Scattered Ashes

by Dona Sarkar

  “Where were you coming from?” She hadn’t even been home last night, and she had the nerve to judge me.

  “Mars,” she said in that newfound “Mom” warning tone.

  “You can’t stop me.” I cut her off. “I can see him as much as I want.”

  “Having a boy stay over and do God-knows-what is completely unacceptable. What are you thinking? I—”

  “We didn’t do anything. We just talked.”

  She, of course, didn’t believe me, and her eyebrows said it all.

  “There is no way this is acceptable. You’re still living in my house, and while that continues, you’ll do what I say.”

  “Then I’ll go live with Zayed.”

  I was not going to do that, though it did sound tempting after the previous night. I wasn’t sure if he’d mind or not, but I didn’t want to know if he wouldn’t want it. That would be beyond humiliating.

  Her eyebrows came together. “Don’t you dare try and blackmail me.”

  Mine came together as well. “I’m just telling you what’s going to happen. Don’t try to make a bunch of random rules. How is what I’m doing any different than you?”

  “Mars, I’m an adult.”

  It was pretty funny to hear her say that, as if she was trying to reassure herself.

  “Well, so am I.”

  She made an exasperated noise.

  “I’ll be eighteen in three months. I’m an adult.”

  “When you’re on your own, you can do what you want, but you don’t know anything about him. I don’t know anything about him.”

  “He’s been in our house before. We didn’t do anything last night. I wouldn’t—”

  “I just can’t believe you think this behavior is acceptable. If your father was here, he would have—well, I can’t imagine.”

  “Well, he’s not here, is he? Whose fault is that?”

  She was silent, and we both stared at each other.

  No, he wasn’t here. She didn’t know what to do with me in a situation like this, and we both knew it.

  “I love Zayed,” I said without thinking, hoping maybe she’d understand. I stunned myself at how right the words sounded out loud. It was as if they had always been true.

  “What?”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t know what that means.”

  “Yeah, I really do.” I grabbed my purse. “Leave it alone, Lana. You’re not Dad. Don’t try to be.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The Gazebo

  “Where are we going, Mars?”

  “You’ll see.” I glanced over at Zayed, sprawled comfortably in the passenger seat of the Corvette, his feet crossed and resting on the dashboard. He looked so at home in my world, it was strange. As if he’d always been a part of it and I’d never noticed.

  I guided the car onto I-5 from the U District and proceeded south. “I wanted to share something with you. Something I’ve never told anyone.”

  “Are there ghosts involved this time?”

  I had to laugh. He had the ability to make me do so even when I was bracing myself for something somber. “No ghosts. I promise.”

  “Then?”

  “Wait and see,” I replied, squinting through the pelting rain on my windshield. Traffic didn’t look too terrible despite the evening rush hour. We would be there in twenty minutes.

  I had decided it was time. I would tell Zayed the one secret I kept from everyone, even Lana. I would show him where I went every Friday afternoon and what I did there.

  I needed Zayed to know I trusted him, and in return I wanted him to trust me with his secrets.

  “Tell me what happened that morning.”

  He glanced quizzically at me, playing dumb.

  Seattle downtown whizzed by on the right, the top of the Space Needle barely visible from under the low-slung clouds protecting the city from the chill on the mountains. This was the kind of afternoon to spend curled up indoors nursing a hot cup of coffee over a good conversation. But I had to do what I always did on Fridays, and though I was nervous about Zayed’s reaction, having company during the routine was actually reassuring.

  “The morning we were supposed to meet and you stood me up. Why didn’t you come? And why did you change your mind later?” I said, spelling it out for him.

  “You won’t understand.” He looked away this time, all traces of levity gone.

  “I won’t, huh? Really, after everything, that’s your cop-out?” I was starting to get angry at these dead-end answers.

  I wasn’t a stranger anymore. We’d spent a night together. He owed me some answers, and I was not going to back down. “You’re going to tell me, or I’m taking the West Seattle exit and leaving you on Alki Beach.”

  The beach, while beautiful in the summer and a primary spot for diving in the Puget Sound, would be freezing and deserted now. There was also no easy way to get back to the University District from there for Zayed.

  “You’d make me walk home and ruin our afternoon?”

  “You bet.”

  He turned and stared at me for a second in silence. I set my mouth in a thin line, hoping he realized I was not kidding.

  “I don’t want to be left on the curb, so I’ll tell you something. I need to know that you will never talk about this with anyone. I’m asking, Mars, for you to forget I even said this.”

  “Do you see lots of confidantes around?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Where are all of your friends, Mars?” Zayed asked, casually flipping through the music playlists and selecting a new song. An old Coldplay song came through the speakers. “According to American television, a beautiful teenage girl like yourself should have a group of friends always surrounding her and a line of suitable young men a boyfriend should be having to fend off every day. Where are they?”

  I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye at the boyfriend remark. So he considered himself my boyfriend. The thought thrilled me despite my frustration.

  “Have you always been a lone wolf?” he asked. “So secretive and private?”

