Love Inc.

by Yvonne Collins

  Brody stands, towering over me. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ I can’t believe I’m getting so upset over this. I have Andrew now – perfectly lovely, hopefully faithful Andrew. If Brody’s happy being Juliette’s piece on the side, it’s not my problem.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come here,’ he says, backing away. ‘You’re determined to hate me.’

  ‘Well, harsh is what I do best, remember?’ I say, keeping my eyes on the broken glass. I don’t hate Brody, but I do hate that I’m jealous of Juliette. Hopefully, a little more time with Andrew will cure me of that.

  He backs away. ‘Get the brilliant Dr Ri-Ass to hook you up with a new bracelet. Just tell Kali how much, and I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I say. I keep scraping at the glass until I hear the door close. Then I collapse on the floor, completely drained.

  René appears above me holding a broom. ‘Double dating with you two is going to be hell.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kali steps through the torn fence at the Albany Hotel and looks back at me. ‘So in other words, you’re saying my brother’s got it bad for you.’

  ‘What?! Where’d you come up with that interpretation?’

  ‘He brought the money to you, at your store, when he sees me at home every day. Conclusion: he wanted to impress you.’

  ‘By being totally rude to Riaz and mean to me?’

  ‘I guess they could have fought a duel with spatulas or something. Guys have no flair for the dramatic these days.’ She grins over her shoulder at me, nose a little red from the chill.

  I pull my hat over my ears and glare at her. ‘They weren’t fighting over me.’

  ‘All I can say is, it’s a good thing Andrew wasn’t there. René would have had to close the store.’

  ‘Actually, I haven’t heard from Andrew since we went to the movie last week.’ I count off on my fingers. ‘Five days.’ I haven’t thought about him that often, either, which is a bad sign. Still, with the other guys I know behaving like idiots, I’d better try to keep the stable one around.

  ‘Why don’t you call him now?’ Kali suggests.

  ‘Uh, because it’s Christmas Day? Normal people are busy with their families.’

  ‘Right,’ Kali says, leading the way across the parking lot. She had brunch with Glennis and Brody but decided not to join her mom for dinner at a friend of René’s.

  Meanwhile, I’ve basically had no Christmas at all. Dad followed through on his boycott of all things festive, so Saliyah went to Mom’s to not-celebrate there. I thought Dad might pull through his funk, but when he rolled out of bed at eleven, all he did was hand me an envelope of cash before crashing on the couch to watch a Godfather marathon.

  It’s pathetic, but at least it left Kali and me free to try to ambush Syd. After striking out at her mom’s apartment and her dad’s condo, we took our search to the streets. If we don’t find her soon, we’ll have to drop off the money we collected at the animal hospital. Banksy can’t wait for Syd to get over her snit and return our calls.

  ‘How’d Brody come up with that kind of money anyway?’ I ask, getting back to the point.

  ‘Beats me,’ she says. ‘I guess he hit up his teammates. Anyway, I hope Syd wasn’t serious about quitting the business. She’s not thinking straight right now.’

  Syd doesn’t look stressed at the moment. She’s on the scaffold, sweeping her spray can in wide arcs. In the boarded-up window to her right is an image of Banksy. His paws are hooked over the sill as he looks out at the world with sad, brown eyes. The word broken is painted on his collar.

  The window she’s working on now shows three familiar-looking girls inside a hotel room. They’re all smiling, as if sharing an inside joke. But the joke’s on us because Syd’s begun to cover the lower left-hand side of the painting with black paint.

  ‘Stop!’ Kali shouts. ‘My legs are my best feature.’

  Syd turns and directs the spray can at us like a gun. ‘Give me one reason not to,’ she says.

  ‘Here are five thousand of them,’ I say, tossing a fat envelope onto the scaffold.

  Syd bends to retrieve it and stares into the package, stunned.

  ‘It’s enough for a new pacemaker,’ Kali says.

  She sinks to the floor of the scaffold and dissolves into tears. ‘But … how?’

  ‘Love, Inc., a mysterious donor, and a whole lot of homemade dog biscuits,’ I say.

  ‘That’s what you were doing in the dog park?’ Syd wipes her eyes with the back of a paint-stained hand.

