“Maybe if they had paid it back already, we’d live in a home with a guesthouse that we could quarantine those two inside. Instead, they’ll be right next door to us.”
Baba didn’t say anything. I could tell her words stung him a little. Sheila always wanted more of everything, and it was up to Baba to give it to her. Instead of responding to her, he turned to me and said, “You’ll call us if you need anything?”
“Of course,” I said. “Who else would I call?”
“Maybe we’ll take them to a movie later so we don’t have to talk to them,” Sheila said. “What did you see last night?”
It took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me. “Oh, um, we saw . . .” I had to think hard, but finally I remembered what our lie was. “Free Charity.”
“Was it any good?” Sheila said.
“Terrible,” I said. The last thing I needed was Sheila seeing the movie and asking me to compare notes. “See something else.”
After many more questions and requests, most of which were versions of “You’ll call us every half hour, right?” or “Order room service, but no caviar, please. We’re on a budget,” Sheila and Baba finally left.
I looked nervously around the room. I had stayed in hotel rooms before, but usually there was a door leading to my parents’ adjoining room. Now the umbilical cord was cut, and I was on my own. I opened the minibar, full of tiny alcohol bottles. I took in the bathroom, with its carefully wrapped mini toiletries. So many of the items in the hotel room—the toiletries, the alcohol bottles—were miniature. These items were manufactured for a temporary life. My temporary life, where every day housekeeping would wash the sheets and towels clean of yesterday’s mistakes and memories.
I rushed out to the balcony and took in my view of downtown LA, its skyscrapers breaking through the dense blanket of smog, reaching toward the eternally blue Southern California sky. Just a few hours ago, I’d been sleepless in bed, riddled with anxiety, unstrung by the unknown variables of my life. But now, in this nondescript room that bore no sign of me, or of anyone else, I felt great. My nervousness quickly turned to excitement. Here, I could be anybody I wanted. If I didn’t like who I was, I could pick someone else. Here, everything was temporary.
I thought of Iglesias. I could call him right now, and see if he would come over. He might be upset about the night before, and how I’d left without saying good-bye, but he’d probably come over, right? I mean, when a girl invites a guy to a five-star hotel room, he shows up, right? I took out my phone and scrolled to Iglesias’s name. I was about to call him when I decided that what I needed even more than Iglesias in my bed was someone to talk to about Iglesias. I needed the Authentics.
Unfortunately, Kurt didn’t answer my call or respond to any of my texts, which meant he was definitely still pissed at me. But Joy and Caroline arrived forty-five minutes later, so excited that they were clutching each other’s hands. Caroline was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt that read “Deport Bieber,” and Joy was in a typically mismatched but perfect ensemble that consisted of layer upon layer of striped cutoff shirts. “This is fabulous!” Joy squealed. “Your very own hotel room. You’re like Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation.”
“Except we’re not in Japan,” Caroline pointed out.
“You know what I mean,” Joy said. “You should put on a lot of makeup, pretend to be in your twenties, go to the hotel bar, and meet an old man who changes your life.”
“Totally,” Caroline said. “And then bring him back to your room, raid the minibar, and wake up naked surrounded by empty little bottles of booze.”
“Um, okay, guys,” I said. “Have you forgotten who I am?”
“Of course not,” Caroline said. “But you’re changing, Daria. Right before our very eyes. Our little girl is changing.” Caroline ran her hands through my hair playfully, and I laughed. She was right. I was changing but not that quickly, which was why I dutifully called my parents.
My mother answered, and I told her she was on speaker with Joy and Caroline. Sheila said she wished she were with us. She said they had all visited Amir, Andrew, and Rose, but left when it was Rose’s nap time. Now they were at a Chinese restaurant in Alhambra owned by Meili and Fang’s second cousin’s brother-in-law. Sheila did not sound happy.
