Take a Hint, Dani Brown

by Talia Hibbert

  The next day, she brought another coffee, but Zaf still wasn’t there. Dani swallowed hard in the face of George’s slightly pitying smile, walked past the lift with a wistful, teary glance, and dragged herself up the stairs, which suddenly seemed to go on for miles. She didn’t know exactly what it meant when the person you loved stopped coming into work so they wouldn’t have to see you, but it certainly didn’t seem good. She took a sip of Zaf’s coffee, then squeaked in horror and dribbled it back into the cup. Good Lord, that was disgusting. Were the man’s taste buds made of concrete?

  And now she’d dribbled coffee on her chin, so she should probably go to the bathroom before continuing the day's tragic move-fest.

  She turned the corner that led to the nearest bathroom just in time to see a familiar brown bob disappear behind the closing door. Jo. Or maybe it wasn’t, but it might be, and just that possibility stopped Dani in her tracks—because suddenly, in the midst of all her own pain, it seemed really, really urgent that she speak to Jo.

  Jo, her friend. Jo, who’d committed the grievous crime of developing feelings, which human beings often did, and had been punished for it because Dani wasn’t in touch with her own. Well, she was certainly in touch with her feelings now, every last stomach-churning one of them, and when it came to Jo, guilt was at the forefront. Along with regret and honest-to-God sorrow, that Dani had hurt someone she cared about just because they’d wanted something she hadn’t.

  So, like any reasonable ex–fuck buddy with stalkerish tendencies, she leaned against the wall and waited to hear a flush.

  Five minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Jo emerged, her brown bob razor-sharp as ever. Beneath her lab coat, she was wearing black trousers and a midnight-blue shirt, one Dani used to love on her. Of course, there were lots of things Dani had loved on Jo, or about Jo. She’d just never dared to consider the idea of loving Jo herself.

  Which now struck her as a damned shame.

  “Christ,” Jo yelped as she caught sight of Dani. “Oh my God. What are you doing here? I mean—sorry, you probably just want the toilet—”

  “No, actually,” Dani said. “I followed you.”

  Jo sighed. “God, Dan, you’re not supposed to admit that sort of thing. People will think you’re weird.”

  “I am weird, but that’s beside the point. I wanted to talk.”

  Jo’s lips tightened for a moment, but then she released a breath and shrugged. “I suppose you can’t still be angry with me, since you’ve moved on with Mr. Big and Brooding. So what, exactly, do you want?”

  Dani ignored the twinge she felt at that mention of Zaf. “I want,” she said quietly, “to apologize.”

  Jo blinked. “Apologize? Really.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wasn’t certain you knew the meaning of the word.”

  “Don’t be irritating, Josephine. I am attempting to prostrate myself before you.”

  Jo looked theatrically at the ground. “I don’t see it.”

  I missed you, Dani realized, and wanted to kick herself. I didn’t deserve you. Not in any context. But it was better to attempt to do right by someone than to give in and refuse to try.

  Jo sighed. “God, you look so serious. And tired. You never look tired. Are you sick or something?”

  “No. I’m not sick. Simply repenting for my many mistakes.”

  Jo gave her a considering look and leaned against the wall. “Go on, then. What’s this apology for?”

  “The entirety of our relationship.”

  Both women eyed each other for a moment, then smirked almost simultaneously.

  “I was a bad friend,” Dani went on. “You can’t control feelings, but I blamed you when you felt things for me. You were hurt and I didn’t give you space to feel that. I didn’t respect that it was real. You were my friend and if you’d come crying about some other woman, I would’ve supported you. So I should’ve supported you when that woman was me”

  Jo took a deep breath and looked away. After a long moment, she shrugged. “I was barking up the wrong tree with you. You made that clear from the start; I just didn’t want to hear it. Or maybe I thought I could change you. But I couldn’t, and that’s okay, because people shouldn’t be changed.”

  Dani agreed with that, to a certain extent. People shouldn’t be changed—but perhaps they should grow. Which would explain the constant, hollow ache that had filled her chest whenever she tried not to care about Zaf and failed.

  Growing pains.

