by Shaila Patel
Oh God. He did like me. I couldn’t help but grin. He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs, holding my smile in his hands.
Then my head piped in. But you don’t know why he likes you.
“No, Lucks, don’t do this. Don’t pull away.”
How does he read me so well?
He rested his forehead against mine, and I clung to his T-shirt. “Jaysus, I feel so raw around you. It’s like smiling with my lip split after a brawl. Talk to me. Please.”
Fear is a choice.
Hard as I tried, I couldn’t get the question out. I pulled away and shook my head. “I–I can’t.” I closed my eyes. How could he prove he was over her? If I brought it up and he realized I was just a replacement, all of this would be gone. Maybe a blissful, delusional ignorance was the best thing for me—but that meant not being honest with him or myself. My stomach burned.
“Tell me you don’t like me back,” he said.
My attention shot back to him. “What? How can you … don’t you already know?”
He looked up at the ceiling and threw his arms out. “Thank you, Jaysus. She likes me.”
My cheeks warmed. “Now you’re being ridiculous,” I muttered.
His smile slowly faded from his face. “Then help me to understand, Lucky.”
“God, don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying no, I–I’m just not sure of the why. It can’t be too soon … ” I whispered for you at the end, but that was the closest I was getting to being courageous. “I don’t want to get hurt.”
“Too soon? Then we’ll take it slow, but how can you not be knowing why I’m off my nut for you? You’re bloody amazing—your heart, your sincerity, your sense of humor. And damn, you’re gorgeous.” He stepped closer. “And your eyes? Your eyes are mesmerizing. They’re beautiful. Those lashes too. When you’re batting them at me like you are now, my insides flip something fierce. And Lucks, I don’t want you to get hurt either. You’ve got to believe in that if nothing else.”
His words were making it harder to stand. “Thank you for the compliments, but … that’s not the why I mean.”
“What do you mean then? Please, you’ve got to be telling me.”
“I–I need to know—” The microwave timer went off. “I’m sorry. I need time, that’s all.”
I fled to the kitchen and brought back the nacho cheese. “Help yourself to something to eat.” I let him sit on the sofa first so I could put some distance between us. How was I supposed to figure out what this ex-girlfriend meant to him if I kept acting like nothing was wrong?
“Do you have a DVD of that performance? The one in the picture.”
I bit my lips together. He would ask to see it.
It took some coaxing, but I eventually groaned and gave in. Seeing this side of me would really hammer home the differences between our cultures, but part of me wanted him to like this side of me too. He scooted back into the sofa, smiled, and gave me the smuggest look. Ugh.
I popped in the DVD and joined him, keeping my distance again. He put his arm on the back of the cushion and let his fingers play with my hair. Damn him. Of course he’d find a way.
While he watched, I searched for useful passages in Liam’s books, but I’d sneak sideways glances to see the expressions on his face. He sat at the edge of the sofa now, leaning forward. I wiped my clammy hands on my black capris, wondering what he thought.
When it was done, he faced me, his eyes a mixture of surprise and awe. “That was incredible. You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Thanks, but it wasn’t on purpose. I usually don’t share my Indian side with people at school.”
“People?” He studied me for a moment and then gave me a tight smile, his eyes flat. “You’re really meaning white people?”
My stomach dropped. “Oh God, Liam. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just meant I’m a private person, and I don’t always mix my two worlds. You couldn’t really understand. I mean, you’re not exactly a minority, are you?” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Liam, I’m sorry. Please don’t think—I mean, yes, there are differences between us, but that’s not what I meant … completely, anyway. It’s different with you. You’re different.”
He ran his hands through his hair. He looked unconvinced.
“Liam, I–I don’t want you to feel … ” Could this be any more awkward? Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to get all weepy again.
“Is that why you’re pulling away?” he asked quietly. “Because I’m not Indian?”
