Disowned

by Tikiri

  “Stop picking on her!”

  Dick snapped his head toward me. “You!”

  My heart started to beat louder than a jackhammer. “Can’t you see we’re trying our best? There’s no need to shout at her like that.”

  “Telling me how to do my job, eh? I can hire any chick off the street in two seconds flat to take over your work. Don’t need two-bit girls telling me how to do my job!” He stepped toward me. His six-foot frame towered over me, but I didn’t budge, rooted out of fear more than anything else. The cake tray wobbled in my hands. I clutched it tightly, wishing I didn’t shake when I was nervous.

  “If we lose this order, I’ll have your head,” Dick said, sticking a finger an inch from my eyes. “I’ve got debts to settle. People to pay back. I need this money. You think this company runs on icing sugar?”

  “I’m not telling you how to do your job,” I said. I wished I could rustle more pluck to tell him how I truly felt. “I’m just asking you to stop yelling at Katy and me. We’ll get the job done. We always do.”

  “Trying to be a smart aleck, eh? You come here late and think I’d give you a bloody raise? Or keep you employed?”

  I heard a cough behind me and turned my head. The entire birthday party was silently staring at the spectacle through the open doors of the party room. I hadn’t even noticed. The adults looked shocked, the kids curious.

  It was true I’d asked for a raise for both Katy and me the day before. I’d known it was going to be an uphill battle, but I hadn’t expected it to come with public humiliation.

  I turned to Dick and said in a softer voice to avoid attracting any further attention, “It’s because we’ve been working extra hours. I think…”

  “Don’t think!” he yelled. “Just do, like I tell you! You’re good for nothing, I tell ya!”

  Something snapped in me.

  Ignoring him, the curious crowd, and my flaming face, I drew myself up to my full five feet and strode into the room holding my head high. My legs were shaking but they kept moving, and that was all that mattered. As soon as I put the cake tray down on the buffet table, I turned around and looked Dick in the eye.

  “Show us some respect, Dick.”

  Dick pointed at the door. “You’re fired!”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Dick’s voice was still ringing in my ears as I walked into Katy’s apartment.

  It was not the first time he’d fired me, and it wasn’t the first time he’d yelled at me. Insulting us was like drinking water for Dick. It happened every day, and he thrived on it. There were days I wished I could quit. Working at the Next Day Catering Company was beginning to feel like a dead end. I was making just enough for food, heat, water, and half of the rent at Katy’s apartment. My plans for buying a one-way ticket to Goa seemed to get further and further from me.

  I wondered how Katy was coping back at the shop. She hated work in the kitchen. Whenever I offered to teach her how to bake a cake or make icing, she became busy with something or the other—a spreadsheet had to be balanced or a client had to be called. She didn’t just hate cooking, she didn’t enjoy eating either. After she ate a meal, I’d find her running to the toilet, and if I’d walked by the door, I’d hear her throwing up. I only asked about it once, because I’d been worried she was sick, but she brushed me off so brusquely, I didn’t mention it again. In the end, I gave up, and our shop duties became more distinct as the months went by. I was chef of the kitchen and she was chef of the books, while Dick did nothing, but lorded over everything.

  He spent many late nights at the bakery after Katy and I had gone for the day, but given the magazines of half-clad women stacked up on his desk alongside the open boxes of rum, I didn’t think he did anything productive. Right now, I hoped she was not getting the brunt of Dick’s anger. Though he yelled at her as well, I knew he liked Katy in his own twisted way and would never really fire her or harm her.

  To calm myself down, I decided to make walnut banana cakes. With a hint of rum, they were the ultimate cheer-up food, easy to make, comforting to eat, and the calories didn’t count, especially on bad days.

  The meals I’d made at Mrs. Rao’s home had been a fusion of East and West, made with my imagination, partly following Chef Pierre’s recipe books, partly listening to my mother’s voice in my head. Each dish had been different—a new recipe, a new idea put to the test. Mixing spices and whisking sauces was fun, but my passion was baking cakes. It was the main way I kept memories of my mother alive. To me, cupcakes were the queens of all desserts. In a few sweet bites, they could heal wounds, mend broken hearts, and make you forget mean bosses, even if only for a day.

