Flávia might not understand it, but I think I do. After seeing the way they were together, with no inhibitions; that’s the way you are with people you love.
I don’t say any of this to Flávia. Instead, I say, “Family can be difficult. Complicated. I get it.”
She pulls me a little closer and says, “I’m sorry, Nishat. I’m going to try and take care of it.”
I’m not sure if she will, or even if she can. What I do I know is that I want this moment to last, to stretch into a million moments that we share. So I nod, choosing to believe her.
28
I WAKE UP ON SUNDAY STILL THINKING ABOUT KISSING Flávia. I’m buzzing with a kind of happiness that I haven’t felt in a long time. Sure, my parents are still super weird about my sexuality. And the entire school knows, and is actively whispering about me behind my back—when people aren’t doing things like refusing to use the same changing rooms as me. But none of that holds much weight right now.
Later that morning, Chaewon and Jess show up at the restaurant with bright smiles. It’s just me there. Priti stayed home, deciding not to emerge from her bedroom since breakfast.
“I’m ready to be beautified!” Jess exclaims, sliding into the booth and flipping through my design book. Chaewon rolls her eyes, but shoots me a grin.
“Have you had many customers yet?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Chyna … decided to have a party yesterday during the time my booth was open.”
“Seriously?” Chaewon asks. I shrug. After all, what else is there to say?
“We need to get back at them!” Jess bangs her fist against the table, before pulling her hand back and rubbing her fingers. “Hard table,” she says sheepishly.
I swallow a smile. “Come on, let’s forget about it, okay? You’re my first customers of the day!” Surprisingly, they drop the subject and let me apply henna to both their hands, from the back of their fingertips all the way up to their elbows. They look wedding-ready by the time I’m done. I even throw in a friends and family discount, even though they insist on paying the full price.
No other customers show up. I’m not exactly surprised, but I can’t help the disappointment that floods through me.
Flávia: Still at the restaurant?
Flávia’s text comes just as I’m packing everything up, ready to go.
About to leave! I type back. The three dots indicating Flávia is typing show up immediately, like she’s been waiting for me to text her back.
Meet me in town in 15?
So that’s how I find myself at Gino’s fifteen minutes later, sharing an ice cream with Flávia. It’s only forty degrees outside, so ice cream probably isn’t the best idea, but if the people in Ireland let the weather stop them from having ice cream they’d rarely get the chance to indulge in it.
The good thing, of course, is that Gino’s is almost empty. There’s just a couple in one corner that’s maybe getting a little too cozy, and a family of three that’s a little too loud, but nothing to disrupt Flávia’s fingers intertwined with mine, or her gaze boring into me.
“Is this … a date?” The question tumbles out of me before I can stop it, and I immediately feel myself warm.
Flávia grins. “If you want it to be.”
“You paid for my ice cream—that’s date-like behavior,” I mumble.
Flávia’s grin widens. “Right, but the hand-holding and ice-cream-sharing are just regular friend stuff.”
I kick her foot under the table and say, “I’ve never been on a date before. I don’t know what qualifies as a date.”
Flávia lets out a small laugh. “Yes, this is a date. And it’s definitely one of my best ones.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
She shakes her head, squeezing my fingers. “Come on, Nishat.” There’s a lot of reassurance in the way she says it—deep and husky—like it’s a secret meant only for me. A moment meant only for us.
After our ice cream—Belgian chocolate and Nutella—Flávia loops her elbow through mine and drags me toward the Ha’penny Bridge.
“I should be getting home,” I say, making absolutely no effort to untangle myself from her.
“Soon,” she reassures me. I don’t believe her and I don’t want to.
We climb the steps of the bridge. It’s a Sunday and there are still huge crowds of people passing by on each side. Flávia pulls us into the middle. On one side, we can see O’Connell Bridge, wide and sturdy, brimming with people and cars.
But Flávia turns the other way. Through the white railings of the Ha’penny Bridge we can see down the River Liffey, where the sunset is turning the city into a kaleidoscope.
“When I was little, my mom used to bring me here.” Flávia lets go of my hand and stands on her tiptoes so she can take in the sunset in all its glory. I watch the colors deflect off of her, illuminating her hair, her eyes. The curve of her lips. I want to kiss her, but it feels strange in this crowded place.
“She would tell me about São Paulo while the sun set.”
“Do you wish you could go there?” I ask tentatively.
She nods, though she doesn’t look at me. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s like I have this weird pull for a place that I barely know. I don’t understand it. My sister went two years ago with her boyfriend. She says maybe we can go together when she graduates from her Master’s next year.”
“That would be good, right?” I think about my own time in Bangladesh; I was lucky to grow up around family, learning about my culture and my language.
“Yeah …” Flávia finally catches my eye. “It’s just … it’s kind of nerve-wracking too.”
I slip my fingers through hers once more and press closer. The passers-by don’t care about the two girls paused in the middle of the street, or the orange glow the sun has cast over us all.
“I get it. I lived in Bangladesh for so many years but I still feel anxious about going back.”
Flávia smiles and turns back to the sky again. “First date watching the sunset. It’s kind of cheesy.”
“It’s sweet.”
