It’s meant to be a joke, but she doesn’t smile. “Oh, God, it’s not, is it?” I say. I don’t want Josh anymore, but this feels a little weird.
“It’s not Josh,” Ellie says. “It’s Lia.”
“What? You mean…”
“Yes,” says Ellie. “She’s my girlfriend.”
This is a total shock. “But…I had no idea! You never said… So are you…” I hesitate—I’m not sure what the right word to say is. Should I say gay or lesbian or bisexual? Ellie speaks before I can decide.
“I don’t know what I am, exactly, Kas. We just know we have feelings for each other—something more than friendship. I’ve never felt like this about any boy. But I’m scared. I don’t want to be defined as anything. I just want to be myself.”
She’s crying now, and I feel awful.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t know. I wish you could have talked to me. You’ve been so supportive to me, and all the time you had this going on in your head. And I haven’t even asked you if you’re okay, or what’s going on with you!”
“I didn’t want to bother you with it on top of everything else,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I’m glad I’ve told you now, though.”
“So am I. And maybe it’s weird, but I’ve been a little jealous of Lia—thinking she was going to be your new bestie. I feel much less jealous now that I know she’s your girlfriend!”
“I’m frightened, Kas,” she tells me. “Scared it will all go wrong. And people are so insensitive, wanting to put labels on things.”
“I’m sorry I did that,” I say. “What does Lia think?”
“She says we both want it, so we have to go for it.”
“And that is what you want, too?”
Ellie nods.
“Then go for it. Be brave. It probably won’t last forever—that’s what you told me, didn’t you? How many people marry someone they were at school with?”
“You’re right—we need to lighten up, just enjoy it. I’m glad I told you—I was scared. I thought it might be too much for you. I didn’t want to lose you, Kas.”
“No chance!” I tell her, and we hug.
* * *
I am so happy when Nav texts the following day to see if he can come over. I don’t feel up to getting out of bed, but I manage to sit up.
“Can you believe it?” I ask him.
Nav nods. “We did the right thing, Kasia. I’m glad we did it. I only wish we’d done it before.”
“I hope she’ll be okay now,” I say. “I hope she can get asylum or something.”
We sit silently for a few moments, but it’s not an awkward silence.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re back in bed…”
“I think it’s the shock of everything,” I tell him. “But I get over setbacks much quicker now. The strict pacing has really helped. I’m sure I’ll be okay. In fact, I bet I’ll be up and about tomorrow.”
Nav nods again. Is that relief in his eyes? Like he cares—really cares? Or am I imagining it?
“I heard you were going out with someone?” Nav asks.
“What? I’m not… Oh, Josh? We only…we had two dates. It’s over now.”
“Good!”
I laugh. I’m sure I see a glimmer of a smile from him. Is he really glad that Josh is out of the scene? Does he actually like me…like that?
“Nav?” I say.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for how I was after the concert—for the things I said to you. I was feeling really bad, but I know that’s no excuse. I didn’t mean them—I promise you.”
He says nothing for a moment. Maybe I judged this wrong. I’m asking too much.
“I got the message,” he tells me. There’s a brusque tone to his voice. “I know you’re not interested in me like that. I know I’m too short for you—I get it. I never really expected anything more, but I was hurt.”
“Short?” I repeat. “What do you mean? This was nothing to do with you being short.”
He shakes his head firmly. “Oh, but it was—even if it was subconscious, Kasia. No girl wants to go out with a boy who is shorter than her. That’s just the way it is.”
“That’s silly, Nav! Maybe some girls think like that, but not me. I could say the same, why would anyone want to go out with someone with ME?”
“I don’t care about that,” he says with a shrug. “I like you. I like you as a person.”
“I feel the same about you,” I tell him. “Your height was never an issue.”
There’s silence for a moment. Somehow we can’t look at each other.
“Nav—I really am sorry about the things I said,” I say next. “I’d enjoyed the party so much, and I’d felt so normal—and best of all was being there with you. I was so disappointed when I relapsed, especially since it was two days later. That often happens, but it still feels like a kick in the teeth. I’d felt like I was starting to get back to the way I was before—that I might be able to go back to school soon—and then I was so much worse, and Dad was so angry, too. I lashed out at you. I didn’t mean what I said, and I’m sorry, truly sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“It’s not easy, Kasia. You hurt me big-time. I can’t make any promises.”
“Oh—okay,” I whisper.
I’m trying not to cry. I can’t cry. I can’t let him see how much it matters.
But then I see he’s smiling. “But if my height really doesn’t bother you, then I think we should give it a try, if you want to—go out with me, that is? Or even ‘stay in’ with me, when you’re not up to going out. Whatever… That is the convenience of living next door to each other!”
“I’d like that,” I say softly. “Yes, please.”
33
Mom shows me an article in the newspaper saying six young women, believed to have been trafficked to this country as sex slaves, have been rescued. Three men have been arrested, including a man who, along with his wife, has also been charged with keeping a fourteen-year-old girl as a domestic slave. I can’t help wondering about the baby. Where is he now?
