shoulders. Emi looked at Bonnie again, judging by her expression, Emi gave a careless shrug, then pushed off on her bike and disappeared down the path.
Bonnie let out a quiet groan. She hated how easily Emi brushed her off, as if she were just part of the wallpaper. Miss Sha used to hug her, hold her hand, and spoil her with warmth and little affections that made her feel wanted. But now? That new girl her parents hired, she moved through the house like she owned it. As if Bonnie were the guest, the outsider. The thought churned in her gut, unsettling and bitter.
.
Bonnie didn’t exactly follow Emi to the beach; she just happened to take the same path that led there, where Emi already was. She picked a reclined sunbed facing the waves, deliberately settling a little distance away. Emi was stretched out on a thin mat, a book in one hand, sunscreen resting near her left side. Her flip-flops were tossed carelessly along the edge of the mat, and her sun-kissed skin looked half-burnt under the lazy afternoon light. Bonnie wondered why Emi was looking for this job; it didn’t feel like her. She should be in a forgotten corner of a school, maybe a classroom, maybe not, portraying landscapes, faces, and emotions. She looked free to be trapped in this housekeeper thingy.
Bonnie had brought her book too. She decided it was best to stop staring at this strange girl who, for now, just happened to be her temporary housekeeper. She needed to focus on herself, on her book, because if she didn’t, she might just get up, walk over to Emi, and blurt out every impulsive question running through her head.
Emi, on the other hand, obviously could feel every glance that was thrown at her existence. Safe to say it will come with tons of questions buried under those hot eyes, too. Her family was nothing but a good old family; she had a brother and a mother, but her dad? She didn’t know about him since she was a kid, and she also didn’t care whether he was there or not. Money was never the issue. They had more than enough. University fees, art supplies, even the uncertainty of life after graduation, none of it had ever been a real concern. Not for her.
Why this job, you ask? She just needed something away from the city, something quieter, more natural. It was a habit she’d built over time, craving the feel of a garden under the sun, the rhythm of waves nearby, the slow walks along paved paths, the satisfying crunch of gravel beneath her feet. And this position of being a housekeeper at the Borattasuwan family was more than perfect. Their daughter was a prize more than a suffer; she looked perfect in those photos that they sent to Emi.
Emi knew that they’d get along just fine, given time. She smiled behind the worn pages of her book, her mind wandering to Bonnie’s flustered expressions, the childish little ways she tried to challenge her. It was almost endearing. The sun today suddenly became warmer, the melody of waves felt like gold, even the sky looked bluer than usual, as if it were on something.