by Shaila Patel
“Premlataben wants you to meet her son, Tejas,” Mom said.
I snapped my head up. “What? Premlata Aunty? Why?”
Premlata Shah was a client of Mom’s who bought tickets to England all the time. She wasn’t my actual aunt, but since she’d become a family friend, I used it as a term of respect. Aunty and Uncle were just what Indians used for their elders, instead of Mr. or Mrs. She’d seen photos in Mom’s cubicle of me dancing Bharatanatyam. Ever since, Aunty had been asking me to choreograph Indian folk dances for all the shows and festivals she helped coordinate. Mom never let me say no. Shiney suspected Aunty was test-driving me as a daughter-in-law, but I’d never met her son and had thought nothing of it.
“Hanh. She came to the agency today. She told me you can do the early graduation in June, and then we can talk about you both getting married. She said you can go to the medical school later if you want. She will call Tejas home soon so he can meet you. Do you want more rice, deeku?”
I shook my head, more in disbelief than to answer her question. The muscles around my head seemed to clamp down like a vice.
Mom raised her finger as if she’d forgotten the most important thing. “Her Tejas is studying at Duke and—”
I shot up and stumbled into the kitchen, blocking out the rest. My stomach churned. I turned on the garbage disposal and scraped the rest of my dinner down the drain. The thundering noise worsened the pounding in my head, but it was better than giving her any real estate in my thoughts.
After a minute, I turned off the disposal and the water. “I’m taking out the recycling.”
I stormed out the back, letting the screen door slam behind me. The infinite darkness above me did nothing to lift the suffocating blanket of my life. I picked up the recycling bin and lugged it down to the curb, trying to control the emotions taking over. The noise of cans clanking and Styrofoam rubbing together grated on me. As I bent over to drop the bin, my hands wouldn’t let go. I’d clung so hard to the edge, my muscles went stiff. I dropped to my knees and bowed my head between my arms, matching my breaths to the pulsing rhythm of the crickets’ chirping, hoping to fend off the tears.
“Lucky?”
I squeaked and twisted so fast, I fell back on my butt. “Liam?” I glanced at my house to make sure Mom wasn’t watching.
Liam followed my gaze and stayed between his house and Mrs. Robertson’s, keeping out of Mom’s view. He was holding a recycling bin filled with flattened boxes.
From the light of both porches, I could see the concern on his face.
Does he really like me?
He put down the bin and moved into the shadows of Mrs. Robertson’s porch, waving me over. How does he know not to come to me? I looked toward my house again and got up, wiping off my backside. I walked over, and the closer I got, the lighter the oppressive veil felt. I stopped at arm’s length from him, not trusting myself to step any closer.
“Praying over the recycling, were you?” he asked.
A bitter laugh came out before I could stop it. I cleared my throat. “Something like that,” I whispered.
His eyes shot over to my house and then back to me. “Your mum?”
I nodded, unable to stop staring into his eyes. Before I realized what I was doing, I’d told him about Sujata, Mom’s edict about marriage or med school, and Premlata Aunty’s ‘offer.’ At the mention of Tejas, Liam cracked his neck and dipped his head, his hands hanging loosely on his hips. Great, now I’m making him uncomfortable.
“Anyway.” Babbling would get me into trouble, so I moved toward Mrs. Robertson’s back door for her recycling. Ever since her hip replacement, I’d been helping her around the house.
“Here, let me.” He took the bin from my hand, stacked it on top of his and brought both of them down to the curb. Watching his muscular form move in the dark rooted me to the spot.
Boy, I have it bad.
He jogged back, grinning. Oh God. Had I moaned out loud or something? I looked down and mumbled a thanks. He’d stepped close enough for me to see his shoes, and I curled my fingers into my palms to keep from touching him.
“It’s the least I can be doing for you, especially since I can’t be helping you with your mum.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Y–You can always talk to me, you know. It’s brutal—not having a choice, that is.” His words echoed what he’d said at lunch the first day of school. How could he understand what it was like to have no say in something? Somehow, I sensed he could.