  “Thank you for apologizing,” Jo said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Yes, well. Record the incident in your diary tonight, because I doubt it’ll ever happen again.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Jo snorted. “And I’m sorry, too. Honestly, I just . . . I kind of want us to be okay again.”

  “Oh thank God. Yes. Let’s be okay again.”

  Jo grinned. Then, after a slight hesitation, she held open her arms.

  It was a wonderfully awkward hug, and Dani felt better for it—just as she felt better for being open and honest, for engaging with emotion even if the vulnerability made her uncomfortable. For trusting Jo enough to accept that she cared, and daring to care in return.

  They went their separate ways with uncertain smiles, and Dani felt as if she’d been reunited with the best parts of herself. Not the parts so obsessed with staying safe that they electrocuted anyone who got too close. But the strong parts, the determined parts, the ones that made her the woman she was. And she remembered Gigi’s words: You know him best. You know how to explain and how to earn his forgiveness.

  Click.

  She knew what to do.

  Dani hurried off to her seminar, ideas sparking, mentally cataloguing every romance novel she’d ever seen Zaf read or heard him talk about. While her students got to grips with the horror of close reading on a Tuesday morning, she opened her laptop and ordered digital copies of every love story she could recall.

  Dani might not be good at everything, but she’d always been damn good at learning.

  When the seminar ended, she looked up at the girl with Zafir’s—no, with Zain’s eyes—and murmured, “Fatima. Could I have a word, please?”

  The girl nodded, clearly nonplussed.

  When the rest of the students had filed out, Dani stood. “I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, and please feel free to say no.” She knew she was being wildly inappropriate. All things considered, Dani had expected Fatima to be yanked from her class long ago. But apparently, none of the Powers That Be realized Dani was teaching her fake—ex . . . oh, whatever—boyfriend’s niece. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I was hoping to . . . arrange something for your uncle. And I wondered if you might have any idea how I could contact his friend Jamal.”

  Fatima, thankfully, didn’t seem alarmed by the request. “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I have his number, if you want it.”

  “Oh, thank you! Although—would he mind you giving it to me?”

  Fatima huffed out a laugh. “Everyone has Jamal’s number. He might as well stick it on lampposts at this point. He likes to know people will call him if they’re in trouble, you know?”

  Now, that certainly boded well. Surely such a lovely man wouldn’t give Dani too hard a time for brutally rejecting his best friend’s heart, would he? No. Definitely not.

  And he didn’t—but when she rang him later that day, he was certainly cautious.

  “This is Danika Brown,” she said, and there was a heavy pause.

  “Hi, Danika,” Jamal replied, his voice gentle but steady, moss over immovable earth. “May I ask why you’re calling?”

  “It’s, erm, about Zafir. You see, I know him from work, and—”

  “I know who you are.”

  Well, yes, she supposed that made sense, what with their fake relationship and Jamal being Zaf’s best friend and so on and so forth. Dani cleared her throat and pulled herself together. “I suppose I’d better get to the point, then. I need to apologize t
o Zaf. I want to do it in a very particular way, and I could really use your help.”

  There was an unnerving moment of silence. Then came Jamal’s voice, several degrees warmer. “All right, Danika Brown. Let’s talk.”

  * * *

  Spending time without Danika did wonders for Zaf’s clarity.

  For example, he was now even clearer on the fact that he loved her, and that said love was most likely doomed. Which was a shame, because the feeling seemed to have worked its way into his DNA, and he didn’t know how to stop. Hence calling in sick to work all week: he did have some pride. Enough that he’d rather Dani didn’t see his face until he got better at hiding the slapped-arse, brokenhearted expression he’d been wearing since she’d stormed out of his flat.

  Falling out of love with her might take a fucking lifetime, but he’d at least seem calm and collected while he did it.

  “Here, my boy,” Mum said, cutting through his thoughts. She plonked a bowl of sweet phirni in front of him and kissed his head. “Eat up. You are wasting away.”

  “Er . . .” Zaf looked dubiously down at his belly. He didn’t know who’d snitched to his mum about this Dani situation, but whoever it was, he’d hunt them down and deliver payback very soon. After he’d had enough of all these home-cooked meals, obviously.