  ‘And at the store,’ Kali says. Tears are streaming down her face, too, now. ‘And that’s also why we missed our Love, Inc. meeting, and collected money from Max. We didn’t want to say anything in case we couldn’t pull it off.’

  ‘How is Banksy?’ I ask. ‘Did we make it in time?’

  ‘I think so,’ she says, pulling out her phone. ‘I’ve got the vet’s cell number.’ Her feet dangle over the side of the scaffolding. One boot falls off and nearly hits me in the head, but Syd doesn’t even notice.

  A short conversation later, Syd is standing between us as she delivers the good news. There are more tears all around, apologies, and a group hug.

  ‘This is the best Christmas gift ever,’ Syd says, staring into the envelope again. ‘But you must have drained your savings. What about the guitar? And the Sweet Tooth fund?’

  ‘We couldn’t enjoy them if Banksy didn’t pull through,’ I tell her. ‘He’s part of our framily.’

  ‘Besides,’ Kali says, ‘since you took on Willem’s case, we’ll have more money in no time.’ She digs around in her bag for a compact and tries to mop up the damage. Then she hands Syd a few tissues. ‘You look like hell.’

  Syd’s hair is limp and dull, and her jeans hang off her hips. ‘Thanks,’ she says, dabbing at mascara rings. ‘I missed you too.’

  I glance up at the happy girls in the window. ‘We look great up there, though. Evan is wrong: I’m at least an eight.’

  ‘And I’m closing in on ten, in my humble opinion,’ Kali says, grinning as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her dark gray pea coat – her Christmas gift from Glennis.

  Laughing, Syd promises not to paint it over. She slips her boot back on and climbs the scaffolding to gather her things. ‘I’ll catch the bus back with you so we can talk business. With the Banksy situation under control, I want to focus on Love, Inc. again so I can start paying you back.’

  ‘No,’ Kali says, and I chime in. ‘You’re not repaying us. Let’s just focus on Willem’s job, and then we’ll worry about taking on more clients.’

  ‘So where do we start?’ I ask. ‘How do we find this guy that Addison is cheating with?’ I think about adding, ‘if there is one,’ but I don’t. Lately it seems like there’s always someone on the side. Maybe monogamy’s only possible for people like my grandparents.

  ‘By sticking to what each of us does best,’ Syd says, her old spark already returning. ‘Zahra, prepare to get someone to spill her guts. And you’ – she points to Kali – ‘warm up your guitar. We’ve got an audition right after New Year’s.’

  As I slide into the booth across from Andrew, I can tell it was a mistake to call him. His eyes, usually so warm, are icy today.

  ‘How are you?’ I ask, keeping my jacket on against the chill. I get the feeling I won’t be here long.

  ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘How’s Love, Inc.? Business slow over the holidays?’

  Uh oh. I could try to BS, but he’ll be expecting it. Besides, it seems wrong after two really nice dates. So I keep it simple. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Trey Fuller got into a keg of truth serum at a Christmas party. When I said you were the kind of girl I could get serious with, he told me to ask you about your business. He said relationships need to be built on honesty.’ Andrew lets out a bitter laugh. ‘Apparently he learnt that from you.’

  ‘Andrew, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my mediation work.
’

  ‘It’s not the mediation that bothers me,’ he says. ‘Another guy at the party told me about what you guys did to Eric Skinner. You’re like black widow spiders, biting the head off your boyfriend and leaving him for dead.’

  ‘That’s the praying mantis,’ I say.

  Andrew is incredulous. ‘You seriously want to argue about bugs right now?’

  I don’t want to argue about anything. I just want to leave before this gets any worse. It turns out we haven’t contained Love, Inc. as well as we’d hoped, and now it’s biting me in the butt. Helping other people with their relationships is ruining my own.

  Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. I signed up for this ride and I’m not about to abandon ship.

  Nothing I can say will make a difference to Andrew anyway. He’s made up his mind that I’m trouble, and seventy-seven percent compatibility doesn’t outweigh that. This mediator has learnt when to cut her losses.

  ‘I guess I’m lucky to get out while I can,’ Andrew says. ‘You’re obviously crazy.’