A strange warmth filled my mind like feeling an ocean breeze in summer. It relaxed me, and I met his eyes.
“I’ll see you in the morning then?” he asked. Even in the dim light, his eyes seemed to reflect the light like a beacon.
I nodded and began walking home. “Oh, Liam?” I turned and ducked closer to Mrs. Robertson’s porch railing. “How did you know not to let my mom see you?”
“I’ve, uh … known some Indian girls … before. Their mums were a bit on the strict side. Thought it safe to assume yours would be too.”
“Oh.” Maybe that explained why he was so comfortable with me. Most white guys treated me like I was invisible, befriended me to copy off my tests, or treated me like I was related to Gandhi just because I was brown.
The thought of how close he’d been with those other Indian girls burrowed its way in. Should I ask? He’d asked me about Jack.
“Were any of them your girlfriends?” I asked quietly. My next thought didn’t just burrow in—it barreled through, making my stomach drop. My hand gripped one of the posts under the railing.
What if I reminded him of her? Was that why he was spending so much time with me?
Liam took a long, slow breath and exhaled out loud. He stared off in the distance, scratching behind his ear, and a tight knot formed around my stomach. His sigh told me the answer was a big fat yes. He must miss her, judging by his sigh. What else could it be?
He’s just another crush gone bad, Laxshmi.
I shouldn’t have expected anything different. A sting pricked the back of my eyes, and I cleared my throat. His head snapped up, and I changed my expression, giving him one of Mrs. Robertson’s oh-wait-till-I-tell-the-ladies-at-church look. I refused to let him know this upset me.
Liam studied my face, his expression confused. Mission accomplished. It didn’t make me feel better though.
“Uh, that’s a complicated question, Lucky.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “To answer what seems the intent of your asking … the truth of it is no.”
My intent? I didn’t want to act too bothered, so I ignored my curiosity. “No biggie. Just wondering.” I forced a smile and turned toward home. “Gotta get back, or she’ll get suspicious.”
A guy in a dark sedan, a car I’d never seen before, was parked across the street. A slight glow from the phone against his ear had caught my attention. An achy unease skittered up my spine. Stop being so melodramatic, Laxshmi. He was probably a neighbor’s friend—a neighbor who could so very easily tell Mom they saw me talking to Liam. Would I ever remember to be more careful?
“Lucky?” Liam’s voice sounded like a plea, but I refused to look at him. I threw a wave over my shoulder.
I felt his eyes on me until I turned between my house and Mrs. Robertson’s, the buzz of crickets blaring in my ears again.
Dreams of Liam had kept me tossing and turning all night, and while the pit in my stomach had never gone away, I couldn’t wait to walk to school with him. Pitiful.
Seeing him in the soft, morning light, standing down by the corner away from my house and Mom’s prying eyes, my stomach did a whole Olympic gymnastics routine. It didn’t dislodge the pit though. He gave me a few curious looks when thoughts of his ex-girlfriend distracted me, be we kept the conversation light on our slow walk to school.
Shiney was waiting for us at the back entrance when we got there. She gave me an apologetic look and backed out of our weekend mall plans.
“Sor
ry, Liam,” Shiney said. “We’d invited you too, remember?”
“No worries.” He held open the door for Shiney and me. The vestibule smelled like stale cigarette smoke. I held my breath and went through the inner doors, gulping in the typical, musty school air.
Shiney turned to me. “At least you’ll have more time to practice. See ya.”
Liam and I made our way upstairs.
“Practice?” he asked. “Like when I was up on the roof watching you dance?” I groaned. He’d seen that too, hadn’t he? “Ballet, right?”
“Yeah, and modern, but not anymore. I stopped this summer to concentrate on my Bharatanatyam. It’s an Indian classical dance.”
We got to our lockers and began changing out our stuff. All around us, metal slammed against metal, and the crowd thinned.