  As I mixed the batter in my bowl, my mind wandered to that morning. I remembered how Dick had yelled at Katy. Did he really say, “You’re only good for one thing?” What a scumbag. I mixed faster, wishing I could make him pay for his meanness. The pale yellow mixture thickened quickly. When I got mad, I was more efficient than my electric mixer.

  I was jolted out of my reverie by an urgent knock at the door. I placed the bowl on the kitchen table as quietly as I could, and stayed silent as a mouse, hoping for it to go away. The knock came again, insistently this time. I wiped my hands on my apron and tiptoed over to the door with a frown. Who can that be? No one was home at this time of the day.

  I’d lost sleep many a night over the past months, worried sick Mrs. Rao would find me, snatch me away and force me to get married to another vile old man. The reason she hadn’t come after me yet, and the reason no one had reported me missing, reaffirmed my worst fears. My visa was fake. I was sure of it now. Mrs. Rao would never call the authorities or bring attention to the illegal activities she was involved in. But that didn’t ease my worries. It was only a matter of time before they found me.

  I badly wanted a second job to make money faster, but I worried they’d ask me too many questions. I felt lucky Dick had hired me with just a referral from Katy. I laid low and didn’t dare to venture near my school again, even to pick up my high school diploma. Katy went to the graduation ceremony by herself and picked up my diploma with hers. I restricted my movements and wore shades, even on cloudy days. Katy told me I was being paranoid, that it would be hard for anyone to track me in a city of almost eight million, but every morning, I got this strange feeling of eyes watching me. I just couldn’t shrug that feeling off.

  The knock came again, louder this time.

  I opened the door slowly, keeping the chain intact. I peeked outside with one scared eye.

  Randy’s face came into view. He was our apartment building’s caretaker, a reedy man in his thirties who dressed like he was nineteen and smelled like pot. With a sigh of relief, I pulled out the chain and opened the door.

  “Hi, Randy.”

  “Saw you come home early,” he said, thrusting something toward me. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking the brown envelope and opening it.

  “Rent change.”

  “Again? How much?”

  “Read it yourself. This apartment’s for one person. Since you’re two now, rent’s been raised.”

  The letter was short and to the point.

  “Seventeen percent? It’s difficult to pay our rent as it is.”

  “That’s your problem. Should have thought of that before moving in, eh?” Randy sniffed loudly and swiped his nose. “By the looks of it, management’s generous. If there’s two of you, I says we increase by fifty percent.”

  “You can’t do this to us,” I said. “Is it even legal?”

  “Them’s the rules. Not me who made ’em up.” Randy shuffled off, sniffing to himself.

  I watched his disappearing back in dismay. I closed the door and leaned against it.

  Katy’s apartment was really Dick’s apartment. He’d rented it out for her, under his name, with the express agreement that she paid all rent and utilities. It was an informal arrangement between the two, and Dick never seemed to care about the cost of the rent and how
fast it was going up. He was doing her a favor, as far as he was concerned.

  The small studio was located in the cheap student district above a Chinese takeout shop, and was only a few square feet bigger than Grandma’s home in Goa. The main difference was while Grandma’s kitchen belonged in the nineteenth century, Katy’s came with appliances from the seventies. Instead of smells from the communal toilet in Goa, smells of Chinese fried rice came wafting in, which I had to admit was a million times better.

  On my first day at Katy’s, I craved spring rolls all day long, salivating at the thought of biting into a crispy wrapper filled with mint leaves, shredded carrot, and sweet dipping sauce. After five days, the smell became less alluring. By the tenth day and onward, I didn’t want to have another Chinese spring roll for the rest of my life.

  At night, I slept on the sofa while Katy slept on her single bed in the corner. Other than that, there was enough space for a kitchenette table and two chairs. After living in Mrs. Rao’s spacious mansion in the northern Toronto suburbs, Katy’s apartment felt like a shack in a shantytown. But compared to how I’d lived in Goa, this was a roomy home with a full bathroom for the two of us, a luxury compared to the communal toilet back at Grandma’s. I had nothing to complain about.

