by Natasha Deen
“Super Spy,” she says wistfully. “You have an actual nickname. I’ve never had one.”
I force a smile. “We can give you one. Space-pooper.”
She laughs. “Gross. I’ll wait until we get home. I bet Noah will give me one.”
And I go back to being miserable.
The day we leave, Uncle Raj is at the front counter, waiting. I haven’t seen him since the moment on the street. Try as I might, I can’t stop my contempt from rising.
“Had a good time, Nira?” He’s joviality incarnate, bouncing on his toes, and rubbing his hands together.
“Yes, thank you for your generosity.” I set down my suitcase.
“No problem, no problem. Let your dad know.” He claps me on the back.
I recoil.
He’s staring, shocked and unsure.
Uncle Raj isn’t the only one on shaky ground. I’m not supposed to know any of the things I know. Aunty Gul looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but Farah’s face would win her a poker tournament. “I’m sorry,” I gulp the words. “You took me off guard.”
He moves to me, but I step back. His eyes narrow and he squints at Farah. She flips her hair and crosses her arms.
I force myself to put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m jumpy today. I had a bad night.”
He nods, but he knows I know. I see his awareness in the light in his eyes. Same with Aunty Gul. Her gaze slides to Farah. They think Farah told me, and I’m powerless to correct them. If I open my mouth, I can’t fake ignorance anymore.
This is going to come back and cost me, but I don’t know how to avoid his coming wrath. The ride to the airport is silent, and after we check in, Uncle Raj and Aunty Gul disappear. One heads to the bar. The other goes to the first-class lounge.
On the plane, Farah sticks me in the middle seat between her and Aunty Gul. Then she puts in her earbuds and pulls on her sleep mask.
I poke her in the ribs and hiss, “I know you’re faking it. Don’t leave me alone with your mom.”
Farah rolls away but makes sure I see the middle finger she gives me.
I opt to follow in my cousin’s footsteps. My fingers fumble to plug the headphones into the plane’s system, but Aunty Gul is faster.
Her hand clamps down on my wrist. “Nira.” Her gaze bores into mine. “How was the trip?” She leans close as she finishes the question, and I get a whiff of alcohol strong enough to singe my nose hair.
My mouth is Sahara desert dry and my brain’s empty. No way will my aunt confide in me like Farah did. I’m already on her radar. If I reveal that I know her marriage is crap, I’m nothing but a target in the bull’s-eye. “The trip was good.” I shut up before I start babbling.
“Oh, yes? What did you enjoy?”
That’s an easy one. “Cape Canaveral.” Then I launch into a five-minute oral essay on the workings of the space shuttle, what it’s like for the astronauts. I’m rambling, but I’m aiming for the moment when her eyes glaze over, and she wants me to shut up. Aunty Gul’s a trooper, and she hangs on for the ride. When the flight attendant swings by our aisle and asks what she wants to drink and she says, “A double shot of bourbon,” I know I’ve got her on the ropes.
I’m talking about how the astronauts use recycled urine as drinking water, and I’m getting into the gory details when my aunt squeezes my wrist.
“This is all well and good, Nira.” She takes a healthy swallow of the alcohol. “But science isn’t everything.” She leans into me, shoulder to shoulder, as though we’re sharing a secret. I’m claustrophobic under her weight.
“This world is hard for colored girls. You have to be twice as good as the men because you’re a woman, and three times as good as the white people because you’re colored. And you’re still only considered half as good as either of them. Sixteen times better, but worth only a quarter of them.”
My brain is swimming from her creative math. That or I’m getting drunk off her breath.
“What a woman needs is security. Financial security.”
“A good job—”
“A job can come and go. You must do all you can to make sure you have the necessities of life. You and your husband are partners; you bring in the money and provide for each other.”
Farah rolls and shifts. Her fingers brush mine.
“You must be together on this.” Aunty Gul’s nails dig into my skin. “A common purpose.”
Farah moves again, and I realize her restlessness isn’t from sleep. She’s gently holding my hand.
Aunty Gul stares at me. “You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” I say, and Farah’s grip pulses.
“Good.” My aunt releases her talon-grip on me. “Good.”
I look down at my fingers, intertwined with Farah’s. How often has Farah listened to that lecture? Trade your happiness for things; let your husband sleep around if it means you can get a car that drives itself. I fold my other hand over hers and let my fingers warm her skin.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CLARITY IS A PRISMED CRYSTAL
Mom and Dad are ecstatic to see me. “It was four days.” I struggle for air as Mom crushes me close to her chest. “Not four eons.”
“I missed you, I missed you.” She layers me with kisses.
“Okay, okay!” I pull free, grateful the airport is empty this early in the morning. Cool air hisses along my skin. Grandma wraps her warm arms around me to hug and kiss me. “Are you feeling better?” I ask.
“I’m always good. The walks are the perfect medicine.” She pulls away and presses a piece of chocolate into my hand. “It was good?”
I don’t answer because I’m watching as Mom turns her attentions to Farah and gives her a long hug. Farah closes her eyes, presses her face close to Mom, and inhales, and it’s like she’s a moisture-starved houseplant that’s finally been given water.