  There’s that word again. But I’ve been called crazy before and survived. ‘I’ve gotta go.’

  He watches me zip up my jacket and asks, ‘You don’t even want to defend yourself?’

  ‘There’s nothing to defend. You’ve already made up your mind.’ Pushing myself out of the booth, I paste on a fake smile. ‘Take care, Andy.’

  It’s a parting shot, because Andrew hates being called Andy.

  The cold wind freezes tears on my cheeks as I walk up the street, but I don’t cry for long. Andrew said some hurtful things, and I worry I’ll never find someone who can accept me for who I am. But he’s in no position to judge me. If he doesn’t want to know the real me, it would never have worked anyway.

  The Ahmed women deserve to be cherished. Even the renegades.

  Mom comes up from the basement, looking pretty rough. With all the Christmas orders that came rolling in, she’s been mixing her products day and night for weeks, and she’s still going strong with New Year’s approaching. The house smells of so many different fruits, herbs, and spices that it’s nauseating. How can I tell if my shortbread is working? A baker needs her nose.

  Watching as I pound my dough into a disk, Mom asks, ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong.’ What could be wrong? Christmas was a complete bust, and Saliyah is upset. Dad’s barely moved off the couch for days. The one nice guy I met this year thinks I’m a man-murdering insect. And Syd’s freaking out because Banksy’s surgery is tomorrow. Life is perfect.

  Instead of working behind me to clean up, Mom sits at the kitchen table and watches as I start to measure and mix my next batch. ‘Does this have anything to do with Riaz? Nani said you two went out last night.’

  The community grapevine is better than a newswire.

  ‘It was a huge mistake,’ I say, throwing cutlery into the sink.

  I only agreed to it because I was feeling down over what happened with Andrew. I wanted another guy to pay attention to me, but the only person Riaz really pays attention to is himself. He blathered on about his great future, then lectured me about how I should start embracing my heritage. I was wearing the tunic I got at the Eid carnival, and Nani’s earrings, so Riaz accused me of accepting only the frivolous aspect of my culture instead of the spiritual one. He actually called me a hypocrite. On a date! I told him I considered myself one hundred percent American – and that’s enough of a definition for me. Then we sat in silence for about five minutes until I couldn’t stand it anymore and got him talking about himself again.

  It was horrible – mostly because he’s right: I am a hypocrite. Or at least a dilettante.

  Mom laughs when I describe the argument. ‘It’s none of his business how much of your culture you embrace.’

  That sounds like my old mom, the one who cared about my life. I perch on the chair beside hers for a moment. ‘But am I a hypocrite?’

  ‘You’re fifteen,’ she says. ‘No one has it figured out at your age, and deciding how to blend two cultures is never easy. Obviously your dad and I didn’t do a very good job of it.’ She rests a hand on mine. ‘I’m proud of my Scotistani Texan daughter, and the only thing I care about is that she’s happy.’

  I go back to my cookies, suddenly inspired to flavor my shortbread with chai spices.

  ‘Christmas cookies!’ Saliyah says, coming into the room. ‘But it’s New Year’s Eve.’

  ‘Not for us,’ I say. ‘We didn’t really have Christmas, and I demand a do-over.’ I hand her a reindeer cookie cutter. ‘Let’s make our own rules this year.’

  Saliyah plugs my iPod into the docking station, and together we sing along with the Christmas playlist I put together for the occasion. When we draw a blank for the last verse of ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful,’ we just go back to the beginning, singing at the top of our lungs. Mom joins in, and the three of us are joyful and triumphant when my grandparents step into the kitchen.

  Nana scowls in a way I’ve never seen before. ‘No daughter of mine celebrates Christmas,’ he says.

  ‘Abba – Dad – I’ve lived in the United States for twenty-five years,’ Mom says. ‘It’s impossible not to know Christmas songs. Alec introduced the girls to his family traditions.’

  ‘Yet you’ve barely introduced them to yours,’ Nana says.

  Saliyah drops her cookie cutter and comes to Mom’s defense. ‘That’s not true. Mom told us the story of Layla and Majnun and gives us candy for Eid. We fly kites at Basant, and we even know some Pakistani songs.’ She sings ‘Hawa hawa eh hawa,’ the old 80’s pop song Mom always used to sing around the house.