“We’re so proud of you, moje kochanie,” Dad tells me. “What happened to those young women was terrible, and you helped them.”
The house across the street is empty. I don’t know how long it will be before new people move in.
The couple at 43 have gotten engaged. We only know this because Devi has done a far better job of getting to know our neighbors than we ever did. They are having an engagement party, and they need someone to make the cake. Devi has recommended Mom. Mom is terrified. She said no initially, but Devi has convinced her to do it—she says they want a very simple design and are more interested in a cake that tastes good.
Devi then insists that she get some business cards printed to hand out. “This is the way word spreads,” she assures Mom.
Mom is in the kitchen for hours. She won’t let anyone come in. Then, at last, she calls me.
“Do you think it’s okay?” she asks, doubtfully. “I had to use online tutorials to learn how to make the flowers.”
“Mom!” I exclaim, looking at the white cake, decorated with lemon-yellow flowers and a gold band. “It’s beautiful! They will be so happy!”
Mom smiles. “I didn’t think I could do it. Just shows you what you can do if you try.”
“And with the right encouragement,” I remind her. “You wouldn’t have even tried if Devi hadn’t pushed you.”
“True,” Mom admits. “That Devi is a persuasive one. I think I need to do a real class—food hygiene and professional baking, or even a business class.”
“I could look online—see if I can find one,” I tell her, “when I’m back from my walk.”
“That’s kind. Thank you.”
But when I come out of the house, I have another idea and decide to walk to the libra
ry. The librarian directs me to the folder of information about local classes. I find exactly what Mom is looking for at the local college. My eye is also drawn to a rack, where there’s a leaflet from NCMEC. It makes me think right away about Reema. I must write to her. I’ve heard nothing about how or where she is.
The leaflet is about an open gardens event. I pick it up. NCMEC has an event where people open their own gardens to the public for a day and members of the public pay to go in. The money goes to the foundation. I think immediately about Mrs. G.’s garden. Nav has done wonders with it. Would Mrs. G. let him open it to the public? It would be amazing to raise money for the organization that has helped Reema!
I take the leaflet and knock next door on my way back, eager to show Nav.
“This looks great! I want to do it!” he tells me. This is no surprise—I knew he’d love to show off the garden. “Do you think anyone will come, though? I mean, people around here…”
“Let’s call and find out what you have to do first,” I say.
He phones right away, but comes off the phone looking disappointed. “It’s too late to get into the program for this year,” he tells me. “Maybe next year. I’ll have that garden looking even better by then. And you’ll be healthier, too—and able to help me!”
“It’s a shame,” I tell him. I’d been so excited about the idea and I don’t want to wait a whole year. “Couldn’t we do it anyway, just arrange it ourselves? We could still raise money for NCMEC.”
“How would people know to come?” Nav asks doubtfully.
“We could put flyers through all the doors down the street,” I say. “We can offer tea and cake, too—Mom could bake the cakes. I bet people would come.”
“Maybe you could play the cello, too!” Nav suggests.
“I’m not sure—I haven’t played for so long. But I could try…” I tell him.
“If Nani and Mom agree then, yes, let’s do it!” Nav says, smiling. “It can be a practice run, and we can try to get in the main program next year.”
I write to Reema. I tell her about the plan to open Nav’s garden. I’m not sure how interested she’ll be. I wonder if she’ll even want to hear from me. Maybe it will just remind her of the horrible time she had here. I tell her how my health is improving, how I am able to walk farther and am planning to go back to school in September, starting with two mornings a week and building up slowly.
I send the letter to Amanda, the social worker, so she can forward it to Reema wherever she is. I’d love to get a reply, but I don’t hold out much hope.
Two weeks later, a letter arrives for me.
To Kasia,
How you are? I am good. I am so happy you write to me!
I stay with nice family, and Amanda help me find one cousin I know living here. I see my cousin now—he is very happy to see me. I go to school soon. People helping me so I can stay in this country.
You save me. Without you I still be in that house, and only look at you from window, with bad life. No life. I am still scared someone will find me—lock me again. But I am far away.
Thank to you Kasia and your friend Nav. You are good people. I hope you have happy life. Maybe I will meet with you one day?
Reema
I show Nav. “I’d love to see her again one day,” I tell him.
We work together on the flyer for the open garden. Mom is very enthusiastic and is busy baking cakes and putting them in the freezer. When the day comes, the weather is glorious—hot and sunny with a gentle breeze. I am standing in Mrs. G.’s garden, though I will sit down soon since I still get pain in my legs. I have to be careful, but I’ve built up my strength so that I can walk for fifteen minutes twice a day.
I know now that I can’t control this illness, I can’t fight it or beat it with positive thinking—even though it really helps to have a positive attitude. I have the best chance if I pace myself carefully, but I can’t always predict how things will affect me.
I am enjoying being in this flower-filled haven, listening to people admiring what Nav has done. Lots of people are here, walking around Mrs. Gayatri’s garden. She is sitting proudly at a table, taking money as people come through the gate—money that is going to NCMEC, to help children like Reema.