She gives me a sheepish smile. “So … cheesy?”
“Romantic.” The words tumble out, braver than I feel.
Her smile widens. She pulls me closer. Suddenly, it’s like there is no one but us on this busy Dublin bridge as she presses her lips to mine.
29
IT’S OUR SECOND SHOWCASE ON FRIDAY. I WAKE UP EARLY to get into school and set everything up before everyone else gets there. After what happened during the first one, I can’t help how nervous I feel. I know I can’t be outed all over again, and I should be elated about the fact that Flávia and I are … something. But none of that takes away the heavy feeling in my chest.
“We’ll be at the school in the afternoon,” Ammu reminds me as I’m about to slip out the door. I’d almost forgotten parents were invited to today’s showcase; I hadn’t considered my parents might want to come. Especially considering we still had barely talked since I was outed to the whole school.
“How did you know?” I know it’s the wrong question to ask, but it tumbles out before I can stop it.
“We got a text.”
“Abbu is coming too?”
She nods and finally meets my eyes. She parts her lips for a moment, as if she’s about to say something.
“Nishat, I’m …” she begins. Her eyes bore into mine and I don’t know what to expect. “… good luck today,” she finishes weakly.
I wish Priti were here, but she’s probably still asleep. My whole body shakes on the way to school. Ammu wished me luck, but that doesn’t mean anything. Even if it is the most she’s said to me in a long time.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to entertain my parents in school today. I don’t know how I’m supposed to face them in the same vicinity as Flávia and pretend they haven’t rejected me.
I gulp down my anxiety and look straight ahead at the rain splattering the windshield of the bus. I just have
to find a way to power through this day.
At school, I hang Flávia’s banner up on my stall, admiring the way it fits the whole aesthetic of my business perfectly. The colors are exactly the ones that set into your skin after henna dries off.
Chaewon and Jess come around holding a box of supplies as I’m setting out my henna tubes and design book on the table in front of me.
“Whoa, nice banner,” Jess comments, nodding at it admiringly. “You did it yourself?”
“Please.” I roll my eyes, because Jess should definitely know better than that.
“Priti?” Chaewon asks, taking the banner in admiringly.
I wonder for a moment how Chaewon and Jess would take it if I told them it was Flávia. What exactly they would think of that. But I just shake my head and change the topic.
“Shouldn’t you two be at your stall, getting ready? It’s a big showcase. Are your parents coming?”
Chaewon nods her head excitedly, like she can’t wait for her parents to show up. “My mom is so excited that people at school like the stuff we’re selling. She says it’s big in Korea but she didn’t think kids here would like it too.” She grins so wide that I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt her lips.
“Anyway, we’re here to help you!” Jess dramatically sets down the box she’s carrying on the table. “We brought over some stuff to help you out with your stall.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Jess shrugs. “I mean, you’re on your own here and …”
“… it’s kind of our fault,” Chaewon finishes with a sheepish smile.
“We had different creative visions,” is all I say, before digging into the box. It’s full of fairy lights and colorful crepe paper. “Thanks.”
Jess and Chaewon help me finish setting up, stringing up fairy lights, and spreading the crepe paper around until the booth looks a little magical.
The showcase starts off okay. Even though almost every other booth gets more attention than mine, a few stragglers stop over and let me paint their hands with my henna. It’s not a lot—but it’s the most business I’ve gotten since this whole thing started.
An hour into the showcase, Jess comes over, nodding at my table with approval. “We did a pretty good job.”
I roll my eyes. “You did. With yours too.” Their stall has had nonstop customers—mostly students and teachers, but even the early arriving parents have been drawn to it.
“Well, will you do my henna?” Jess asks, taking a seat. “The other side.” She holds up her empty palm.
“Sure.” I smile and show her my design book, getting everything ready as she makes her choice about what henna design to get.
Once she’s decided, she places her hand flat on the table in front of me and I hover my hand over hers, henna tube at the ready.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” The sudden outburst takes me out of my work. When I look up, she’s studying me with a frown. It’s the most serious I’ve ever seen her look.
“You’ve already apologized,” I say.
“Not really. Not for the real stuff,” Jess sighs. “Like … not believing you about Chyna. And leaving you out to dry instead of supporting your idea for the henna business.”
“It’s okay. You’re supporting me now.”
“How come …” She stops and takes a deep breath. “How come you never told us about you being gay?”
I can only shrug. Why didn’t I ever tell them? It wasn’t that I never thought about it, but after I told Ammu and Abbu it felt like a curtain fell over that part of me. A curtain I couldn’t part, no matter how hard I tried. Every time I thought about telling them, telling anyone, I only remembered what Ammu said about making choices. I know it’s not about making choices—rationally—but to tell other people would feel like confirming what Ammu was most afraid of: Me choosing to bring us shame. And I wasn’t sure if I could handle rejection and loss a second time.
Jess frowns, like she’s really thinking about it. I worry she’ll be angry and lash out. After all, she and I haven’t had the best track record lately. But she nods her head and stills her hand beneath me.
“I think I get it. I probably wouldn’t have told me either, if I were you. Especially … after everything.” I expect her to say more, to ask more questions. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me expectantly with her hand thrust out in front of her.
