I had inherited that attitude, like I'd inherited Dad's blue eyes. But unlike my appearance, I could change my attitude. Maybe I wanted to be a baker not a buyer.
Maybe I wanted to be an artist not a business owner.
Having my own studio had felt like it would add legitimacy to my makeup career, but right now it felt more like it would be a rock around the neck of my creativity.
The idea of giving up on the goal I'd held for as long as I could remember scared me but there was a hint of exhilaration in the fear. Being artistic was enough, if I wanted it to be. I didn't need to dress it up to make it okay to other people.
Feeling unusually relaxed, I made happy faces atop the muffins with cinnamon sugar, just because, then slid the pan into the oven before collapsing on the couch with my laptop to do my email. I had messages from both Lydia and Candice in my inbox, and I was halfway through a typically light reply to Lydia when I realized that didn't feel right.
I'd been hiding from her. From Candice too, of course. My two best friends in the world, and neither of them knew what had really driven me to Kuwait. I didn't know if I could explain the panic I'd felt as I left, but I did know that our friendships would only be stronger if I tried. It was okay to admit to being confused and lost and scared. They wouldn't hate me or think less of me.
I deleted what I'd already written then started again.
Dear Lydia,
You asked me a few times why I came to Kuwait and I always said I didn't know. Well, I still don't really know, but I know more than I've told you.
Remember the day I fell against a wall and scraped up my face? Well, that's not how it went down.
I stared at the screen. Was I ready for this? Could I admit that I'd been stupid about Greg?
Yes. I could. I was both tough enough and vulnerable enough for it.
I gave her a brief explanation of who Greg was and how we'd ended up in the alley and how my face had come to be against the wall, then went on with, "I wish I'd told you. I felt so stupid about it, though. You have everything in your life so amazingly together and I just... don't. I didn't know how to tell you what a mess I'd made. I just felt like such a girl, so messed up and stupid and pathetic."
I reread everything, and though it felt terrifying to be so open I knew it was the right thing to do. Lydia and I could be closer friends as a result and I wanted that.
So after that, and then after some screw-ups with Candice's son's christening, I just couldn't see how I could stay in Toronto. I know it probably seems stupid to you but to me it just felt like absolutely everything was wrong and I needed to get away. And I do feel better here. Not perfect, but better.
She'd told me in her email how after quitting her job she'd been working on founding a new women's issues website with the technical assistance of Percy, the guy she'd been raving about before I left who was now her boyfriend, and so I replied to that part with, "I'm so glad your website is coming together. I can't wait to see it. I found your old one so inspiring. It did show me how weak and pathetic my life was compared to yours, but that just inspired me to do better. ;) And I think here in Kuwait I am." I ended my email by saying, "I've got a long way to go to be as confident and strong a woman as you are, but I'm trying. Thank you for being my role model."
After a careful rereading, I let this email go to Lydia. She would no doubt reply and tell me I was doing fine, say all the things she was supposed to say, and I would try to believe them and use them to make myself feel stronger.
My muffin timer went off, and I pulled the perfectly golden treats from the oven and set them to cool then returned to the computer.
Lydia, while lovely, had only known me for a few years. Candice had the better part of my life in her memory and telling her how much everything hurt was so much harder.
I did it, though. I told her that I was so happy she had her family with Ian but that it was painful for me too because she had everything together and I didn't even know where to start. I told her how though I appreciated her understanding over Eric's christening I was still furious at myself for it and hated that such a special day had been tainted by my mistakes. I told her how guilty I'd felt over my dad's death and how even now I didn't know whether I really wanted to run a business for myself or for him.
And, most difficult of all, I told her about what Greg had done to me and Kegan had done for me that awful night, and how I'd so wanted Kegan not to have changed because it meant I didn't have to either but I now believed he had and I wasn't sure where that left me.
I didn't think I'd ever been so searingly honest with her. It did sear. It felt like I'd laid my heart on the muffin pan right out of the oven.
But when I'd sent the email off and wiped away the few tears that had fallen as I'd tried to find the words to explain how much I valued her friendship and her willingness to accept my messed-up self, I felt clear and free and open.
I ate one of my muffins, from the bottom up so I could smile at its cinnamon-sugar grin until the very last bite.
And I slept through the night for the first time since I'd come to Kuwait.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning while I ate breakfast I discovered that Lydia had responded to my email, but not with the 'there, there, you're fine' platitudes I'd expected.
You thought I had it all together? Oh, Larissa. You have no idea. That old website is pure fiction. I had no clue what I was doing, in work or life, but I just kept putting up a front like I did so I wouldn't lose my readers. I stopped doing that a while back, and I did lose some readers but I gained more who don't expect me to be someone I'm not and I love it. I do think I'm a little more together now, but I still feel like I'm scrambling around in the dark hoping to hell it'll all work out. I think everyone is. You're not different in that regard, I'm afraid. :)
As for Greg, you thought you were going out with someone you knew. He turned out to be someone else. He is in the wrong there, not you, and I hope you know that.