We didn’t know whether people would actually come. But they have! Kath and John from 43 have come, the engaged couple who now want Mom to make their wedding cake next year. From down the street, a family we’d never met, Helene and Birou and their three young children have come. I can see Mrs. Gayatri has her eye on them, afraid they will step on the flowers, but they are perfectly behaved and far more interested in the cakes.
Ellie’s back from her holiday in Spain, and she’s here with Lia sitting on the new bench. They both look very happy. I can also see several people I recognize from the café. Dad is talking to a man I don’t know, and Nav is telling a pair of older ladies the names of some unusual plants. I think I hear someone ask if he will do their garden. He meets my eyes and smiles.
“So nice,” Mrs. Gayatri says softly. “I didn’t think people on our street would come.”
“But they have,” I say. “They have.”
“Maybe we make a friendlier street now—better neighbors,” she says.
I nod.
“And you have done so much,” she comments.
“This.” She sweeps her arm across the garden. “And that girl across the street. These are big achievements. You have made a difference to the world—even from your sickbed.”
I smile.
“And my Nav, I’m glad you are friends again—maybe more than friends?” There’s a twinkle in her eye.
“Do you mind…me not being Hindu?” I ask anxiously.
“No, I don’t,” she says. “I disapproved of Devi’s boyfriend all those years ago not just because he wasn’t Hindu, but because I thought he was bad for her. And so it proved—he didn’t stick around. But I lost my Devi for far too long. I have learned my lesson. I will let my Nav make his own choices—and I know you are a lovely girl.”
“Hey—how about some music?” Nav asks. “I’ve brought your cello out on to the patio.”
I’ve had a practice, and I know I can’t play for long, but I manage a few tunes, and it is wonderful to be playing again. People stop talking and gather together, listening. I enjoy the applause.
I am tired after the long day and have a day in bed. I post pictures of the garden on the ME Facebook page and explain about fundraising for NCMEC. I get lots of likes. I also write about Reema—but I do it as a story, without writing her real name. I say it really happened, though.
Dina replies, saying both these things are amazing achievements—especially for someone with ME, who is often housebound. She says it just shows what is possible—and she reminds me how I thought my life was worth nothing when things went wrong with Josh. “Life is not only about boyfriends and exams,” she comments. “You make me realize that many things, even tiny things—can make our lives worthwhile. What you have done is not small, though. You have done something incredible for someone else.”
I am relieved that, after a day in bed, I feel okay and am up and about again. My phone rings, and it’s Amanda. She’s happy for me to meet up with Reema. “We can’t bring her anywhere near you,” Amanda explains. “There may still be people around who’d recognize her. She may not be safe. Sometimes trafficked girls are so brainwashed that they run off to be with the people who held them captive. They think they are safer that way—and they fear the authorities here more.”
“That’s terrible,” I say. “I hope Reema wouldn’t do that.”
“Are you well enough to travel?” Amanda asks.
“How far?”
“Maybe an hour on a train,” she says. “I could meet you at the other end.”
“I think so,” I tell her. “I’ll have to talk to my mom. Can Nav come, t
oo?”
Mom is worried, but with some persuasion agrees that I can go. Nav says he can’t come, because he’s taken on too many gardening jobs for neighbors, and, anyway, he thinks it is right that I am the one to meet Reema. I enjoy the journey so much. Every little thing that I couldn’t do when I was sick, I appreciate now in a different way. Simple things like travelling on a train. Mom is hoping by this Christmas that I will be well enough for a trip to Poland.
Amanda meets me at the station and drives me to a café. I spot Reema immediately. She jumps up, looking so happy to see me. She’s wearing jeans and a pretty top, and she has a healthy glow. She seems relaxed, not stiff and terrified anymore. After a quick chat, Amanda says she’ll leave us for half an hour and come back.
“You look great,” I tell Reema, when she’s gone.
“So do you—your health better now?”
“Up and down, but right now definitely getting better,” I say.
“I meet many good people,” she tells me. “They help me much. I miss baby. I worry for him, but they say he has foster family, too—nice people. I still scared sometime—alone, in dark, or loud voices—but I go to school September. That is everything for me.”
“That’s good.” I smile. “Your English is getting better, too.”
“I want learn—very much,” she says. “My foster mother very nice. She help me. And my cousin, too. Long time I wait for this.”
I nod. “I wish I’d been able to help you sooner. All that time… Do you want to tell me your story, how you ended up there? I mean—I want to hear, but only if you want to tell me…”
“I tell you, Kasia. You are my friend—but my English still not so good. When I eight year old, my mother very ill. My dad work hard, but he also ill and we have very little money. He go to work in another place far away. When my mom die one year ago, my uncle take my brothers to live with him, but he not have much money. He say he has good plan for me—his friend will bring me to England for good life. I will go to school and also help family with baby. They will pay me good money I can send back to help my brothers. So I come here. I love the baby, I cook good food—but they not pay me, no school, locks on doors, much, much work in house. They say I am nothing. It is terrible life. I not eat with them, but wait when they finish and I must stand to eat in kitchen. They do not let me sit.”
The Girl Who Wasn't There Page 16