  Across the table, Fatima groused, “When are you going to come back to uni? It’s weird not seeing you around.”

  Zaf dredged up a smile, because he always had one for his Fluffball. “It’s only been four days. You miss me? Hmm?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You do.” His smile widened. “You know, when you were a baby, I used to sneak you spoonfuls of my phirni and you’d smile at me so big. Except you didn’t have any teeth, so it was kind of scary.”

  “Ya Allah, not the baby stories.”

  “Fatima,” Kiran sighed. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Don’t mind your uncle,” Jamal piped up through a mouth of rice pudding. “He’s just feeling emotional.”

  Mum poked her head out of the kitchen to pout in Zaf’s direction. “Oh, my poor, sweet boy. Look at you. Depressed, overeating—”

  “Hang on,” he said with a scowl, “what happened to ‘wasting away’?”

  “—and soon to be unemployed. I knew that teacher was trouble from the moment I saw her. Didn’t I say, Kiran? Didn’t I say, She looks like trouble?”

  “No.” Kiran frowned. “You said she was beautiful and that her haircut was very French.”

  Mum huffed and disappeared into the kitchen again. “I don’t remember that at all.”

  “Lay off Danika,” Zaf called after her. “I . . .” He stopped, suddenly aware that the rest of the table was staring at him.

  “You what?” Fatima nudged with a grin.

  I love her. I miss her. I know that if she can’t love me back, I need to let her go. But I can’t stop remembering that Danika always surprises me.

  He shook his head and told Fatima firmly, “This is an adult conversation.”

  “I’m eighteen!” But she didn’t sound as outraged as usual. And then he caught her exchanging an oddly significant look with Jamal, which never boded well.

  “What are you two up to?” Zaf demanded, narrowing his eyes.

  “Nothing. You’re paranoid,” Jamal said sweetly, which might as well have been a sign flashing BULLSHIT. “And don’t worry, Auntie Maya,” he called toward the kitchen, “Zaf’s not going to be unemployed. He’s too stubborn for that.”

  “I don’t think that’s how employment works,” Zaf said with a snort. “But actually . . . Mum, could you come back in here? I have something to tell everyone.”

  Mum reappeared with a bowl of her own and sat down at the head of the table. “What? What is happening?”

  “Nothing,” Zaf said. “It’s just, well—things have been going really well for Tackle It since . . . since we got so much publicity.” He paused for a moment to work through the catch in his throat, the pang in his chest. The woman in his mind’s eye.

  Danika. If there was one thing he’d learned from their month together, it was that risks were always worth it. Even if you fell instead of flying.

  He cleared his throat and started again. “Things have been going well. Really well. You all know I got the chance to offer my program to four local schools in the summer. I got positive responses to some of my funding bids for the first time—maybe because I was more open about what we went through, and how that led me to start Tackle It. Which is cool. But then . . . this week, I got the opportunity to sign a deal with the Titans.” Everyone sat up a little straighter at the mention of his old team. “You know they’re doing a lot better than they were, back in the day. And now they have this whole nonprofit, grassroots campaign to find more kids for their training academy. So they want to—to join forces with Tackle It, I guess. The idea is, they fund me, I carry out my workshops for them and elsewhere, and I funnel talented kids into the academy, too. Plus, the owner gets to look extra charitable or whatever.” Deep breath. “So I’ve decided it’s time to give up security and really go all in.”

  The stunned silence went on long enough for Zaf’s nerves to balloon a little bit. Then, one by one, his family’s faces split into slow, proud grins, and the balloon popped, leaving nothing but relief.

  “Chacha,” Fatima whispered, wide-eyed, “are you serious?”

  He nodded. He knew this was huge, logically. He’d just been having trouble getting excited about it when his mind and his heart ached with other things. But now his mother whooped and clapped her hands, and Kiran was clutching her chest and beaming like a lightbulb, and Jamal was punching him in the shoulder and laughing, saying, “I see you, I see you,” and somehow all their enthusiasm broke down his own cautious, hurting wall and shoved excitement directly into his veins.

