Grown-Up Pose

by Sonya Lalli

  ANUSHA: Hi, Mom. Are you awake? I’m about to take a giant leap and could use some advice, maybe . . . [deleted]

  ANUSHA: FaceTime tomorrow? Kanika misses you.

  LAKSHMI: Yes please.

  LAKSHMI: I am missing you both also.

  After work, Anu raced over to the studio, wanting to catch Imogen before she started the six p.m. class. She parked her car and then jogged down the block. There was a woman walking toward her on the sidewalk, trying to make eye contact, and Anu hesitated, unable to place her.

  “Anusha?” The woman stopped, and Anu realized it was one of Mags’ regular students. “Are you teaching tonight?”

  “Me?” Anu glanced past her down the sidewalk. There were four more people, other regulars, waiting by the studio door. “Is the door not open?”

  “No.” She sounded upset, snappy. “We’ve been knocking for ten minutes.”

  Strange. Imogen was never late. Anu called her as she unlocked the studio, unsurprised to find that Imogen didn’t answer her phone. Except for that one time in London, Anu had never spoken to Imogen on the phone. She only ever seemed to text.

  Inside, the studio was empty, and the computer wasn’t on the registration desk. She let the others in, and after they shuffled downstairs toward the change room, Anu went into the back office.

  “Imogen?”

  She wasn’t there, either. Anu turned around and headed toward the practice room.

  The light was on, and Imogen was at the front of the room, dressed in her usual uniform of brightly colored spandex, lying flat on a yoga mat. There were still drywall and plaster all over the floor; garbage bags, a dustbin, and a broom had been left haphazardly around the room, as if Imogen had forgotten about the task right in the middle of it.

  “Imogen?”

  Anu took another step into the room, but Imogen didn’t flinch. Her eyes were wide-open, fixated on the ceiling, and Anu tried to contain the fire building in her belly.

  Had she been like this the whole day? Not run a single class, the entire day?

  “What’s going on?” Anu glanced at her watch. It was five minutes before the class was supposed to start; if they both worked quickly, maybe they could still make it.

  Anu lunged for the broom, started sweeping up the plaster as quickly as she could. But there was white dust everywhere, stuck to the grain of the hardwood. They would need to mop. Christ, where did Imogen keep the mop?

  “Imogen, can you help. Please?” Anu snapped. Imogen was still lying on the mat, but her chin tilted to the side toward Anu. Their eyes locked. “Your class starts in five minutes.”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean, so? So there are people changing downstairs.”

  “What, like, five people?”

  There were five people downstairs. Anu threw down the broom and stomped toward Imogen. She leaned down and grabbed her hands, tried to pull her up from the floor, but Imogen was deadweight on the floor.

  “What’s going on with you?” Anu leaned down again, tugged harder, but it was useless. But squatting there, she smelled something. She moved in closer. “Are you drunk?”

  Imogen laughed, hard, and from the smell and the deranged look in Imogen’s eyes, Anu could tell. She was drunk or high, maybe both.

  She grabbed Imogen by the hand and pulled her up off the floor. Gently, Anu pressed the back of her hand against Imogen’s forehead, but Imogen swatted it away.

  “How much did you drink?”

  There was no judgment in her words, only concern. Anu had been so wrapped up in her own journey that she’d missed all the signs. Running around with Imogen to bars and clubs like nothing mattered. Trusting her business with someone who was not only not ready for such responsibility but desparately calling out for help.

  What on earth had Anu been thinking?

  “I know you don’t want to talk to me. But this isn’t right.”

  Imogen swayed to the side, and Anu caught her by the hand to stabilize her.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why you don’t care that—”

  “Why should I care about this place, huh? It’s not like you give a shit about it—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t care about this place or what happens to it. I’ve heard you talking to your friends. You’re thinking about shutting down the studio.” Glaring at her, Imogen lifted her chin and then her torso, resting back on her elbows.