  “Why, kettle, you’re so black,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t get the reference. “My name is pot.” I found it almost funny he thought I was the secretive, mysterious one when he had openly told me he had secrets that he would never share with me.

  “Why do you have no friends who are wondering where you are right now, Mars?”

  This was one of the reasons I appreciated talking to Zayed; he had no preconceived notions of what I had been before. He had no qualms about asking intensely personal questions because he didn’t worry about how I would react or what was appropriate. He asked because he wanted to know.

  “You’re not going to be able to get off the subject of why you stood me up that easily, you know. I’m not stupid,” I said sternly, knowing what he was trying to do.

  “That I’m completely aware of.” He grinned. “Sometimes I wish you were less intelligent so I could ‘get away’ with some things at least.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck. According to you, I’m Ivy League material, remember?”

  “That you are, my darling.” He reached across and brushed a strand of hair back behind my ear, letting his fingers linger on my earlobe.

  My darling? I didn’t move. Every touch. Every moment with him. I savored each one in my mind at night while I tried to sleep.

  “I’ll tell you a piece of my story, but then you have to answer my question. Deal?” I pulled my head away reluctantly. No distractions.

  “Deal.”

  “I used to be that quintessential American girl,” I said with a smirk. “Something happened at school a while ago that made everyone think I was crazy.”

  The familiar whirr of airplane engines roared overhead as they made their descent into the Seattle-Tacoma airport. I watched the underside of the plane arc forcefully through the air. Would that be the plane?

  “What happened at school?”

  “You first. What happened that morning at the U?”
/>   I didn’t expect him to answer, honestly at least, but he spoke up at once.

  “I met with someone earlier in the day, someone who is . . . guiding me. And he advised me not to get involved with someone like you. An innocent person.”

  “Who did you meet with?”

  “I cannot share that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Please don’t ask me to.”

  “Why?”

  “Please drop me off by the side of the road,” Zayed said quietly.

  I sighed. Clearly he was done. Very annoying.

  “Fine, why did you change your mind and come to my house?”

  “Because I realized I was . . .”

  I looked over at him. He was biting his lip, measuring his words. I hated when he did this. Why couldn’t he just say it? I knew, he knew. He knew I knew. Everyone knew.

  “I realized I had romantic feelings for you. I admire you, respect you. I want to be with you all the time. For good.”

  “I want to know where you disappeared off to for those two weeks last month. When you didn’t teach class and left us with that horrible substitute. I want to know where you go and who you talk to.”

  “I’m not allowed to speak of it, Mars.”

  “Why not?”

  He was shaking his head, and I knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere. “I’ll tell you someday, but I can’t right now. Please trust me.”

  I slowed the car down, earning a honk from a Prius behind us. I didn’t want the ride to end so quickly. I had to know more.

  “How can I trust you when you don’t trust me at all?” I tried to hide the hurt in my voice, but it came across much stronger than expected.

  “Every night I wish I was with you. Holding you in my arms as I did in your room.”

  I still didn’t say anything.

  “Every day. Every minute. I want to tell you everything, but I am obligated not to.”

  “When will you tell me?”

  “Soon. Maybe before the year is up. Maybe before I ask you to spend your life with me. Please be patient with me. That’s all I ask of you.”

  Damn! We drove in silence.

  I felt a light flush on my cheeks. “I guess it’s clear how I feel about you.”

  “How?”

  “You’re just a friend.” I looked away. I wasn’t going to say it. Not now.

  “You’re the world’s worst liar, Mars.”

  “What?”

  “You get this snooty, arrogant look on your face and your whole face changes.”

  “Does not.” I glared at him. He didn’t know me well enough to know when I wasn’t being completely honest. He couldn’t. That would be terrifying and impossible.

  “And there it is now. That look.”

  I veered the car into the exit more callously than I’d expected to.

  “We’re here,” I said, ending the conversation.

  “The airport?” he glanced at the ARRIVALS and DEPARTURES signboards. “You’re sending me somewhere?”

  “Alaska.”

  He looked at me, alarmed. I’d thought about it actually. Getting on a plane and dragging Zayed with me. Disappearing to someplace other than Seattle for a few days and demanding every bit of truth out of Zayed.

  I knew Lana would call the Army Reserves to find me, though.

  “No one is going anywhere. Relax.”

  I parked the car in short-term parking and held out a hand for Zayed’s.

  “Come on.”

  We walked across the sky bridge and into the arrivals hallway. I guided us to a waiting area, where we took seats. Travelers passed us lugging suitcases, snowboards, and guitar cases. Every single one of them with a purpose.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Waiting.” I crossed my legs at the knee and watched the time.

  It was exactly six o’clock when they started to come out. Troops. Marines. Army. Navy. Air Force. In their uniforms, looking exhausted, they came into the arrivals hall, and most were greeted by tearful family and friends.

  I clutched Zayed’s hand, threading my fingers through his. Maybe he would bring me luck and this would be the day.

  “Mars?”

  “I come here every Friday. I always hope that he will be one of them.”

  “Mars Alexander Senior?”

  I nodded.

