by Natasha Deen
“Moronic ninny.” I take her hand. “Thanks for being a good friend to him, and to me. It would have been easy to get mad and—”
“I don’t tell secrets.” She holds my gaze. “Neither do you. So, come on, out with it. What made you cry?”
She spends the night, and we talk about Emily and McKenzie until there’s no more talking to be done. Farah’s convinced something else is going on. “Emily loves you. No way would she dump you like that.”
“But McKenzie—”
“—is odd, sure, and for sure she has an agenda, but I don’t think she was looking to mess you up with Emily.” She cocks her head. “Do you think they’re dating?”
“No way. Don’t you ever see McKenzie with Noah? She’s one touch away from rubbing a hole in his arm.”
“Maybe she’s bi.”
I consider it, then shake my head. “No. No way. If Emily liked McKenzie, she’d tell me.”
“Because you’ve been such a good friend to both of them.”
“Why do I have to defend myself? McKenzie’s as racist as a Confederate general.”
“No, she’s not. I’m telling you, Nira, there’s something else going on.”
We keep talking, keep debating. I lend her some of my clothes.
We’re lying side by side in bed, sleep creeping in, when I say, “Farah?”
“Yeah?”
“That day we saw—the time in Florida with your dad—I asked you about how his choices would affect you—”
She laughs softly. “Yeah, you and your mother hen routine about my long-term growth and development.”
“You said you had a plan, and I thought you meant Noah.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“So?” I ask into the silence. “What’s your plan?”
“You won’t laugh?”
“Should I?”
She shifts closer, and even though the room is dark, she finds my hand and holds it. “Mom and Dad want me to be a doctor, and I will be. What they don’t know is that my patients will be creatures—not humans.” She squeezes my fingers. “I want to be a veterinarian.” She says the words with the same yearning I have when I talk about being a musician. “When I’m established in my practice, I’m going to buy a house, somewhere in the country, close enough for me to commute”—she takes a breath—“and then I’m going to rescue as many animals as I can.” The mattress bends as she turns, and I sense the glow in her eyes. “I can see it, Nira. I can feel it. A house with lots of windows and hardwood floors. And every morning, I’ll hear the click-click of my dogs’ and cats’ feet, and the sound of a cat purring on my lap, the thump of the dogs’ tails on the floor.”
“King-size bed,” I say after a minute.
“What?”
“You should have a king-size bed so you can dream together. You won’t hear their footsteps in the morning because they’ll be with you, but—”
She throws her arms around me and hugs me tight.
We talk about her dream, how much her parents will freak out because they don’t like animals and a vet doesn’t have the same status—in their minds—as a surgeon. Farah falls asleep in the middle of telling me how her house will smell of lemon wood oil and fresh bread. It’s early in the morning when my phone buzzes. Noah.
SORRY. His apology lights up my screen. FELL ASLEEP. GUESS I WAS MORE TIRED THAN I THOUGHT.
NO WORRIES. YOU OKAY?
:-)
COOL.
Y WERE YOU AT THE HOTEL?
LONG STORY. TELL YOU LATER.
SUPER SPY STRIKES AGAIN.
I’m giddy. This thing between us is precious. It ripples in my heart like sunlight on the ocean, and I want to float in it. We text nothing, happy faces, and stupid memes, but god, it’s me, and it’s Noah, and I’m going to hold on to it for as long as I can.
When I wake up, it’s because Mom is rubbing my shoulder. “I told the school you’re not coming in today. I thought you could use the day off.”
“What did Dad say?”
“Your marks are good; he’s fine.”
Something in the way she says it makes me think she went Momma Bear on him, but I don’t say anything. I sit up, shaking the sleep from my brain. “Thanks.” My cousin was right. In their way, my parents have their purity. “Where’s Farah?”
Mom sucks her teeth. “Raj, what else? I tried to get him to let the poor girl stay with you, but he’s convinced it’s some conspiracy. I want her to fail in school so your marks will be higher.” She pushes off the bed. “Honestly, your father and his brother. Sometimes I want to throw them off a cliff.”
“Don’t. They’d just argue about who’s falling faster.”
She laughs, kisses me, then leaves to get ready for work. I text Farah and tell her thanks. She texts me back an emoji of a middle finger. Then I text Noah, tell him I won’t be around today, but I should be at work tonight if he wants to stop by. I pull the covers over me and go back to bed.
When I wake up, it’s just Grandma and me in the house. I grab breakfast and a shower, then head outside with her when she suggests we go for a walk. She takes me on one of her many routes, past the elementary school and playground, through the park where the old men play chess while dressed in woolen caps and parkas. The smoke rises from their pipes and scents the air with tobacco and cherry.
Grandma doesn’t talk, except to point out the birds on the branches or a brittle leaf swirling in the breeze. I’m happy for the silence. My thoughts veer between the trumpet and Noah, Emily and Farah’s theories. We turn a corner and another corner and come to a dead end.
“Oh.” Grandma pivots. “I didn’t realize they’d shut down the road.”
I take in the men working on the other side of the orange barricades. “Sewer work.”
“What a waste. I thought the path would be clear.”
“Let’s turn around and find some other way. Anyway, it’s not a loss; it was a nice walk.”