  Anu bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Imogen about her plans to invest now or wait until she’d sobered up.

  “Don’t you realize how lucky you are? How many chances you get? Jesus, you don’t. You don’t get it at all.”

  There was a noise behind her, and Anu turned. A few students were hovering in the doorway, watching. Anu turned back around. “Imogen, please calm down—”

  “You take everything for granted. Everything.” Her voice was louder now on the edge. “You can just run off to London and buy a studio because you feel like it. And you can fail, too. You have your perfect house and perfect parents and perfect daughter.”

  Anu’s face heated in anger. In shame. “I know what I have, Imogen. I know it. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I came back—”

  “You don’t know shit, Anusha. You can’t see a thing, even when it’s fucking right in front of you.” Imogen stood up, almost tripping over herself, and again Anu was hit with a wave of something strong. Vodka, maybe. Anu reached to help her, but Imogen swatted her hand away and, then smirking, looked at the students in the doorway. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  “Imogen!”

  But it was too late. The students, all five of them, disappeared from the doorway. Fuming, Anu whipped around toward Imogen.

  “They’re never going to come back—do you realize that?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “It’s not like you care about this place. For all I know, you ripped down the equipment rack.” Imogen’s mouth dropped, and immediately Anu was filled with regret. She didn’t think that; why had she said it? “I . . . didn’t mean—”

  “You meant it. You fucking meant it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Anu sighed, and all the anger made way for something else. Something worse. “I’m glad it fell down. You see, I’ve made an appointment with my bank for tomorrow afternoon. You were totally right about everything. I need to—”

  “You need to get a clue.” Imogen brushed the hair out of her eyes and then backpedaled toward the door. “Good fucking riddance, Anusha.”

  “Imogen, don’t go.” She rushed after Imogen, through the foyer and out onto the street. Imogen was already half a block away, walking furiously into the night.

  “Imogen!” Anu chased after her, but by the time she’d reached the end of the block, Imogen had disappeared.

  chapter twenty-eight

  ANUSHA: Imogen . . . I’m really sorry for what I said. For what I accused you of doing. I was upset, and I didn’t mean it. Can you call me back? Every time it goes straight to voice mail. . . .

  (two hours later)

  ANUSHA: Blocked my number already? Look, I’m so sorry. I’ll give you some space, but please know that if and when you’re ready, I’m here for you. I want you to come back. This is your studio, too.

  (two days later)

  ANUSHA: I’m not sure if you’ve gotten my voice mails. . . . Anyway, I want to tell you something . . . what I came by to tell you that night. I’m going all-in. You were right. This morning I applied for a business loan. Mags’ Studio is getting a face-lift . . . and I want you there with me.

  Jesus, what’s wrong with my hair?”

  Anu looked up from her phone. Jenny was still hunched over a rounded mirror at the center of a funky piece of installation art, fluffing and smoothing her bangs. In the reflection, Anu could see Je
nny’s pursed lips spread out to twice their normal size, her cheeks and eyes spread wide. She looked like a cartoon version of herself. In the distorted reflection, her hair was the one thing that looked fine.

  “We’re going to be late.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “I’ve given you five, Jen. . . .”

  Anu wasn’t sure when tonight had turned into a double date, but she wasn’t complaining. All day, every time she thought about having to meet Damien, go on a date—a real adult date—with a handsome, age-appropriate man, she could feel herself start to sweat. So when Jenny had announced after lunch that Damien was bringing a friend for her and the four of them were all going together, Anu had been relieved.

  She and Neil had never gone on a proper first date, and by the time she’d had her first date with Ryan, he’d been chasing her so long she already knew him—or at least thought she knew him.

  How was she supposed to act around Damien? Coy? Mysterious?

  And what had Jenny told him about her? Compared to Jenny’s witty, practiced banter online, would he find Anu dull?

