Serena Singh Flips the Script

by Sonya Lalli

  “He drove by five, six times, before snapping the perfect photo.”

  I bit down hard on my bottom lip. That was my billboard. That had been my client.

  “And remember this?”

  Next, Mom unfolded a few pieces of printer paper. My nose ran as I realized what it was.

  “Thirty-five under thirty-five,” she said, in English. “Do you know he printed copies of the magazine article for all our friends?”

  No, I didn’t fucking know that. He didn’t tell me, nor had he ever expressed any emotion toward me beyond apathy unless I’d disappointed him. He was proud of me? Really?

  All this time, I thought he hated me, too.

  “Isn’t it time to make amends, Serena?” Mom was whispering, and she tilted her head slightly behind her, a gesture toward the kitchen.

  My breath caught in my chest. He was in there. He had come home.

  I wiped my face with the back of my hand as I bolted up from the couch. I hated what Dad did, and I pushed him away because of it. I knew that.

  But he had let me.

  My back was to the kitchen, and I could hear his footsteps. I could feel him hovering in the doorway, looking at me. Waiting for me.

  Mom wanted me to make amends. I thought about turning around. I wanted to. But I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know if I’d ever be.

  31

  I’d never been more thankful to be away from the city and everyone in it, and except for the occasional text message or phone call to Mom or Jesse, I spent the next week throwing myself into The Fifth Ingredient campaign. On the drive down to Richmond, the perfect commercial concept floated into my head, and I presented it to the team as the third option. I knew even before I pitched it that it would be the one Jerry and his team picked.

  “Genius,” he told me before I’d even finished mapping it out on the whiteboard. “Let’s get to work.”

  After finishing work on Friday, I decided not to return to DC for the weekend. Instead, I got takeout from a nearby Vietnamese restaurant and ate it in front of the television at my rental apartment. When I couldn’t stomach any more food or any more of the news, I grabbed my laptop and caught myself up on what was going on back at the office.

  There wasn’t a lot for me to do. The Spice Girls were talented and self-sufficient, and it’s not like Deborah wasn’t there. I scrolled mindlessly through my Slack messages, Asana task lists, and Trello boards, and then, hesitantly, opened my e-mail.

  Tracy had sent the e-mail the day before at four forty-one p.m. I’d been with Kriti touring The Fifth Ingredient facilities when the notification popped up.

  It’s with great sadness that we announce the departure of our digital director, Ainsley Woods . . .

  That’s all I could see in the e-mail preview on my home screen, and I didn’t bother clicking through. Ainsley had officially handed in her notice, and by the time I got back from Richmond, she’d probably be gone.

  All week, I thought so many times about calling her and chickened out every time. I was finally ready to talk about what had happened with my parents, with Jesse, and she was one of the first people I wanted to speak with. I wanted her to roll her eyes and tell me how stupid I’d been throwing away all my previous relationships just because I was afraid. I wanted her to sass me until I shoved her about how it was me who needed to grow up, move forward, and finally forgive Dad.

  But I’d hurt Ainsley. I’d said awful things, projected my own shit onto her, and taken our whole friendship for granted. Would she be capable of forgiving me? Now that we didn’t have any reason to see each other, since she was prioritizing her family, would she even bother?

  The truth was, I loved her. I loved her more than any other friend that had come in or out of my life. Ainsley was bold and silly and sometimes a little abrasive, and she was also the warmest, most welcoming woman I’d ever met. She always made time and listened to her family and friends, but she was also doggedly her own woman.

  She thought I’d been closed off with her, and that was true, but I’d also let her in more than anyone else. She saw me for who I truly was and wanted to be, and as much as possible, as much as I was capable of then, I’d been myself.

  Tentatively, I picked up my phone and scrolled down to the last text message she sent me last Friday when we were texting at work, deciding on a playlist for our drive out to Rock Creek for the picnic.

  Aqua! And Rage Against the Machine!!

  I laughed. I missed her. (And her terrible taste in music.) But did she miss me?

  A buzzer startled me upright, and it took me a while to figure out where it was coming from. There was an intercom I hadn’t noticed before by the front door, behind a coatrack I’d hung all my laundry on the night before. I pressed the button.

  “Serena?” I recognized the voice of Emit, the doorman, crackling through the speaker. “You have a visitor.”

  I didn’t know who it would be at this hour, so I told Emit I would come down and then stepped into a pair of sneakers.

  The AC was on full blast in the lobby, and my arm hairs prickled as I stepped out of the elevator. Emit smiled at me and, with his head, gestured toward a small seating area.

  It wasn’t Jesse, as I’d been hoping. It was Natasha.

  If I hadn’t been looking properly, I would have walked right past her. She’d cut her hair short around her shoulders, which suited her face—I’d been suggesting she get a bob for years—and she was wearing shorts and a tank top, the bottom edge of her round belly exposed. I’d seen her so few times during her pregnancy that it still came as a shock to see her like this.

  She stood up when she saw me, and we walked toward each other. I noticed she had her white-and-purple polka-dot overnight bag that she used to take to Mark’s. It looked heavy, and when I was close enough, I took it from her.