  I threw the letter on the kitchen table with a sigh and walked over to my mixing bowl. Katy was not going to be happy to hear this news. Just as I picked up my spoon, the telephone rang.

  What a busy day this is.

  “Hello?” I said.

  Frrzzzz. Static was coming down the line.

  “Hello?”

  I heard the faint sound of breathing, mixed with the buzz of static.

  “Is anyone there?” I said.

  “Is this Asha talking?” It was a distinct Indian accent. A man.

  “Who…?” My heart skipped a beat. “Who is this?”

  More static.

  “Who are you?” I said, my heart beating faster now.

  The line went dead. I stared at the handset for a few seconds before placing it back on its cradle. No one knew I was staying here. No one had this number except for Dick, and he didn’t have an Indian accent. Within seconds, the phone rang again, making me jump. I yanked the phone to my ear.

  “Who’s this?” I barked. “You better tell me or—”

  “Asha?”

  “Katy?” I said in relief.

  “I’m so glad you’re home. I was worried. What’s going on?”

  “Oh hey, nothing,” I lied.

  “Are you still upset at Dick?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to worry Katy. “Just got a call. Wrong number I think.”

  That strange feeling of being watched came over me again and I gave a quick glance at the window. But no one was looking in from our second-floor apartment window. I’m getting paranoid. Did I imagine the call?

  “Reason I’m calling,” Katy was saying, “is because Dick says he didn’t mean it.”

  “Didn’t mean what?”

  “To fire you.”

  “Again?”

  “He’s really sorry this time.”

  “Sorry? Dick? Why can’t he call and say sorry?”

  “He’s under a lot of pressure these days. He owes Jose a ton of money, so he’s totally stressed out. He told me to tell you that.”

  “Who’s this Jose you keep talking about?”

  “His business partner from Detroit. Dick’s borrowed a lot of money from him and is in pretty bad shape. I did the books this month, and things don’t look too good. It hasn’t looked good for a while now really.”

  “Maybe Dick should stop his trips to the racetrack and strip clubs and pay his partner back,” I said, feeling my face getting warm. “Anyway, he shouldn’t be taking out his frustrations on us. Especially on you.”

  “He’s begging you to come back.”

  “Really, Katy?” I couldn’t imagine Dick begging anyone for anything.

  “Okay, I’m begging you to. There’s a big order tomorrow, and they want a batch of fifty cupcakes. And I truly believe he’s sorry.” How she couldn’t see his bad side was baffling.

  “So he needs me now? Maybe I don’t need him,” I said, more out of spite than anything else.

  “Please, Asha? Please?”

  I sighed. I could never leave Katy hanging.

  “Well…,” I hesitated.

  “It’s not like we have much choice anyway, do we?” she said.

  I thought about that for a second. Katy had half a point. She had a choice. I didn’t.

  Chapter Forty-three

  “’Scuse me, miss, have a light?” asked the man, leaning toward me. He waved a half-chewed cigarette in front of my nose.

  “Sorry,” I said, looking away. Even if I had one, he wouldn’t have been allowed to use it on the bus. I quietly inched toward the edge of the seat. The man’s face looked blotchy and sickly, and he reeked like he’d downed a bottle of Jack Daniels for breakfast.

  I was taking my usual morning bus to work, and hadn’t been too careful where I’d taken my seat. Other headaches had crowded my mind. I was worried about Katy, who’d told me she had to work late doing the books the night before, but I suspected spent the night at Dick’s apartment. Then, that morning, I’d woken up to a puddle of water in the kitchen. The roof was leaking again, right onto the kitchen table, which was already on its last legs. I soiled my best skirt trying to clean up the mess. I made a mental note to call Randy to get this fixed once and for all. We couldn’t afford any more money trouble.