And, um, you ARE a girl. Which you say like it's a bad thing, and I don't understand that. I'd think someone who loves makeup like you do would be thrilled to be a girl, especially one as pretty as you.
I have been so sorry that I wasn't more there for you. Looking back, I know you were trying to tell me things and I was too focused on my own crap to hear you. You deserved better, and I am sorry. I'm glad being there has improved things for you, and whenever you come back to Toronto I'd love to see you (or have you stay with me if you need a place!) and really talk.
Take care, and be the girl you are! :)
Lydia
I had honestly thought she was completely together, and realizing she hadn't and still didn't feel that way surprised and confused me. It was that whole 'judging my insides by other people's outsides' thing that Kegan had told me about all over again, and I was apparently still doing it.
But what really shocked me was how viscerally I reacted to 'come back to Toronto'. I'd been sure I would go back after my contract at the school was up but the mere idea made my apple muffin roil in my stomach.
Well, I didn't need to go back yet. I needed to go to work.
I had dressed in black pants and a gray cotton sweater, but when I brushed my teeth I looked at myself in the mirror and knew I wanted to open up a little more. I wanted to let myself be a girl, even if just for the day.
Without thinking it through any more than that, I retrieved Amirah's pink scarf from its hiding place in my drawer and wound it around my neck. It shone against my sweater and lit up my face too, but even so I felt so strange wearing such an unfamiliar color that I almost pulled it off again.
I didn't, though. Despite my discomfort, I kept it on and studied myself in the mirror. I really did like it, and it really did look good on me. Did I need another reason to wear it? Did I have a valid reason not to?
I could almost hear my dad's muttering echoing through the bathroom, but I raised my chin and the sound subsided. No, I had no reason not to wear it.<
br />
Then I brightened up my makeup a little, and did a quick manicure with the pink polish I'd bought in Dubai, and when I studied myself before I left I looked pretty and soft and sweet but also professional with my sleek pants and sweater. The pink still made me unreasonably nervous, but I couldn't deny how good it made me look and feel.
Mohammed the harris smiled even more widely than usual when I came down for my ride to school. "Very pretty, Madam. Like a sweet candy!"
A part of me recoiled at this, but I took a deep breath and calmed it. "Thank you," I said, smiling back at him. "I appreciate it." Most of me did, anyhow.
At school, after showing my nails to Tara and the scarf to Amirah and collecting Tara's compliments and Amirah's smiling "Good for you, Larissa, you look lovely," I headed up to my classroom then on a whim changed direction and went looking for Leon. We hadn't exactly left things in a good state the day before, and I didn't like it.
When I knocked on his open door, he looked up from the papers on his desk. I saw him notice my scarf, and not look too thrilled about it, but he said only, "Hey. Come on in."
I went over to him, and stopped in front of his desk. "Look, about yesterday..."
He waited.
I shrugged. "Here's the thing. I don't like tennis. I don't like any sports, really. Except skiing. I like Cesar and Latifa and I'd be happy to hang out with you with them, but you guys should play without me. Is that cool?"
He leaned back in his chair. "I did find someone else to play with yesterday. Julie, the one who's just come in from Alabama. You know her, right?"
I certainly did. She was built like a Barbie doll and I'd seen her eyeing Leon in the gym. They might just be playing tennis now but I felt sure she had plans for things to go much further and it made my stomach twist. In theory she wasn't his type, but she was pretty enough that he might well make an exception. His eyes were on me, though, and a hint of challenge shone in them, so I said only, "Of course. You might as well keep playing with her. And then going out with me after."
He smiled, the challenge morphing into amusement. "That's what I like about you. You're so confident."
The first of his students wandered into the classroom, so I didn't have the time to tell him how far off he was. Not that I would have anyhow. "I'd better get back to my room."
He nodded. "I'm playing tennis again tonight, and Cesar wants me to go car shopping with him tomorrow night, but how's Thursday?"
I started to agree, glad he did still want to see me, but he frowned and pulled out his phone. After a quick check, he said, "I have a volleyball game at the gym until about six. After that?"
"Sure. I've got work to do here anyhow."
He gave me a wry smile. "I'll probably be ready before you. You and your dedication. Call me when you're done and I'll pick you up. Deal?"
"Deal."
I went back to my room wondering how he could know so little about me, and when I saw Khalid I found myself thinking of how little I knew about him. I'd had that one glimpse of a kid who was eager to learn, a kid who measured every angle on his desk once he finally understood how to do it because it was so fun, and I wanted to bring him out again.
I spent that day trying different ways to connect with him and paying attention to how he responded, determined to figure out what key would unlock him. Mostly he seemed to ignore me entirely, but a few of my comments made him look at me with tear-filled eyes then drop his head onto his desk and lie there in clear misery.