“Why don’t you tell me about this Bharatanatyam.”
I wondered if he was truly interested, or if he was just making polite conversation.
“Well, it’s a pretty rigorous dance, like ballet, but much more expressive. The dancer usually tells a religious story or a folktale.”
“So if I was to go up on my roof on a Saturday, say, should I be bringing popcorn?” His eyes twinkled.
Thank God he was teasing.
“Um, no.” I let out a laugh. “I don’t really practice up there anyway. Not enough room. I’d love to practice in the garage, but it’s filled with junk. It’s perfect though. There’d be plenty of space to put up mirrors, a ballet barre, proper flooring, that kind of stuff. Doubt it’ll happen though.”
“I’m still trying to set up my garage workshop. I do a fair bit of woodworking in there when I’ve got the time.” We chatted about his workshop on the way to history. He sat behind me when I took my seat. I had to bite my lip extra hard to keep from smiling. Ugh. Would my heart and head ever get on the same page?
He leaned forward, and my ear tingled at his closeness. “So, my question then. Can I ever get a chance to watch you practice this dancing of yours?”
I turned my head, giving him my profile. His face was so close to mine I had no choice but to stare into his eyes. “Seriously? No. Why on earth would I let you?”
“My disarming smile, remember?”
While flirting with him yesterday, I’d told him he had a disarming smile. Now I wondered at the wisdom of that. His comment drew my attention to his mouth, making everything below my belly button somersault. I clenched my teeth to keep from groaning.
As the bell rang, Jack trudged through the classroom and threw himself into an empty seat on the other side. He gave me a look. His eyes darted to Liam and back to me, and he raised an eyebrow in that yeah-I’ve-heard-it-all-before way of his—a look Shiney and I were well acquainted with. He’d use it whenever we’d promise to be ready at a certain time. Naturally, we’d always be late.
I gave him a small smile and shrugged.
Liam followed my gaze. “Sure it’s not a date?”
I stuck out my tongue at Liam and faced forward. He seemed to have the courage to ask whatever he wanted. I needed to get some too and ask about his ex.
When we left first period for our lockers, Jack had already beaten us there.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you had gym.”
He glanced in Liam’s direction and lowered his voice. “I waited for you at my locker this morning.”
Liam was getting his French books out and froze for a split second. He’d obviously heard. His face became angular and pinched. Shiney and Sujata may have been right, but at least now I knew why he was hanging around me.
“Why?” I asked Jack.
“You don’t remember?”
I shook my head.
He leaned closer. My entire body stiffened. What was Liam going to think now? God. Why should I even care?
“Laxshmi, what’s the date?” Jack stared at me with his deep, dark, serious eyes.
Liam slammed his locker shut, and I snapped my head around to look at him. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated by the expression on his face. He looked jealous.
I turned back to face Jack. The reason why he’d waited for me this morning hit me like a fist to the chest. In less time than it took me to remember, the tears welled in my eyes, stinging and hot. Jack put his arm around me and kissed my temple. I covered a sob with my hand.
“Jack. Oh my God. I forgot. How could I forget?” I stepped back for some air, but I couldn’t breathe. Liam’s eyes were locked onto me, and when he made a move to come closer, Jack put his hands on my shoulders and stepped in front of Liam.
I pushed Jack aside and ran across the main artery to the girls’ bathroom.
In all the excitement about walking to school with Liam, I’d forgotten it was the anniversary of my Dad’s death.
The bell to start second period had rung a good twenty minutes ago, but I couldn’t stop the tears long enough to leave the bathroom.
What kind of daughter am I?
I sat on the cold tile floor of the accessible stall, hugging my knees to my chest, as far away from the toilet as I could get. Skipping Spanish wasn’t the worst rule to break, but I’d never skipped a class before—and even that made me cry.