  “Did Mom tell you I was here?”

  She nodded. She was breathing heavily. I thanked Emit and then led her toward the elevator.

  “I’ve never been to Richmond before,” she said as we stepped inside. “The riverfront is really nice.”

  “Right?”

  She stretched her chest out as she set both of her hands on her lower back. She looked uncomfortable. Then again, I probably did, too.

  Back in the apartment, I got her a glass of water and then joined her on the couch. She’d put her feet up on the coffee table and was fanning herself with a magazine. Had Mom or Dad told her about what had happened? Was that why she’d come all the way here?

  Natasha hadn’t even been born when it started and was only a toddler that night the radio broke, when Dad stopped drinking and the abuse abruptly came to a stop. She’d been too young to notice anything, and I hadn’t wanted her to. As much as I still carried it with me, I didn’t want her to.

  “So why didn’t you stick around last week?” she asked, tossing the magazine to the side. “You could have at least said hi.”

  “I only had a few minutes. Ainsley and I were at a picnic nearby—”

  “Who’s Ainsley?”

  I paused, and a pit formed in my stomach.

  “Wait, is she the woman you brought to my gender reveal? A coworker or something?”

  I nodded. Or something was right.

  “I wish you’d stayed at the barbeque . . . I had a terrible time.”

  Natasha was waiting for me to prompt her, and after a moment, I obliged.

  “Why?”

  She sighed heavily, lolling her head around to face me. “Because my mother-in-law is a freaking nightmare.”

  I laughed without meaning to, shocked. I hadn’t expected her to say that.

  “I thought you worshipped Mrs. H.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Natasha whined. She sounded like what I had just said was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Well, maybe I used to. Now.” She shudder
ed. “Ugh.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to live with your in-laws,” I said. My tone was serious but teasing, and Natasha cracked a smile.

  “Do you know she redecorated our bedroom while we were at work?”

  My jaw dropped.

  “She showed up at my last ultrasound appointment without being invited and insisted on staying in the room—”

  “What?”

  “And then started arguing with the doctor about the advice she was giving me, told her she’d ‘read otherwise’ in some magazine—”

  “She didn’t . . .”

  “And the last straw was, this morning, she literally grabbed my coffee out of my hand, mid-sip, and dumped it down the drain.”

  “But a little caffeine is—”

  “I know, it’s fine! The literature says it’s fine. But she thinks it’s going to turn her grandson into a goddamn cocaine addict!”

  I laughed until my belly hurt, and although it felt so good to be with her, I knew she wasn’t here because she loved me or missed me. She had driven two and a half hours because she needed to vent, to get her own shit off her chest. She needed me.

  My laughing subsided. I dabbed the corners of my eyes with the bottom of my T-shirt, unsure where the tears had come from this time.

  “What did you think of Mrs. H?” Natasha asked.

  I shrugged, not wanting to continue the conversation. Recalling how lovely I’d seen her be when doing aerobics with Mom, I also wasn’t sure all my judgments about Mrs. Hartshorne had been warranted.

  “You can’t stand her, either, can you?” She grinned, watching me. “Wow, I had no idea. You’re a good actor—”

  “Is that why you came all the way here?” I asked coolly. “To complain about your mother-in-law?”

  It hurt. It had always hurt, but maybe I had to stop allowing myself to feel that way. Didn’t Albert Einstein once say the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result?

  “What’s happening to us, sis?” Her words caught me off guard, and suddenly my chest felt tight. I averted my eyes.

  “I’ve barely seen you this year,” I heard her say. “You never call me—”

  “You don’t call me, either.”

  “True. But I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

  I looked at her, exasperated. She thought I didn’t want her to reach out? Show she cared? Still be a part of my life? After years of living together, spending so many evenings and weekends and holidays together, why wouldn’t I want her around anymore?

  “I’m your younger sister,” she said quietly. “This past year . . . me getting married and now starting a family . . . I know it’s been hard on you.”

  “The hardest part,” I said softly, “has been losing you.”

  “Serena . . .” Natasha cried. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, OK? I didn’t want to rub it in—”

  “Rub what in? Your pregnancy? Natasha, how many times have I had to tell you? I don’t want kids.”

  “Fine. OK. But you want a partner, don’t you?”

  I’d convinced myself for so long that I didn’t, that it would make me weak, like I thought had been the case for Mom. That loving someone as much as I loved Jesse would mean giving up on my own dreams, even my ability to walk away.

  But was it weakness or humanity? A pure, imperfect part of life?

  Maybe I did want a partner, and I realized that a part of me had known that all along.

  “I’m sorry,” I said finally, scooting in closer to Natasha. “If I ever acted jealous, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t mean it.”

  “But you”—I laughed—“you just walked away when, for once, I was the one that needed somebody. After everything I’ve done for you. It stings, Natasha.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I can be selfish,” she said quietly. “You think Mark doesn’t casually throw that in my face every time we fight?”