My jaw dropped. I’d never have pegged him for being insecure. Me? Yes. Him? No. The urge to comfort him overwhelmed me, and I threw my arms around him. “No! God, no, Liam. That’s not important to me, honest. I’m so sorry if I made you feel that way.”
Liam inhaled deeply, and I could feel him relax in my arms. He scooped my legs up and brought me into his lap. I pressed my face against his neck and couldn’t get enough of his scent, even though each breath scrambled my brain cells a little bit more.
It didn’t take long for my subconscious to remind me of his sigh-inducing ex-girlfriend. I slowly ripped myself away, avoiding eye contact. I had turned in his lap so my feet were on the floor.
He rested his forehead against my back, caressing my arms. “I’m glad … glad you shared your Indian side with me.”
Tell him the truth.
I pulled his arms around me, relishing the tingle and craving his comfort. He moaned, pulling us back into the sofa, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“I–I have to know if you, um … still have feelings for your Indian ex-girlfriend.” Could he feel my heart pounding in my chest?
“Ah, sure, Lucky.” He let out a huge breath. “Is that what’s been worrying you?”
I nodded, keeping my eyes fixed on the different skin tones of our arms.
“We did date, but it wasn’t like … I never developed any real feelings for her.” He turned my chin and shifted me slightly so I’d meet his eyes. “She was never a girlfriend in the way you might be meaning it.”
So he was just using her?
He studied my face again, narrowed his eyes, and widened them as if in understanding.
How does he do that?
“No, no, no. It’s not what you’re thinking. I let it go on for far longer than I should have, and it got complicated is all. Please believe me.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. This was the very thing I wanted to get rid of … doubt. “Liam—?”
“No, wait. Hear me out, yeah? You don’t want me comparing you to her, or replacing her with you, I get that. But if you’ll give me some time, I swear to you I’ll erase your doubts. Isn’t that fair?”
The fact he understood and was willing to prove himself put a small smile on my face, and a huge one on his.
He moved my butt onto the sofa, bringing my legs to rest over his lap again. Sneaky. We were now eye to eye. With one hand cupping the back of my neck and the other my outer thigh, he’d made sure I wasn’t escaping.
“And Lucky? You’re not to be anyone but yourself with me, yeah? I want to know everything about you—Indian or otherwise. You’ve got my undivided attention, not some other girl.”
I imagined a cool breeze blowing sand away from an ordinary mound on the beach, showing the object buried beneath, as if the breeze uncovered some hidden truth. I almost snorted at my latest hallucination. What I seemed to doubt on a conscious level, my subconscious accepted wholeheartedly—he was telling the truth.
Your truth fills the air like musical notes,
And into your words, I melt and I float.
“Lucky?” I snapped out of my quick foray into La-la Land to find Liam inches from my face. “Where did you just go?” he asked.
I covered my lips with my fingers. Did I really just zone out in front of him?
He raised an eyebrow. “Now I really want to know.” He pulled my fingers from my lips.
My cheeks began burnin
g. “I, uh … zoned out, that’s all.”
“I’m a very good human lie detector, you know. Tell me before I find something else to keep your lips busy.”
I choked on my breath and coughed. “Um, a couplet kind of bubbled up.”
He broke out into a grin. “So I inspired you to poetry?”
“Ugh! You are so full of yourself. You know, I change what I said. It’s not about you being white—it’s about you being Irish.”
“Oh you’re going to regret ever saying such a thing.”
He launched himself on me and tickled my sides until I begged him to stop. We wrestled over the pillows, and the farther I tried to get from him, the closer I seemed to be, until we were laughing into each other’s necks. We gradually stopped laughing, and when our eyes met, I knew.
I was too far gone.
We spent the next hour working on my monologue. I still couldn’t string more than two words together without losing the accent, but I definitely had the cadence down because all I had to do was imagine the lilt in Liam’s voice. It had been my lullaby these past few nights, after all.
“Well, I’d be smart to leave. Your mum should be home soon.”