Once I bend over to work on the henna design, it’s like I’ve left the loud, stuffy hallway of St. Catherine’s and entered a world of my own. A world where it’s only me and the henna and Jess’s hand. Not even Jess, just her hand—as if it’s dismembered and floating. I barely feel her presence as I work away, so when she leans forward and a strand of her brown hair brushes over my shoulder, I jump in surprise. A thin, dark line of henna makes it way down her forearm.
“Sorry!” Jess exclaims at the same time I do. I grab a tissue from my table and dab her arm.
“I was just trying to get a good look.” Her voice is higher than usual.
“It’s okay. Look.” There’s a pale, fading line where I smudged the henna, but it’s more or less invisible and should be gone in a few minutes.
“You’re so concentrated when you’re working,” Jess comments. I blush, because I’m not sure if this is a compliment or an insult.
“It takes concentration.”
“I know, I know. Just …” She takes a deep breath and sits back in her chair, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should have listened to you before. When you wanted the three of us to do this. I was … I didn’t really understand. And you’re … wow, you’re talented.” She’s looking at her own henna-clad arm now. I try not to smile because that would make me seem condescending, but I also kind of want to say, “Ha! Told you so!”
Instead, I say, “Thanks.”
Nobody else shows up to my booth until we break for lunch. It’s been mostly lower classes let out to venture into the hallway for the morning; I’m hoping that after lunch, when more adults show up, I’ll get a little more business. I try not to let the fact that there’s been a constant stream of people outside Flávia and Chyna’s booth bother me as I weave past them to join Chaewon and Jess for lunch.
“You have to look at some of the other booths when you’re free,” Jess says excitedly, taking a bite of her sandwich and speaking with her mouth half open and half full. “There’s some really cool stuff. Did you see the stall full of handmade plushies? So cool!”
“There isn’t really anybody to watch my stall if I go strolling around.” I shrug. Jess clamps her mouth shut and glances at Chaewon with a guilty look. “That’s not supposed to be accusing you of something,” I add quickly. “I’m just saying.”
Jess and Chaewon don’t bring up the other stalls again during lunch, but I do text Priti to hurry up and help me with the stall when she can.
She texts back, YOU KNOW I HAVE THE JUNIOR CERT!!!!!!!! before immediately following that up with, I’ll be there after lunch.
After lunch, we all shuffle into the near-empty hallway. Chaewon and Jess hurry over to their stall, and I follow, passing Flávia and Chyna. Flávia gives me a secret smile as I pass her, and I can’t help the jolt of electricity that momentary smile sends through me.
Chaewon and Jess’s stall is smack bang in the middle of everything. The absolute perfect spot. As soon as we get there, Chaewon begins to sort through things, ensuring everything is perfect. Jess watches her, a bemused expression on her face.
“I wish your stall was close by so we could help each other out,” Jess says.
I wish that too. I could really use a helping hand.
I shrug. “It’s okay. Priti’s going to come over to help me.”
I stroll over to my near isolated corner, and I stop in my tracks.
“Nice setup you have here.”
I turn to find Cáit O’Connell smirking at me, her eyes flitting from me to the table “setup” in front of me. It’s nothing like I left it earlier. The banner Flávia made me is
ripped through the middle, with jagged edges where NISHAT’S MEHNDI had been. The fairy lights Jess and Chaewon had carefully strung around the entire table are stripped off and lying on the floor, the glass on most of them broken.
I rush toward the table, trying to push back the lump in my throat and the tears prickling behind my eyes. The henna tubes I had carefully placed on the table are slashed open, and the henna is staining the crepe paper and table, but I’m more concerned about my design book, which I had tucked away in a hidden corner.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally find it under the table. Whoever did this must have accidentally dropped it and not even noticed. The loose pages I had stuffed into it are spread across the dirty floor but it’s otherwise unharmed. I shove the pages back in and pull the book to my chest. I have never been happier to see a book before, and I’m often very happy to see them.
But there is still the matter of my stall being trashed.
When I look up from the table, Cáit has gone back to her own stall, arranging different cosmetics into a straight line. The rest of the hallway is awash with happy noise—of work, play, excitement.
I slump down on my chair. All of my hard work—gone. Just like that.
“What the hell happened here?” Jess and Chaewon are standing over me; Jess is glaring at the bare table with furrowed eyebrows, like it’s wronged her, and Chaewon is peering at me with soft eyes like I’m a kicked puppy she needs to protect.
“Someone … I don’t know, they messed my table up.” I somehow manage to get the words out even though the lump in my throat has set up camp and is showing no sign of dissipating anytime soon.
“We have to tell Ms. Montgomery!” Chaewon says, at the same time that Jess casts a glare across the hall and declares, “I’m going to kill Chyna.”
“You don’t know it was her.” Chaewon interjects.
“Who else would it be?”
I shake my head. “It could have been anyone,” I say. I think about the way Cáit smirked when I came over. Did she do this? Chyna? Ali? The list of people who hate me simply for being me is too long, and I’m not sure what I’d do about it even if I knew who did this.
The Henna Wars Page 21