  I held my tongue, resisting the urge to say all the mean, petty things I’d stockpiled up over the past few months. But I didn’t want to fight, and in that moment, I finally accepted that I didn’t want her to be my best friend, either.

  I just wanted my sister back.

  Gently, I placed my hand on the curve of her stomach. It was warm. I’d never done that before. It was probably in my head, but I swear I could feel him in there. I could feel him smiling at me.

  “Does he kick yet?” She nodded, and I beamed. “Really?”

  “Give it a minute. He’ll get going.”

  I rested my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes. This could be a new start, a new normal. Whatever had happened between us, I was ready to move on.

  “So what are you going to do about Mrs. H?” I asked after a while.

  “We’re moving out. I don’t know what I was thinking. There’s no way I would have moved in with my in-laws if they were Indian.”

  For a brief moment, I thought the baby had kicked, but then I realized it was just Natasha’s stomach digesting.

  “When?”

  “As soon as possible. Before he’s born, for sure.” She paused. “We’re looking at a few houses in Fairfax County . . .”

  I grinned but didn’t say anything.

  “That’ll make Mom and Dad happy, won’t it?”

  “You know it will.”

  “And you’ll be pleased to know I’ve asked Mom to host the baby shower. Would you mind helping her, though? I don’t want her to, like, get overexcited and tire herself out.”

  I laughed, knowing that scenario would happen regardless. “Sure. No problem.”

  “And can you please make sure she doesn’t make pakoras? There’s no way my baby shower is going to smell like a deep fryer . . .”

  We snuggled on the couch as Natasha went on about what she did and didn’t want, and eventually, the baby kicked. It was perfection.

  Not every friendship or relationship—family or otherwise—could be a two-way street. With some, you took more than you could give, and with others—well, they got your heart and your soul, and you picked up whatever scraps you could find.

  Natasha wasn’t my best friend. She never had been. But she would always be my baby sister. And honestly, it was enough.

  32

  Serena!”

  “How was it?”

  “Tell us everything!”

  I grinned, looking up from my computer. It was nine a.m. and I was back in DC, and I watched my team members join me at the pod one by one.

  “Excellent. It’ll be tight, but we’re on track to finish on time. Let’s debrief later this morning.” I took turns looking them all in the eye. “And Deborah told me you did a fabulous job while I was away. Thank you so much for picking up all the slack. I’m really proud of you guys.”

  “A crash campaign is such a rush, huh?” Jia asked.

  “Better than exercise,” Layla added. “Better than drugs!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked over at me, horrified. “I was just kidding, Serena. Oh my god. I was totally kidding. I don’t do drugs.”

  I laughed, my heart surging that they were becoming comfortable enough around me to laugh and to make jokes—to make bad jokes. After three weeks in Richmond, I felt recharged and ready to be back in the office, even though it had hurt my heart to see Ainsley’s empty chair that morning. She had been gone for a week already, and her deputy, Carlos, had replaced her on an interim basis, although that was likely to be permanent. Deborah and Tracy had even thrown her a farewell lunch, which I regretted not being at. I had considered taking a day away from Richmond to come back for it but chickened out at the last minute, unsure if Ainsley would even want me there.

  While they grabbed their coffee and settled in, I fired off a few e-mails, including one to Becket about
another project I’d hired him for. I had reached out to apologize for how I’d acted during our relationship and said I hoped our breakup didn’t affect us working together. He was very generous, even upbeat about the whole thing, and said he’d love to still work together, and even be friends. Friends I wasn’t sure about, but we could try, and in the meantime, I was lucky to have his help and his talent for my campaigns.

  I regretted that I’d been closed off with Becket, with every man I’d dated since Jesse, never allowing them anything that would bring our lives closer together, more intertwined. But that was different now. I was ready to move forward with my life.

  “Vic,” I said quietly, once everyone had started work. “I need to grab another coffee, but then can I see you in the boardroom?”

  Three minutes later, I sat there face-to-face with Ginger Spice. I had craved her respect so badly that her rejection and resistance had nearly broken me in half. Made me question whether or not I deserved this job and even question myself.

  But I knew exactly who I was. I was a powerful, empowering boss who had earned this job and wanted to surround herself with people who actually wanted to be here. I wasn’t going to be afraid of conflict anymore, and I was capable of making tough decisions. Someone who knew when it was OK to stop giving people more chances.

  “This morning I was going to tell you I was taking you off probation,” I said after we’d both settled into our chairs. “I’ve seen some improvements in your attitude, and Deborah loved the work you did for the Lahiri campaign.”

  “Thanks.” Vic shrugged. “Yeah, it felt very natural. It was—”

  “But then I talked to Tracy this morning.”

  Vic narrowed her eyes at me, and I straightened my shoulders.

  “Here’s something I don’t think either of us knew: We have a state-of-the-art security system. Unusual activity gets flagged.”

  Vic didn’t give anything away.

  “Over the past week, it seems that you’ve shared 3 GB of materials from our company’s shared drive with . . . fuzzypeaches101@hotmail.com.” I paused. “I take it that’s your personal e-mail account?”