I convinced Joy and Caroline to stay long enough to order room service. I ordered a club sandwich with fries. They decided to split three appetizers. Once the food arrived, we sprawled out on the giant hotel bed, with four dishes laid out in front of us, and went to town. “So, have you guys spoken to Kurt?” I asked.
They both shook their heads.
“I think he’s as upset with us as he is with you,” Joy said. “He feels like we should’ve told him.”
“I should’ve told him,” I said. “I screwed up.”
“He’s hurt,” Caroline said. “And possibly heartbroken.”
“Is he, though?” I asked. “I mean, do you think he really likes me?”
“Who knows?” Caroline shrugged. “Kurt is a bit of a mystery. Maybe he’s gay. Maybe he’s in love with you. But even if he is, we all have to have our hearts broken at some point or another, right?”
“Well, not all of us,” Joy said. “Some of us marry our high school sweethearts.”
Caroline laughed. “You’re right. Some of us do.” Then she added, “Sweetheart.”
Joy rolled her eyes. “Okay, Daria, it’s time for you to fill us in on everything that did or did not go down.”
I told them about Encarnación lending me her dress, the quinceañera, my fight with Iglesias, and my doubts about telling Encarnación who I was.
“Okay, stop,” Caroline said. “You have to tell her who you are. That’s the whole point of all this.”
“But why, if it’s going to ruin everything with Iglesias?” Joy asked.
“You guys, we’re the Authentics.” Caroline sat up straight and spoke forcefully. “You have to tell her because it’s the authentic thing to do. Because it’s honest.”
“Yeah,” Joy said. “But she’s met her. She knows who she is now. She can be authentic within herself without rocking the boat.”
I tried to get a word in, but Caroline beat me to it. “That’s not how it works,” she said. “Being one thing inside and another thing outside is the definition of inauthentic. That’s, like, textbook inauthentic.”
“Well, that’s easy for you to say,” Joy said. “Your parents didn’t even bat an eyelash when you told them you’re gay.”
“Don’t diminish my bravery,” Caroline said. “Maybe my parents are more open-minded than yours, but coming out at thirteen wasn’t easy.”
“Whatever.” Joy suddenly stood up. “I’ve gotta go,” she said. “My parents are gonna start wondering where I am.”
“Go be the good girl,” Caroline taunted her.
“How am I a good girl?” Joy asked. “I’m the one who fought my parents about that internship, and they’re letting me do it.”
“Whatever,” Caroline said. “Do they know you only got the internship because the producer’s son thinks you’re hot?”
“Will you relax about Lance Summers?” Joy pleaded. “I don’t even find him remotely cute.”
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but it was clear that Caroline and Joy were not talking about me and Encarnación anymore.
Images and memories popped into my head: Caroline trying to kiss Joy at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Caroline asking Joy for permission to go meet Iglesias with me. Caroline telling Stuey she didn’t need to be set up. Caroline and Joy walking into the hotel room clutching hands. Caroline sarcastically calling Joy “sweetheart.” It hit me like an MMA fighter: hard, fast, and from all angles.
“Um, wait, are you guys . . . together?” I asked.
They were silent, which was all the confirmation I needed.
“How long has it been?”
They eyed each other, probably trying to secretly communicate an appropriate length of time t
hat would be close to the truth, but not so long that it would hurt me too much.
“Seriously, guys, just tell me the truth. We’re the Authentics, right, Caroline?”
“It started last summer!” Caroline blurted out.
“Last summer?” I asked. And then louder and without a question mark. “Last summer!”
“It was the end of August,” Joy said desperately. “Practically fall.”
“Um, no, that’s summer!” I countered. “That’s definitely summer.”
Caroline looked at Joy sheepishly, but Joy wouldn’t even look at her. “We had to tell her the truth eventually,” Caroline pleaded. “She’s our best friend.”