  Nana’s frown deepens. ‘That’s the best you can do, Sana?’ He shakes his head. ‘I’ve said this before: these girls would benefit from going to mosque. They need more guidance.’

  He points to the order book on the table. ‘You spend too much time on this business of yours when you should be focusing on your family. Zahra needs to live under this roof so we can keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I’m not moving back without Dad,’ I say.

  His usually calm voice rises. ‘It’s not your choice.’

  Nani finally pipes up. ‘Sana, do you know how many boys’ names are programmed into your daughter’s cell phone? Eighteen.’

  Eighteen! That sounds like a lot, even to me. Of course, many of them are Love, Inc. clients. ‘You can’t touch my things, Nani. That’s a total invasion of privacy.’

  ‘You left your phone on the coffee table,’ she says. ‘I happened to see the list.’

  Saliyah has proven you can teach an old dog new tricks. First Facebook, now cell phones. Thank God I never left my iPod Touch unattended. If Nani saw the footage of guys in gyms and locker rooms, moving back home would be the least of my worries.

  Nana raises his hand and makes a pronouncement. ‘No more arguments. The girls need structure, and if you can’t give it to them with Alec out of the picture, Sana, then you’d better let me.’

  Saliyah bursts into tears and runs out of the room. ‘Dad is NOT out of the picture!’ There’s the thump of her footsteps on the stairs, and finally her bedroom door slams so hard it rocks the house.

  ‘That’s Zahra’s doing,’ Nani says. ‘Saliyah never slammed doors before.’

  ‘She can slam doors if she wants,’ I say. ‘This is Dad’s house.’

  ‘Your father left,’ Nana says. ‘No man should do that to his wife and children. I always said he lacked character.’

  I throw the measuring cup I’m holding onto the counter. It tips a cookie tray and sends it crashing to the floor with a clatter. ‘Stop trashing my dad! You don’t get to walk in here after twenty years and be the head of this family.’

  Mom gets up from the table. ‘Zahra, nough.’

  But I can’t hold it back. It feels like my head is going to explode. ‘You didn’t want Mom to marry Dad, and you didn’t want anything to do with Saliyah and me because we’re not full-fledged Members of the Tribe.
’

  ‘That is not true,’ Nani says. ‘We tried and tried.’

  I ignore her. ‘We were doing fine until you two showed up.’

  Mom reaches out and grabs my shoulder. ‘Don’t say things you’ll regret later. But Abba, for the record, Alec didn’t leave by choice. I basically forced him out. He said it was mutual, for the girls’ sake.’

  Saliyah has reappeared in the doorway. She’s staring at Mom wide-eyed. ‘I hate you,’ she whispers. ‘I’m moving in with Dad.’

  As soon as we get off the elevator, I know we’re in trouble. The Smiths are blaring loud enough to hear down the hall. No wonder Dad didn’t pick up the phone when I called from the cab.

  He doesn’t hear me when I open the door, either. We walk into the living room and find him lying on the couch, snoring. Half a dozen empty beer cans litter the coffee table beside him.

  ‘Girls,’ he says, rousing himself. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here.’

  He’s slurring, and his eyes are bloodshot and swollen, as if he’s been crying. I’ve only seen that once before, when his father died. It was scary then and it’s scary now. I expect Dad to leave the crying to us.

  ‘Daddy?’ Saliyah sounds scared too.

  Instinctively, I wrap an arm around her. ‘It’s OK. Right, Dad?’

  ‘This is the worst New Year’s Eve ever,’ is all he says, before collapsing onto the couch again. He’s asleep almost instantly.

  This is a Dad I don’t even know – or want to know. ‘Come on,’ I say, spinning my sister around. ‘Dad will feel better in the morning.’

  Noticing his laptop sitting open on the dining room table, I tell Saliyah to go brush her teeth. After checking to make sure he’s snoring, I give the mouse a gentle nudge. Maybe there’s a clue here as to what’s caused Dad’s meltdown. The screen lights up and I see half a dozen e-mails from Uncle Paul. At the bottom of the string, I find the bad news: Uncle Paul saw Mom kissing another man in a restaurant.