I agreed. It was almost five o’clock, and I didn’t want to cut it too close. He helped me clean up, and then I stood by the door with him, unsure of what to do or how to act.
An ache formed in my chest.
“So, tomorrow?” I asked.
“On the corner.” He studied my face and gently kissed my cheek.
He reached for the doorknob, but stopped. “Could I show my mum that DVD? She’s sort of a self-proclaimed expert on all things Indian. She’ll love it.”
Warmth flooded my face at the thought of his mom watching me dance. As little Indian girls, our mothers planted daydreams in our heads about impressing our future in-laws. I couldn’t help but think that way now. I turned to get the DVD and rolled my eyes at myself. “Here, if you really think she’ll enjoy it.”
“I know she will. Take care. Work on those vowels of yours.”
I made a goofy face. “I’ll try.”
He skipped down the porch stairs. “Have faith, Lucky. I do.”
He stopped halfway down the sidewalk, paused for a moment, and turned back to me with a shy smile. “Will you come over this Saturday for a meal with the parents?”
“Huh?”
His face lit up. “Lunch. Saturday. Mum’s been asking to meet you.”
I glanced to my right and left, looking for witnesses. Is he serious? A kaleidoscope of butterflies took off in my stomach, and his grin expanded. I watched him until he was out of sight.
Several hours later, I was beating my pillow to fluff it up just right. No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, I saw, heard, smelled, and even felt Liam with me. It didn’t help when the stupid tingling kept erupting inside me. How come Sex Ed never taught us what hormones really did to us?
I got out my journal and scribbled nonsense lines, hoping to release some of my energy to the paper. I eventually silenced my thoughts, but I still couldn’t sleep. I thought about dancing to tire myself out and remembered lunch with Liam today. Why did I tell him I wrote poetry or danced when I couldn’t sleep? Whatever happened to my privacy filters? Neither Jack nor Shiney knew those things about me.
It was as if I were a color-by-number poster, and I didn’t get fleshed out until I spoke the words out loud to Liam. With everyone else, I was someone specific—a dancer, an Indian girl, an American, a daughter—but with Liam, I was no one in particular. I was just me.
And for the first time, I had a million colors to choose from. The only problem was the giant eraser in the form of my mother downstairs.
CHAPTER 19
Liam
“Liam, I was just about to ring you. Where have you been?” Mum put a book back on its shelf.
I walked through the front room and peeked down the hall. “Where’s Da?”
“Upstairs talking with Finnie.”
I told her about Lucky’s theater assignment and how I’d be helping her after school.
Mum nodded. “She couldn’t have picked a better tutor.”
I stared at her, waiting for more. She hadn’t even cracked a smile. “What’s wrong?” I asked. It wasn’t like Mum to be distracted.
“The Council brought Finnie in for questioning earlier today.”
Bloody hell. “For what? Those photos? That can’t be good, can it?”
She let out a nervous laugh and sounded nothing like her usual self. “It’s definitely not the attention we should be drawing to ourselves. The Council has decided to send one of the Elders with Drago to question your father this weekend.”
“An Elder?” I dropped my bag and sank onto the sofa. For the Elders to be involving themselves in a trivial administrative matter meant they were surely using Aunt Finola as a pawn—a pawn in the game where I was a king. Bloody feckin’ politics. I scrunched closed my eyes for a moment and then stared at the ceiling. The shite I’d always wanted to avoid was beginning already.
Mum removed her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Drago and the Elder will now be arriving a day earlier, so you and your father must leave for Charlotte on Saturday.”
I sat up. “I thought we’d be leaving Sunday morning, so I invited Lucky to spend the afternoon with us. I figured I’d spring word of it on Da Saturday morning. You did say you were needing a connection—to help protect her, yeah?”
After hearing about the scarred man in the car park, Mum wanted to be meeting Lucky sooner rather than later, whether she was The One or not. Uncle Nigel had found out next to nothing about who’d hired the spy, and Mum thought it wise to be prepared. Best case scenario, whoever hired him was waiting for history to happen, wanting to manipulate his or her way into my inner circle of influence. Worst case? Soul Seekers were trying to harm one of us—Lucky being the easier target. My chest tightened at the thought.