That night, as I idly carved another apple, I thought about the day and I saw a pattern: any appeal to him on emotional grounds upset him. I'd told him it made me sad that he wouldn't talk to me, and that I knew he was a nice boy and I was sorry he wasn't happy, and both of those things had brought him to tears. I needed to focus my attentions in that direction, though I didn't like making him cry.
I checked my email before bed, and what I found there made me both laugh and cry.
Larissa, you've been my best friend forever and I love you, so take this in the spirit in which I intend it: you're an idiot if you think I've got everything together.
I STILL don't have my bathroom renovation done, if you can believe it, and yesterday I wanted a relaxing bath so badly because Libby was playing some 'let's poke Eric until he screams' game and all I could do was wash my hands in the kitchen sink over and over and pretend it was a bath. We all go over to my parents every night to get cleaned up and I get to listen to my mom explaining how important it is to properly handle contractors every single night. I'd rather stay stinky.
On a serious note, it really is devastating. I love this house and seeing it in such disarray with the contractors stomping around everywhere feels like they're stomping on me. I know I'm lucky for being able to afford renovations but it's making every moment of every day awkward and uncomfortable. It's amazing to me how badly it's messing up the rest of my life, even parts that should have nothing to do with it. I'm off-center at work, I snapped at Ian yesterday for eating chips too loudly, and I almost yelled at Ninja for shedding until I realized that was like yelling at a tree for dropping its leaves.
Crazy how one part of your life being wrong can make it all look wrong. But mine isn't, and neither is yours, even though we both feel that way.
As for the guilt side of things, I understand, you know. Remember how Ian's parents died? I felt awful about that for ages. Still do, really. If they hadn't been shopping for my Christmas gift right then... but they were. It happened. And your dad's death happened too. There's nothing either of us can do to fix those things. All we can do is live. Live our OWN lives, the way they feel right to us.
You're a great makeup artist but I've never been sure doing it as a business is right for you. But that doesn't matter. What matters is whether it feels right to you. I know you're in Kuwait for another year, so there's no rush to decide, but do what makes you happy, not what might have made your dad happy. And I'd say that even if he were still alive. My mom doesn't approve of most (all?) of my choices, but I believe they're right for me and since they aren't hurting anyone that's all that matters.
You must forgive me, but I have to say a very tiny 'told you so' about Kegan. :) I'm sorry, I can't help myself. But I also have to say that I did love you for being so against him because he hurt me. I've always loved how much you're on my side.
Be on your own side too, okay? You didn't remotely ruin Eric's christening - in fact, the only comments we got about the drinks/cake thing were from people rolling their eyes about how badly Mom handled it all and admiring how calm and cool you were. We admired that too.
You don't need to change, buddy. You just need to be your awesome self.
Team Larissa!!
Love you,
Candice
Smiling through my tears, I read the email again and again. The person who knew me best said I was awesome. Could she be right? Could being on my own side, being myself, be all I needed to make everything work?
*****
I woke up the next morning determined that this would be the day that 'Team Larissa' would discover what was bothering Khalid. After morning recess the kids had Arabic studies, so during recess I asked their teacher if I could keep Khalid with me for a few minutes at the beginning of class. He was fine with it, so when the kids lined up I said, "Khalid, you need to stay here for five minutes."
The look he gave me, sadness mixed with something that looked like fear, worried me, but I stuck to my plan. I had to find out what was going on with him. He was clearly hurting. Once the other students left, I said, "Khalid, come sit here," and pointed to the chair I'd placed beside my desk.
He squished himself into it as if trying to hide.
I settled into my own chair and turned to face him.
He turned his head away.
"Khalid," I said softly, hating that I was making him miserable but certain it was necessary, "have I done something to make you upset?"
He snapped his head back toward me, his eyes wide w
ith surprise. "No, Miss."
"It seems like it, though," I said, and my heart sank as he turned away again. "Khalid, if I have done something I would really like to know. It would give me a chance to make it better."
"Can't," he mumbled.
"Can't what?"
He fiddled with the cuff of his uniform shirt until I wanted to scream, but didn't speak.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. "Are you saying I can't fix whatever I've done?"
He looked at me, confused. "No, I said you didn't do anything, Miss. And you didn't."
"Then who did, Khalid?"
He literally jumped in his seat then sank even lower into it. "No, Miss. I can't."
I thought briefly of taking him to Janet, but remembering how little he'd spoken in her presence I felt sure he was more likely to tell me than her. "Khalid, I..." An awful thought struck me. I couldn't bring myself to ask him directly so I began working my way around it. "Did someone tell you not to tell?"
He nodded without looking at me.
I swallowed hard. "Did that someone hurt you?"
He shook his head.
Relief filled me. At least he hadn't been abused. "Then it's probably okay to tell."
"She said not--"
He cut himself off and burst into choking sobs, crying so hard he was almost silent.
She. Who?
I couldn't get the answer until he calmed down, and I couldn't stand to see him cry like that, so I rolled my chair closer to his and patted his shoulder.
Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Page 49