  At least she looked good today. As instructed by Jenny, Anu had worn lipstick, straightened her hair, and left her mom jeans at home. In fact, after putting Kanika to bed the evening before, she’d torn the tags off all the clothes she bought in London and laid them on her bed. And they weren’t as daring as Anu remembered. It was only the miniskirt that she needed to give away.

  For the date, she’d put on a new coat and tight leathery jeans, and paired them with one of the tops and blazers she usually wore to work. She didn’t look that different, but she felt strangely confident. Even their receptionist at work, a twenty-five-year-old girl who looked like a supermodel, complimented Anu on her outfit.

  Eventually, Jenny gave up on her bangs, and they started on their way. She hadn’t been to Granville Island in years, even though it sat right on the edge of the downtown core and she had to drive by it all the time. It was an artists’ paradise, chock-full of galleries, boutique shops, and craftsmen making everything from leather goods to glass vases to baskets.

  They bypassed the outdoor art exhibit and then the food market, despite the tempting smells wafting out from behind its barnlike doors, and hung a right toward the brewery.

  “Do you see them?” Jenny asked as they push through the door.

  Anu shrugged, searching the low wooden tables for Damien. It was dark inside, with the wall-to-wall exposed brick.

  “Where are they? Do you think they stood us up?”

  Anu narrowed her eyes at her. “Why would they stand us up?”

  “I don’t know. It’s”—Jenny glanced at her watch—“six-oh-one. . . .”

  “Oh, good gracious, Jenny, they’re a minute late!” Laughing, Anu led her toward an empty table by the window. “Why are you acting nervous? Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?”

  Jenny threw her a glare. “I’m nervous for you. Your date etiquette is more than a decade old. She’s a teenager.”

  “My date etiquette is old enough to have her period.”

  Jenny laughed, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Over the years, Anu had heard dozens of stories about Jenny’s love life—everything from awkward first dates, one-off encounters with liars who hid their wedding ring in their front pockets, overeager men who Jenny made cry and, once, required a restraining order.

  Jenny belonged in a modern-day retelling of Sex and the City. She could have written, and often suggested that she should write, her own sex-and-relationship advice column. So why then was she acting like a nervous wreck?

  “Oh, my God, they’re here,” Jenny whispered, pulling off her coat. She tugged at her left sleeve, but too hard. It hit the water glass on the table next to her and crashed down to the floor. “Shit!”

  “Jenny, it’s fine.” Anu moved in to help, but Jenny brushed her hand away.

  “They’re here. Anu, they’re here. Just leave it and look up, because—”

  “They’re here?” Anu laughed, and after letting her eyes stay on Jenny for just a beat longer, she looked up.

  She recognized Damien immediately from his pictures on Tinder. Tall, dark, and handsome—an incredibly cute smile. He towered over his friend next to him, a white guy—also very cute—with grayish blond hair and light eyes.

  Jenny and Anu stood up to greet them, and Damien leaned in to hug Jenny and then Anu.

  “Where are my manners,” he said, pulling away. “This is my friend Tyler.”

  Tyler went next, hugging Anu, then Jenny. There was an awkward lull as a waiter came by to clean up the broken glass—Jenny’s face turned beet red—and then Damien and Tyler took their seats. Tyler had chosen the one by the far window, opposite to Anu’s purse; he must have not realized where they were sitting. For simplicity, Anu switched her purses with Jenny’s and took the seat opposite Damien, leaving her chair for Jenny.

  “Are you OK?” Damien asked.

  Anu opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it when she realized Damien was looking at Jenny, not at Anu.

  “Me?” Jenny said.

  “Yeah.” Damien’s eyes flicked to Tyler and then back to Jenny. “Are you OK over there?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m OK . . . over here.”

  Anu pressed her lips together. She liked to think she had OK people skills, a high emotional quotient, and the general ability to read the room. But this was a room she could not read. Jenny was acting like she wanted to be anywhere but here, and Tyler—well, Tyler kept looking at Anu.