Mum rested a hand over her heart. “Liam, I’m more than delighted to meet Laxshmi, but your father will have to leave in the morning without you then. The less he knows before he meets them, the better. Besides, the official meeting will likely be scheduled on Sunday.”
“Suits me. I can drive down Saturday after lunch.” I’d no doubt be a right hand better at keeping my secrets hidden than Da, since he wasn’t an empath.
“I’ll have to make something special—a roast?” She muttered a few more ideas to herself.
I groaned and threw my head back on the sofa. “We’re not getting married, for Chr—crying out loud. And no shrinky stuff, or we’ll be spending the day at the park or the movies instead.”
She came over and sat next to me. “I promise, no shrinky stuff. It’s just … you’ve always kept the girls as far from us as possible.”
Bringing one of the targets home with me seemed pointless and cruel. It would’ve twisted the knife in their hearts when I moved on.
“Do you know anything yet, darling? Do you think she’s—”
“Mum, I’ve no idea. No angels in flowing white gowns singing overhead, remember?” Some strange things had been happening, but were they important? Or was I just a guy reacting to an incredible girl? “How the hell am I ever meant to know? It’s some answers I need.” I leaned forward and pressed my forehead into my palms.
“Uh, Liam … darling.” Her hesitant tone drew my attention. “Your father never wanted me to tell you this, but, well, something specific is meant to happen. He saw it in one of his first few visions. One he wouldn’t say anything about, other than that he’d had a clear seeing. When the vision comes true, he’ll know with absolute certainty she’s The One.”
I sprang up. “Why is it I’d only now be finding out about this? After all these years?”
She shook her head. “He’d only just told me.”
I paced between the sofa and fireplace, running my hands through my hair. How could Da be so diabolical as to hi
de such a bloody huge detail? Might’ve saved years of trouble if I’d known just what was supposed to happen when I met The One. Years of torture. For me and the targets. Christ.
I wanted to be punching something. After a few deep breaths, I plunked down on the other sofa. Da and I would definitely be chatting about this. I grabbed a cushion and whacked it once with my fist. My anger would have to wait.
“Liam—”
“Don’t.” I held up my hand.
She tried to be giving me explanations and apologies, but it was Da who’d be needing to explain. Our lives had been ruled by these visions. It hadn’t surprised me she’d kept his secret.
What could prove Lucky was The One? I pictured her, recalling how the light played on her face when she’d tilted her head back in the sun, how she smelled when she was in my arms, how she finally opened up to me. My heart rate calmed, and I remembered Lucky’s performance. I turned to Mum. The apology in her eyes had me softening. I reached into my bag with a sigh and brought Lucky’s DVD to the player.
“So I’ve something for you to watch, Mum. Have you ever felt anyone project through recorded media—both a photograph and video?”
“That’s very rare,” she said. “I’ve never seen it, but I have read of such cases. Why?”
“This is Lucky dancing an Indian classical dance called B-something.”
“Bharatanatyam?” She went over to the bookshelf and chose a book, nearly shoving it into my face. Indian Performance Art. “Are you telling me Laxshmi projects on video?”
“In video and in a photograph, but that’s on her mantel.”
“Both?” Mum stood there, as gobsmacked as if I’d told her aliens had landed in our garden. She blinked, waved a finger for me to begin the DVD, and grabbed a notebook. “She’ll become the toast of academia with such skills.” She muttered something about how that would change Lucky’s EQ assessment, as if it were a foregone conclusion she’d break through. The thought brought a smile to my face. Mum sat on the edge of the wing chair and slid her glasses back on. Ever the scientist. I hovered a finger over the remote’s Off button in case Da came downstairs and asked what we were doing. Mum’s pen scratched furiously while she watched.