“Sometimes the truth hurts people,” Joy said, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Like my parents would be hurt if I came out to them. No, not hurt. Devastated. Livid. Apoplectic. They’d probably send me back to Nigeria to live with my grandparents. Daria, you’re from an immigrant family. You know how hard it would be to come out, right?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Caroline said. “Her brother is gay and has a husband and child. And the world keeps turning!”
I waved my hands manically in the air, one in front of each of their faces. “Hey, guys, this is about me right now. This is about how you hid this from your BEST FRIEND for months!”
“Yeah, well, you hid that moment on the ice rink you had with Kurt,” Caroline said, in an attempt to even the playing field.
“Yeah, that’s different,” I said. “Because nothing happened. And nothing would’ve happened because I wouldn’t jeopardize our group of friends over something stupid.”
“This isn’t stupid,” Caroline said. “I love Joy.”
Now Joy finally looked at Caroline, with a look that let me know she loved Caroline too. How could this be happening? How could my two best friends fall in love without me even noticing? I felt pissed at them for hiding it from me, and even more pissed at myself for being so self-involved that I could miss something so big.
“I’m sorry,” Joy said. “I just . . . I didn’t want to talk about it. And then we made it our New Year’s resolution to tell you and Kurt, but you had all this stuff going on, and we didn’t want to add this to your pile of stuff to process.”
“Yeah, well, now I have to process the fact that you both lied to me.” They had no response. “It’s like I’m replaying every time we’ve hung out since August, and the fact that you basically lied to me every single one of those times.”
“When you put it that way . . . ,” Caroline said, and then trailed off. Caroline always finished her thoughts. This was a first.
“I need to be alone right now,” I said, and turned away from them.
“We’ll see you at school tomorrow?” Joy asked, her voice tentative.
“Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, unable to conceal my hurt.
“See you tomorrow, then,” Caroline said, reluctantly walking toward the door. “I better not get called on in Farrell’s class. I still haven’t finished my essay.”
I knew Caroline was trying to ease the tension by bringing up a neutral subject, but I didn’t take the bait. I just shrugged and then watched them leave.
I barely had a moment alone when there was a knock on the door. “Go away,” I said.
From the other side of the door came Joy’s voice. “Please open the door, Daria.” I didn’t want to, but I did. Joy was alone in the doorway. “Don’t be mad at Caroline,” Joy said. “She always wanted to be honest. I was just so scared of my parents finding out that I didn’t want to tell anybody. So if you have to hate someone, hate me, please.”
The thing is, Joy was impossible to hate, but in that moment, I just felt too hurt to tell her that, so I only said, “Okay,” and closed the door again.
I felt gutted. What I hadn’t told Caroline and Joy, what I was only beginning to understand, was how rootless I felt. I had believed in their authenticity. I had aspired to be as real as they were. Now that I knew they were hiding something so major, what was I left to believe in? I’d already been raised agnostic, and had just lost faith in my parents. With this latest revelation, I had officially lost faith in everything, and I felt so alone, like a single star all alone in the smoggy Los Angeles sky.
I opened the minibar, those tiny bottles daring me to open them, and I pulled one out. It was tequila. I twisted the little bottle open, and quickly swallowed the entire thing, feeling it burn my throat as it entered the desolate void that was my body. My little world had changed so much. I felt like the entire planet had shifted off its axis, and was spinning rapidly around a burning-hot new sun. In this new universe, who would care if I got drunk? And who would care if I texted Iglesias the address and room number of my five-star hotel room? What was left to lose?
By the time Iglesias arrived, that little bottle of tequila had changed everything. I felt tipsy, literally tipsy, like the ground beneath my feet was being subjected to a mild, prolonged earthquake. “Welcome to my new home!” I slurred as Iglesias took in the room.
“Whoa,” he said. “How in the world did you get your parents to let you stay here alone?”
“It was easy,” I said. “My brother’s in-laws said that letting me stay here would be insane, and my mother thinks they’re too rigid, so she let me stay here to prove that she was nothing like them.” I opened the minibar and pulled out a bottle of tequila for him. “Here,” I said. “You need to catch up with me.”