  And just like that, Zaf was smiling, too.

  * * *

  An hour and another bowl of dessert later, the whole family still buzzing with congratulations, Jamal dragged Zaf into the hall.

  “Come on, man. We need to go somewhere.”

  Zaf followed along with a frown. “What? Since when?” Then Jamal pushed Zaf’s jacket into his hands and kicked his shoes toward him. “Where are we—?”

  “Just taking Zafir for a walk, auntie,” Jamal called over his shoulder. “Be back in a minute. Come on, get your shoes on.”

  “Why?” Zaf demanded, but he did it anyway. Jamal just winked. Then he opened the door and they broke out into the cool, spring evening, the sky above them a calm dove-gray. March was officially over, just like Zaf and Dani—but then, that had always been the plan. Yesterday had marked the end of their four weeks of faking it.

  So much had happened between them, he barely even thought about that Dr. Rugbae shit anymore. Except when he was scrolling through the practically dead hashtag to find old, creepy pictures of them holding hands all over campus. Which was not healthy behavior, he realized that, but whatever. He was working on it.

  Jamal flicked him in the back of the head. “You’re moping.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Look at your face—you’re moping.” Jamal steered him around a corner and down the street.

  “Maybe I’m pissed because you just dragged me outside for no reason. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Nothing you need to panic about, anyway. I promise.”

  A promise from Jamal was good enough to ease the threat of flickering anxiety, but Zaf still couldn’t stop himself from guessing. “Is this about one of the kids?”

  “Nah. All good.”

  Zaf thought some more. “Are you going to propose to Kiran?”

  Jamal rolled his eyes. “Inshallah, obviously I’m gonna propose to Kiran.”

  “And you’re taking me to discuss this on the . . . rugby field?” Because that’s where they’d wound up, he realized, as they stepped onto the familiar grass. “Right now? Is it that urgent?” A thought occurred, and Zaf thumped his friend in the shoul
der. “Are you doing it today?”

  “No. I haven’t even got a ring.” Jamal looked genuinely nervous for once in his laid-back life. “What kind of ring do you get a woman like that? Plus, it has to match the first one.”

  The ring Zain Bhai gave her, the one she’d never taken off. Zaf’s heart squeezed, but it wasn’t discomfort so much as awed, gentle envy.

  Love could hurt so bad, but fuck was it good.

  Zaf was going back to work tomorrow. He had to. Maybe Danika would sail right past him as if they’d been nothing, maybe he’d have to chain himself to his desk so he wouldn’t chase after her like some lovestruck hero, but he needed to see her. Or he’d never get the chance to tell her he was sorry. Or to tell her that, if she didn’t want his love, fine—but if she did, it would always be there.

  Always.

  “So,” Zaf croaked, “you want ring advice?”

  “From you? For what? Like you’re some fashion icon. I’ll ask Fluffy, thanks very much.”

  Zaf laughed—and then, freed from the distraction of his sister’s possible proposal, he finally noticed the goalposts at the far end of the field. The ones they were walking toward right now. The ones that usually stood plain and unadorned, the white paint chipped and the metal rusting in places, against the backdrop of the field and the cluster of silver beeches just behind it.

  Today those posts had countless bunches of huge, bright flowers wrapped around them. Every inch of metal, up to the crossbar, was hidden by white and red carnations, each bigger than Zaf’s fist, a sea of petals scattered on the mud beneath the goal. Behind that spectacle, in the long evening shadows cast by the beeches, was a group of teenage boys perched on BMXs, who all started waving. They shouted over each other like excitable puppies given human form.

  “Here he is!

  “Here, Zaf, we kept an eye on all this because—”

  “Fucking Ollie Carpenter was sniffing up here, but—”

  “Quiet, quiet, we’re supposed to fuck off now.”

  “Cheers, lads,” Jamal called, and they all dispersed.

  Zaf stared. “What—?” Then someone else walked out of the shadows. The last person he’d ever expected to see, a living fantasy—but he felt the evening breeze on his cheeks and the familiar give of the earth beneath his feet and knew this was real. “Danika,” he breathed.