I turn back to Grandma. “It was good.”
Her dark eyes take me in, take in the scene with Farah. “Come, let’s go home. I’ll make you some tea.”
When it’s time to go our separate ways, Farah hugs me hard. Everyone takes in the visual.
“You’re friends now?” From the tone of Dad’s voice, he doesn’t seem thrilled. It’s like I left to spy on another country, and was turned into one of their patriots.
I shrug, grab my bags, and head for the exit. On the ride home I keep the conversation focused on NASA and the sights in Florida. Once we’re home, it gets easier to distract them. Nothing makes my mother happy like watching me eat. I stuff myself silly. The growing stomachache is worth it when my dad presses for information on Aunty Gul and Uncle Raj, and Mom shushes him, saying, “Can’t you see she’s eating?”
“I should get my stuff in the laundry.” I push away from the table.
“Nira,” Dad calls me back. “Were your aunt and uncle okay? They treated you well?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“So? That’s it?”
I give him my best eye roll. “It’s Aunty Gul and Uncle Raj. What else can you say?”
He laughs and waves me off.
I dash to my room, closing the door behind me, and put my hand to my pounding heart. Uncle Raj’s secrets are his own, and so are Aunty Gul’s. I’ll help carry Farah’s because she’s asked me to, but the whole thing weighs heavy on me.
I have a secret, their secret. It steals the stars from the sky and the light from the moon, and I want to tell Mom and Dad. Not because I want to embarrass my aunt and uncle—I just want to free my parents from the idea that their siblings are better than they are.
There’s a knock at my door, and Grandma comes in. “You didn’t finish the tea.”
“I did,” I tell her.
She holds the cup aloft, jiggles it, and makes the liquid swirl.
“I finished my cup of tea,” I repeat. “That is the third cup you tried to force down my throat.”
“It’s good for you.”
“You know what else is good? Not having my bladder expl
ode.”
She sits on my bed, and the colorful folds of her sari settle. “Tell me about the trip.”
“It was good.”
“As good as a not-exploding bladder?”
I laugh. “Nothing’s as good as that.”
Her smile fades, and she pats the spot next to her.
I go to it, reluctant, because she’ll pull the secret from me and I don’t want to betray Farah. It feels so weird that I care enough about my cousin to want to protect her from pity and judgment.
“You came back different.”
“Airport security will do that to someone.”
“Nira.”
I shrug. “It was a good trip. You asked me to be nice to Farah, and I was. I—she’s not as bad as I thought.” I can’t help the face I make as I say the words, and Grandma zones in.
“Yes, she is, but I think you see maybe why she is the way she is.”
I have no answer, so I shrug again.
“I think maybe you saw things.”
The glib response is on my tongue, but I love my grandmother too much to speak the words. Instead, I pull away, go to my suitcase, and forage for the box of chocolate. “I brought you these. Chocolate spaceships.”
She takes them. “I’ll eat them, and you can play me ‘Fly Me to the Moon.’”
“Be careful how many you eat. They make you gassy. Too many, and you’ll rocket yourself to the moon.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing—”
“Nira.”
“Nothing, just Aunty Gul and Uncle Raj being themselves, okay? And I felt bad for Farah.”
There’s a long silence as she inspects my face. I turn away, unable to meet her gaze.
“So, you know.”
My heart skips. “Know what?”
The look she gives me is pure senior-citizen sarcasm. “That the world is round. You know about Raj, don’t you?”
“You know about him, too?” The weight on my chest is lifting. It’s a helium balloon carrying me to the ceiling.
“A mother knows her children.”
“How can you stand the knowing—doesn’t it bother you?”
“He’s not doing it to me. His actions are between him and his wife.” She stops for a moment to smooth her sari. “I don’t like the effects it has on Farah.”
“Is that why you go?”
“I would go more often, but he won’t allow it. He’d have to behave.” She sighs, and for a moment, it looks as though she feels every second she’s been alive. “The hardest lesson to learn as a parent is that your children are not copies of you. They are their own people who will make bad choices and mistakes. But if he were still a child—” Her eyes flash.
“I’ll make you some tea. Stay here.”
She squeezes my hand. “You’re such a good girl.”
I go to the kitchen, my actions on automatic as I boil the water, my brain mulling it all over. Two boys growing up in poverty, pity, and with the shadows of people’s self-satisfaction darkening their steps. They grow into men. I think of my father, quietly saving every penny, denying himself the compromise—the midsize car, the midquality BBQ—because everything he buys will have to be top of the line. Then there’s Uncle Raj, having it all but hungry for more, greedy and grabbing, no matter who it hurts.
The kettle boils, and I steep the tea. There must be a compromise, a halfway point between my dad and his brother, but I don’t know what it is, and I can’t find the light to direct me. The worry niggles at me, the shadow grows, and warns that if I don’t find the answer, I’ll end up as one of them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ANGER IS A CHEMICAL BURN
Finding out about my uncle seems to have cursed my life. Everything’s going sideways, and I don’t know how to stop it. I pretend not to notice how McKenzie saves a seat for Emily, and pretend not to be hurt when Emily sits next to her and not me. McKenzie’s territory includes Noah, too. She’s always flirting, laughing, touching. The storm’s coming, and I don’t have an umbrella.