  He slipped an arm around me, and we waited. I rested my head against his chest, feeling hopeful. The soldiers were still coming out. Any minute. How happy he would be to see me, how surprised. He would like Zayed, I knew he would.

  A young woman in combat boots came into the terminal and looked around the hallway. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting for her. I bit my lip. Where was her family? Her friends?

  She stood, waiting, looking sadder by the second. I almost stood up and went over to her but didn’t know what I would do after that. What was wrong with people? This girl was home from a nightmarish place, and there was no one to show her she was loved and missed.

  My father was never going to be in that situation, I had vowed. I would be here every Friday, whether he called ahead to let us know he was coming or not.

  The young woman finally realized no one was coming and headed toward the taxi stands. I watched her leave the terminal to look for a taxi.

  A few minutes passed, and we watched the arrivals dwindle down. Then no one came up the escalator at all.

  “I don’t think he’s coming today.” Zayed’s arm around my shoulder tightened.

  I allowed myself to bury my face in his shoulder to stop the tears that I knew would come next.

  “Why not?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is he?” I asked needlessly, the tears starting, though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry today in front of Zayed.

  Zayed continued to hold me and let me cry silently.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll be waiting here, both of us, when he does come.”

  * * *

  “There you two are!” Vivek exclaimed. “We were about to give up on you.”

  Vivek had insisted that Zayed and I join him and Lana for a late-evening dinner that night. He was making Indian-Italian fusion cuisine and wanted an honest audience, he’d claimed. Lana wanted to keep an eye on me and Zayed, is what I thought the real motivation was.

  I hadn’t wanted to go, given my fight with Lana and the emotional afternoon at the airport. Still, I knew how much Zayed had enjoyed breakfast at our house and hadn’t wanted to refuse the offer of dinner after seeing his eyes light up. I understood it must be incredibly lonely for him to go from being with such a close-knit family to where he was now, living alone with only a tiny kitten as company.

  Vivek ushered Zayed and me into his downtown Seattle condo. I stared at the 360-degree view of the city from the twentieth-story windows. The panoramic vision could’ve easily been frozen in time, creating a perfect postcard of all the Pacific Northwest had to offer. Still, I was astonished at how spectacular and new the snow-covered peaks of the Olympic Mountains, the blanket of silvery-blue lake, and an up-and-coming downtown area looked even to me.

  “Your condo is gorgeous,” I said as I glanced around the foyer, which had clearly been done by a professional decorator. There was no way a twenty-something guy could have picked out the perfect wall-hanging and rug combo that showcased his place.

  “This is my weekday home. My other place is a mansion.” Vivek nudged us toward his living room.

  “Really?” Zayed whispered, tightening his grip on my hand.

  “Probably.” I muttered back, loudly enough for Vivek to hear.

  “No! I’m obviously kidding,” he said, laughing at the look of disgust on my face. “I did this whole place myself, from the floor plan to the décor.”

  I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that.

  Lana was already in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine. “Hello, kids. I’m glad you both could come on such short notice.”

  I frowned. K
ids? She was the one dating someone a whole teenager younger than her.

  “Thank you for including me, Mrs. Alexander.”

  “You’re most welcome, Zayed. I knew if I wanted to see my daughter, I would have to lure her here.” Lana gave him her fake smile. This evening would end very quickly if she continued with her snide comments. Clearly, Zayed made me happy. I was giving her new boyfriend the benefit of the doubt; she owed me the same in return.

  “Tonight’s specialty is ravioli stuffed with butter chicken served in a rose alfredo sauce, a cold potato curry salad, and for dessert, panna cotta infused with ground cardamom powder,” Vivek announced, presenting each dish on the table with a flourish.

  Tall candlesticks graced the ends of the table, which featured asymmetrical dishes and flatware unlike any I’d seen before. I smoothed my napkin on my lap and watched Vivek pull out Lana’s chair for her. She rewarded him with that smile that I knew would make him crazy. He stared at her long after she turned her attention to the serving dishes.

  It was already happening. He would be moving in in no time, and this downtown condo would become our weekend home.

  “Where did you find this ravioli?” I took the first bite. Delicious. The butter chicken was creamy, spicy with just a hint of rosy milky sweetness.

  “Vivek and I gave the pasta maker a run this afternoon to roll out the dough for the ravioli. I made the alfredo sauce.” Lana watched me eat. “You like it?”

  “You made this?” I asked incredulously, taking a second bite of ravioli.

  “I’ve never had anything like this before.” Zayed commented. “I’m accustomed to spicy food, but the potato salad has a definite bite to it. It’s excellent.”

  I took a small forkful of the potato salad, which was sprinkled with crushed serrano peppers to add some heat. “Wow.”

  Vivek smiled with satisfaction, glancing over at Lana. Even I had to give them credit. The food was delicious, and it was a rare thing to see Lana participate in cooking anything. My father had long ago banished her from the kitchen, having grown impatient with her experiments gone wrong.

  “If you like spicy food, I will make my mother’s recipe for khoresh anaar for you all soon,” Zayed promised. “It’s a famous Iraqi dish that everyone says is the best they’ve ever had.”