Mom never grieved over Dad with me. In fact, she refused to bring up anything about Daddy. Since his death, nothing had ever been the same between us—her bitterness over Dad’s dying on us became more important than me. Every year, Jack would meet me in the morning and let me cry on his shoulder, or talk about my dad, or even listen to me vent about how unreasonable my mom was being.
Jack was a better friend than I was a daughter. Before Daddy had died, he’d asked me to honor and take care of Mom, and here I was, hating her for wanting me to have a better life and refusing a career that would help me take care of her one day. School came easy to me. I could be a doctor. As much as I wanted to dance, the odds of it making me financially secure enough to take care of Mom one day were small. It would mean I’d be dependent on a husband—a husband who might leave me as bitter as Mom was.
I can’t let that happen.
Would I ever find a love marriage like Sujata? Or would my husband be arranged like Mom’s was? Why did Liam make me hope I could be happy one day?
“Laxshmi?” Shiney’s voice echoed against the tile.
I reached up and unlocked the stall.
She crawled in next to me and let me rest my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you forgot,” she said.
“How did you find me?” I wiped my nose with wadded up toilet paper.
“You won’t believe this, but it doesn’t surprise me. Liam came into our class and spoke with Seňora Campos in fluent Spanish. He asked her to send me to you. So here I am.” She squeezed me to her.
He spoke Spanish too?
My face crumpled up, and I bawled.
CHAPTER 15
Liam
Sensing the whirlpool of Lucky’s sorrow when she realized she’d forgotten her da’s death anniversary tore at my sanity. I felt helpless. Feckin’ useless. I’d only sensed that sort of grief once before—when my Uncle Henry had lost his wife. He and my little cousin Patty hadn’t been the same since.
After Lucky fled, Jack left me no doubt he held me to blame. Maybe I’d distracted her, but I’d not be regretting any time spent with Lucky. I rubbed the ache in my chest. My only wish was to find a way to comfort her.
Then I saw Shiney walking into her Spanish class, the one she shared with Lucky.
I convinced my French teacher to let me speak with Seňora Campos, and I worked my charm to get Shiney a pass to go to Lucky—all without needing any empath manipulation. I’d have barged into the girls’ toilets myself if I didn’t think it’d get me suspended, separating me from Lucky for who knew how many days.
I couldn’t recall what we discussed in French after that, but it took all bloody class to regain my concentration.
Since Lucky didn’t come out of her
second period class, I ran to our lockers, hoping to catch up with her. She was there, exchanging folders and stuffing them in the messenger bag at her feet. I stopped and watched her from a distance. A shaft of light coming from the windows fell over her in golden rays. I blew out a breath and ran my fingers through my hair. It wasn’t just her scent that relaxed me anymore.
She turned and caught me studying her. Tiny ripples of her grief managed to stay undiluted within a tidal wave of her happiness and gratitude. It hit me right before she broke into a dazzling smile that had me grinning like a kid at Christmas.
I went straight to her without breaking eye contact and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry about your da.” Her scent and the tingling made me want to groan.
Our breathing picked up, but neither one of us moved for several seconds past what would’ve been considered an acceptable hug between friends. My jaw rested near the top of her head. With a small turn, I could’ve kissed her hair. I didn’t dare. Not yet. Instead, I cupped her nape and rubbed my thumb in what I’d hoped were comforting strokes. Her mind cleared like a turbulent ocean calming.
I’d never imagined I’d care that much to console someone, but it was easy with Lucky.
All too soon, she stepped back, meeting my eyes. “I’m fine now. Thanks.”
Belying her words, a surge of sadness surrounded me. She took a deep breath, pushing her feelings away with a forced smile. It took her a moment, but it was enough to leave me in awe of her control. If she was nearing a breakthrough, that would also be making her hyperemotional, adding to the chaos in her head. Her neural patterns would be changing, and her brain would be in an upheaval—for better or for worse—all because of me.
She closed her locker and shouldered her bag. “My mom doesn’t really like to, um … talk about it or grieve in any way, so it really snuck up on me today. Thanks for sending Shiney to me.”