Practicing for the audition is the one solace I have, but even that’s not going well. My skills aren’t where they need to be, and nothing sounds right. Maybe it’s the new trumpet. It sounds and feels different, and we haven’t been together long enough for me to give it a name. But it’s a poor musician who blames her instrument, and the whole thing sucks.
Mr. Nam finally gives us an audition date and, a couple of days before, Farah and I go to the mall. She helps me pick out an outfit. She’s a mother hen, clucking and tsking as she squeezes one eye shut and cocks her head, taking in the ensemble.
“It’s just clothing.” I’m embarrassed by the level of scrutiny.
“Nothing is just anything.” She pulls on the cuffs of peasant blouse. “Especially with you and clothes.”
I open my mouth to object. The lecture is on my tongue. Why can’t she ever stay sweet? Why does there always have to be a tart aftertaste to everything she says?
“You’ve got great lines. You’re tall and solid, and we want to emphasize all your best qualities.” She eyes the denim jacket that falls over the shirt. “The problem is that every part of you is a great feature, so what do we highlight?”
Okay, one of us is an idiot, and it’s not Farah. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, not until we get this right.” She pulls the jacket off. “No, none of this will do. We have to find you something else.”
“Can we eat, first? I’m starving.”
“Why is it always about food with you?”
“Because I have a psycho cousin who has trotted me around the mall for the last three hours, and she won’t let me eat or drink anything.”
“What a baby. You think girls wake up looking gorgeous?” The smile plays on the edges of her mouth. “Go on, get dressed. We’ll get you some food, and maybe change your diaper.”
In the end, we both agree on a pair of tan cowboy boots that make me feel western and sophisticated and rebellious, all at once. I buy a cream tunic that skims my body, turquoise-accented bracelets, and a few long statement necklaces. A pair of skinny jeans completes the outfit, and it’s perfect. Chic, hip, and artistic, without looking like it’s trying too hard. Best of all, it’s from an actual store so Dad won’t freak. Farah buys a purse, and it’s buy one, get one at a fifty-percent discount, so she gives me the second.
We’re heading out of the mall and back to my house because she’s sleeping over, when I spot McKenzie and Emily. They see us, too. There’s a quick, whispered conversation between them. Emily says something, but McKenzie shakes her head.
My stomach rolls. What is it that Emily wants to say or do? Hang out with us? Tell me she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? A couple of seconds later, they come over. Everyone’s talking and laughing. Farah’s digging into my bag to pull out the clothes and show them.
“Oh!” Emily squeals. “It’s perfect. You’re going to look and sound awesome, Nira.”
But I’m only half-focused on her words. I’m caught in the weirdness of it all. I wasn’t even invited to hang out with Emily and McKenzie. I know I’m with Farah, but that doesn’t count. She’s family. She’s not Emily.
“We’re heading to the theater.” Emily follows her words with a hard stare at McKenzie. They vibe their conversation.
Instinct says Emily wants us to come along, but McKenzie says, “Yeah, we should get going. It was nice to see you guys.” Then she pushes Emily along.
I’m seething, but I don’t say anything because there’s no way for me to get the words out without sounding like a jerk.
“You okay?” Farah watches me.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
She walks in the shadow of my stony silence. We get to her car. I toss the bag in the back, and suddenly all the brightness is gone from the day. We’re a few blocks away from home when Farah says, “What’s going on? You got a great outfit. Grandma says you sound fantastic on the new trumpet.”
“It
’s not about that, okay? Anyway, I’m fine. It’s all fine.”
Farah’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Don’t do that. You sound like my mother, and I get enough denial at home—”
“Let it go, and stop twisting my life into a spotlight on how hard it is to be you.”
She flinches but doesn’t take her gaze off the road. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I’m—I know something’s bugging you. Is it Emily?”
I don’t say anything. This is too personal. Farah and I aren’t a hundred percent, not yet. I know she’s texting Noah, and I’m sure they’re hanging out, just the two of them. She’s never going to understand how I feel. “Drop it, okay?”
She shakes her head. “No. I haven’t—we’re doing great, Nira, you and me. I’m not going to let it go. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“God, Farah. Drive. We’re fine, okay?”
“It’s ’cause Emily’s spending so much time with Mac, isn’t it?”
“Mac.” Her name slides from my lips, covered in sarcasm. “Big Mac, all cheesy goodness, looks great, but does nothing for you.” I don’t mean to spill the words, but the anger and hurt bubbles too close to the surface.
“She’s a bit much,” Farah says with a laugh. “But she’s harmless.”
“That’s what they said about the Trojan horse.” Jeez. Why can’t I shut up?
“She’s not so bad. Emily still loves you.”
Maybe, but it seems like she loves McKenzie even more. There’s nothing special about me; Emily can find a new best friend in five seconds. But she’s irreplaceable to me.
Farah gives me a soft punch on the arm. “Sometimes you have to share your toys.”
The bubbling goes to a full-on boil. “You would say that.”
“Me?” She turns her startled gaze my way. “Why do you say that?”