“I thought you didn’t drink,” he said.
“Well, there are a lot of things I didn’t used to do. That was the old me.”
“I liked the old you,” he said.
“You don’t like the new me?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know the new you yet. Give it time.”
“I think I need a drink to deal with that statement,” I said, twisting open the tequila in my hand.
Iglesias put his hand on mine, taking the bottle from me. He set it next to the television. “Hey,” he said. “You’re already tipsy.”
“So?” I asked.
“So,” he said. “If you get any drunker, I’m gonna feel like I’m taking advantage of you when I make out with you. And I don’t wanna take advantage of you.” He smiled big, and came close to me, interlocking my hands in his and squeezing them gently. He pulled me in, swayed me back and forth, and spun me around, like we were slow dancing to an imaginary song in his head. I felt dizzy, so I stopped him. “What?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said. Then I added, boldly, “I thought we were gonna make out.”
“We are. I’m just enjoying the anticipation.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “So let’s anticipate some more.”
“Cool,” he said, and tried to spin me again.
“It’s just . . . Can we anticipate lying down? ’Cause I feel like I’m gonna puke.”
“Vomit is such a turn-on.”
“I aim to please,” I said.
And we both laughed as he laid me down on the hotel bed. “I have to be home in three hours,” he said. “And I took the bus.”
“Okay,” I said. “So let’s not anticipate too long.”
“We won’t,” he said.
I placed my head on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. The room finally stopped swaying. “Do you think anyone is really, truly authentic?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I mean, my parents lied to me, my best friends lied to me, and now I’m lying to my parents.”
“Not all lies are bad, right?”
“Is that a question or a statement?” I asked.
“I guess it’s a statement. Sometimes you lie to protect people. Or to give them a fantasy that makes their lives better. Like telling a kid that Santa Claus is real.”
“No one ever told me Santa Claus was real,” I said.
“Well, that explains everything,” he said.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like why you’re so cool.” He smiled and shifted me so I was on
top of him, then he kissed me. I felt so warm, like I was literally melting into him. “I really like you, Daria,” he said.
We were alone, in a hotel room, and it suddenly hit me what was supposed to happen next. “Do you . . . do you want to . . .” I couldn’t get the words out.
“Not tonight,” he said. “Not when you’re drunk. Your first time has to be perfect, just like your first kiss.”
I smiled, relieved. Then I lay back down on his chest, and I closed my eyes. “Good,” I said. “Because I’m really tired. Sing to me in Spanish.”
He laughed. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
The last thing I remember was Iglesias singing me one of his mother’s favorite Chavela Vargas songs as he stroked my hair. I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I remembered was the slam of a door and the sound of Meili’s voice. “This is what you get for letting your daughter stay in a hotel room alone.”
I looked up, groggy. Iglesias was lying next to me in bed. There were two open tequila bottles on the counter. And hovering over me were my horrified parents, bookended by Meili and Fang. My mom had no doubt brought them to show what a good, studious girl I was being.
I pulled the sheets above my head, willing myself to disappear.
“Show your face, Daria,” Sheila demanded.
“I’m so disappointed in you, aziz,” Baba said in a whisper, which made this feel like the worst moment of my life.
And then Iglesias uttered that old cliché, “It’s not what it looks like.” From under the covers, I eyed Iglesias’s thick calves, exposed by the shorts he was wearing, and I pinched his skin. Hard. That was meant to indicate he should just shut up, but I’m not sure he got the message, because he then said, “Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
At this, my mother seethed. “Nothing happened? It looks to me like quite a lot happened. My daughter lied to me. My daughter drank tequila. My daughter has a tattooed boyfriend!”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” I said as I threw the sheets off me. Iglesias turned to me, hurt in his eyes.
“If he’s not your boyfriend,” Sheila said, “then I am even more concerned.”
The Authentics Page 14