  The waiter came by, and each of them ordered a pint. Jenny, usually the one to take the lead in all group conversations, stayed eerily silent, and so Anu tried to step up as best as she could. She made small talk with Damien and Tyler—about the weather, the Vancouver Canucks game the evening before, and, after their drinks arrived, the pleasantly bitter aftertaste of the brewery’s IPA.

  Anu could tell Damien was a gentleman, because he kept trying to bring Jenny into the conversation—complimenting her on her choice of pint (a pale ale), asking her about her day—but Jenny did little more than offer five-word answers and sip rather steadfastly at her drink. Meanwhile, Tyler, a schoolteacher and semiprofessional skier, although endearing, seemed to be paying more attention to Anu than to Jenny.

  Maybe that was what double dates were like? Anu wondered.

  They all finished their pints, and when the waiter came by to ask if they’d like another, Jenny nodded her head before anyone else could answer.

  Jenny was petite, a cheap drunk, and also Anu’s ride home that day. Anu kicked her lightly under the table. Jenny kicked her right back.

  “Anusha, did I do something wrong?” Damien asked abruptly. “Are you upset with me?”

  “Why would be I upset with you . . . ?” Anu trailed off as she realized Damien’s gaze was again fixed on Jenny. “Wait. Why did you call her Anusha?”

  “Because she is Anusha.”

  “No, I am.”

  “Aren’t you Jenny?” Tyler said to Anu. “My blind date?”

  “She’s Jenny.”

  “But her profile picture,” Damien said, his voice high. “The profile picture is—”

  “Of both of us,” Anu said, laughing. “Why did you assume it was her? ‘Anusha’ is an Indian name!”

  “Well, I didn’t know that. And besides, she”—he pointed to Jenny—“is more prominently featured.”

  “You thought it was me,” Jenny said to Damien, which was perhaps the first time she’d looked at him all night. “You thought Anusha was me?”

  Anu sat back, taking in the table. Tyler looked just as confused as Anu felt, and Damien and Jenny were just staring at each other. A smile spread slowly across Anu’s face as it hit her: So that was why Jenny was acting strange. She liked Damien. Jenny was annoyed that she’d started to like the guy she was trying to fix up wi
th Anu. She had invited herself along on Anu’s date because, secretly, Jenny wanted to meet Damien.

  “So you’re not Anusha, then,” Damien said, looking from Jenny down to his hands. No one said anything, and a beat later, his eyes flicked up to Anu. “So I’ve been talking to you this whole time?” He laughed. “How about that . . . ?”

  “Actually,” Jenny said, shifting in her seat, “you’ve been talking to me.”

  “But you just said you’re not Anusha—”

  “No, keep up, man. I’m Jenny.” She rolled her eyes, bumped Anu’s shoulder with hers. “Anu sucks at dating, so I was just helping her out.”

  “By pretending to be Anusha?” Damien asked.

  Jenny nodded.

  “So she’s Anusha, and you’re Jenny,” Damien said, and they all nodded—even Tyler. “And I was talking to Anusha on Tinder, but you”—he pointed at Jenny—“were pretending to be Anusha?”

  “I was, but I mean, I was the one texting. So, really, you were talking to . . . Jenny.”

  They were staring at each other again, and their eyes stayed locked even as the waiter brought over the next round.

  “Perfect timing,” Tyler said, breaking the silence. He caught Anu’s eye, and oddly, it made her smile. “I need another drink.”

  Anu reached for her glass. “I think we all do.”

  Tyler turned to Damien, moving to stand up. “Should we switch seats?”

  “Hang on.” Damien waved him off, and leaned forward diagonally toward Jenny. “So why did you come then, to meet Tyler? Are you even single?”

  “I am,” Jenny said tersely, palming her pint glass. “I am single.”

  “Are you on Tinder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why haven’t we ever matched?”

  “Because you’re twenty-eight.”

  “So?”

  “So I’ve set my age minimum to thirty.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t date younger men.”