  The man next to me in the bus sneezed. Loudly. A stream of snot oozed down his face. I crept further down the seat. That’s when he let out an undeniably loud and smelly fart. I gagged. A few people were staring now. Do they think it’s me? I squirmed in my seat. I clutched my purse, cringing, waiting for a polite moment to get up and find another seat. I was just about to stand when the bus took a sharp corner and threw me against my smelly seatmate. He’d been looking sickly throughout, and now it all came out.

  The vomit squirted like a broken sewer gushing out. I sprang up. It smelled so bad, I wanted to retch. The bus lurched to a stop at a red light and I didn’t think twice. I sprang down the steps, pushed the doors open, and jumped out. I heard a surprised yell from the driver, probably not too happy someone had jumped out at a non-designated stop, but I didn’t care. The air outside was a welcome relief.

  From the corner of my eyes, I briefly noticed someone else jumping off the bus behind me, but I was too busy trying to think of what to do with my soiled skirt to look. Instead, I looked down at the splotches of yellow goo and shuddered in disgust. I reeked of puke. I scanned the surrounding area. I was too far from home, but I remembered a big-box store nearby that sold everything from candy bars to lawn mowers. I started to plod in its direction, ignoring the strange looks people were giving me.

  The greeter at the store noticed me the minute the main glass doors slid open. She gave me a suspicious look as I walked in, trying to hide the wet patch on the front of my skirt. Pretending not to see her, I hurried toward the women’s clothing department. I was really late for work now. That morning, after cleaning the mess in the kitchen, I’d called to let Katy know I was going to be late. Thankfully, Dick had gone to the track for the day, so he wouldn’t know. At least I had one thing going for me.

  My frenemies at school used to taunt me with “stick insect,” and when they felt particularly generous, called me “tiny chick.” Katy always defended me, but most of the time, she played things down. She used to call me an exotic tiny chick. “Hey, you’re lucky you don’t have to worry about hips. Guys love tiny girls,” she’d say. Right, and that’s why I didn’t have any boyfriends after Tim. Good thing my love for cakes over the years had helped fill me out. It still didn’t make me look like a respectable baker, but at almost eighteen, I finally had hips and a couple of bunny hills on my chest. It was a step toward womanhood. I looked around the store and remembered they didn’t sell clothes for exotic tiny chicks h
ere, even those with a hint of hips and a couple of bunny hills.

  I leaned against a clothes rack in frustration, badly wanting to get out of the stinky skirt. As I stood there, a young man, an Indian man, ambled by, looking at the blouses around him. Who’s he? I automatically pulled down the sunglasses that had been sitting on my head.

  It was strange to see a lone man fingering women’s clothes, early on a weekday morning in a big-box store. I looked around, but didn’t see any signs of a female companion. The man walked casually into the lingerie section. A cross-dresser? A knot began to form in my stomach. Is he following me? Is he with the police? Or did Mrs. Rao send him here?

  I shook my head. Just because he looks Indian doesn’t mean he works for Mrs. Rao. I never came to this store. I was far from both my home and workplace. No one could have known I’d be here. Besides I never went shopping, taking Katy’s hand-me-downs and fixing them to save money. I gave another shake of my head. I was becoming paranoid, and I couldn’t hang around here all morning. That was when I noticed a small clothes section in the back with a sign above that said “For Tweens—Sale Today Only.” Perfect. Why didn’t I think of that before? Without wasting a second, I skipped over and picked a plain black skirt and a white shirt and took it to the cashier. Good enough for the day.

  The woman at the checkout counter was too busy chatting with her coworker to notice me, or smell me for that matter. She scanned my items and went back to gossiping with her pal while I pulled out and counted sixteen dollars from my purse. When I asked her if I could change in the washroom, she nodded and waved me off. I ran into the toilets and tore off my disgusting clothes.

  I decided to walk the rest of the way to work, though it was going to be a long walk in my heels. My clothes in the bag stank so badly, I was sure no bus driver would have let me in anyway, and I didn’t even want to try. I glanced behind me a few times, but saw no one following me. There was no sign of the Indian man in the store either. I walked all the way, admonishing myself for being paranoid. I’ll go mad if I keep this up, I thought.