“Hmm, if you say so.”
I catch the light in her eye, the tilt of her mouth, and stop walking. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“Did you take me on this winding path to teach me something?”
“We should go home. The cold is poking your brain full of holes. You don’t make sense.”
“Oh, please. You’re as subtle as a… as a…”
“See? Holes in the brain.” She starts down the path.
I chase after her. “Come on, admit it. This was a learning exercise. Take me down some winding path, give me a dead end, and I’m supposed to put it all together as a metaphor for my friendship with Emily. Right? It wasn’t a waste because there were good things that came of the relationship, just like how we saw the birds and the old men.”
“I didn’t say a word, but it was nice to see those things. You’re right; it wasn’t a waste.”
“Old woman—”
“And since you’re waxing philosophical, then you’re right. No path is a dead end. We’re meant to walk around, get lost, and go the wrong way down the one-way street.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “Well played, Yoda. When we get home, I’ll make you some tea.”
But when we get home, McKenzie is standing on the steps.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
REVELATION IS A POINTED OBJECT
“You must be cold.” Grandma’s words break the tense silence. “Come inside. I’ll make you tea.”
I pull Grandma into me. “You shouldn’t have done that. This isn’t a road we need to travel. She’s a dead end on so many levels.”
“Good you know that,” she replies. “You won’t be surprised.”
“Old woman—”
“Enjoy the birds.” She smiles at McKenzie. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Not that long,” she says, but her cheeks are wind-bitten and her fingers are the color of raw meat.
We get into the house, and I’m forced to be polite. “Can I hang up your coat?” All I want to do is strangl
e her with it.
“No, I’m fine.” She pulls the sleeves over her fingers.
“Come into the kitchen,” says Grandma. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“I’m not staying”—she gestures to me—“I came to talk to Nira. I’ll be quick.”
Grandma nods. “Maybe some other time.” She leaves.
McKenzie shifts her weight, her gaze ping-ponging around the room.
I’m frozen with anger and the added violation of having her in my house. “So?”
She jerks her head. “Yeah—um—”
She’s shaking. “Come away from the door if you’re cold.” Ever the hostess, even when I want to throttle her.
“It’s all my fault,” she blurts out. “What’s going on between you and Emily. That’s on me.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
She flinches.
“If that’s all you came to say—”
“I’m sorry—” She hiccups and starts crying.
I’m lost. I have no idea if her tears are real or not. If they are, I’m out of my depth. What am I supposed to do with a despondent McKenzie?
Someone raps me on the back of my head. I turn and find myself under Grandma’s glare. She holds out a box of tissues and waves them at McKenzie. I take them, and Grandma moves back down the hall.
“Here.” I hold out the box.
“Thanks.” McKenzie helps herself to a couple and wipes her face. “This is harder than I thought.”
I still think she might be faking it, but common sense says McKenzie doesn’t have the smarts to act this well. Now I’m disconcerted because her crying makes her more human, and I don’t know what to do with this new facet of her personality.
“It’s my fault.” She snuffles into the tissue. “When it all started happening, Emily wanted to be up front and tell you, but I told her not to say anything.” She crumples the sodden wads and shoves them in her pocket.
I hand her another tissue.
“I was scared of how you’d react.”
“No kidding. How did you think I’d react?” Poor choice of words. She starts crying, again. I’m trying to stay sympathetic, but she’s stolen my friend, and now she wants me to forgive her for it.
If I don’t shut her up, her wailing will get Grandma back here, and I’m not set for another whack on the head. I pat McKenzie on the shoulder. “It’s—stop crying.”
“I can’t,” she wails. “I’m so scared of you.”
My hand freezes in midair. “What?”
But she’s in full babble mode. “You’re intimidating.”
What?
“When it started happening, Emily wanted to be honest and tell you. She was all ‘Nira’s my best friend,’ but I know you can’t stand me, so I told her to wait, and we’d see, but then things got worse and—” She sobs into her tissue.
“What are you talking about?”
“The first time I saw you, you were so different, so together.”
I still don’t know what she’s talking about. “Take off your coat, and we’ll get you some tea.”
“No, I can’t—I want to be honest with you, to make amends. I have to start from the beginning, from the first time I saw you, and how scared I was.”
One of the most popular girls in school, frightened of the immigrant girl with the tuna fish sandwich. “You should sit; you’re obviously suffering side effects of dehydration from all the crying.”
“I’m serious, Nira. I want to be your friend.” She sniffs. “But it went wrong. It always goes wrong with you. I try, and I try, but every time I’m around you, you give me that look, and I get intimidated and say stupid things.”
I don’t even know what to say. The way I’m looking at her must be The Look because she says, “See? I’m pouring out my soul, and you’re just staring.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just—every time you talk to me, you just come off—”
“Racist and ignorant? I know. Every time—every time—I sound like I should be burning a cross or something. I know you’re not Hindi, I know what halal meat is, I know you’re not anorexic.” Her words pick up speed. “I’m trying to impress you with how culturally savvy I am, and it comes out wrong every time. Then I try to make a joke about it because humor is supposed to bond people together, and it goes horrifically sideways. The harder I try, the worse it gets. I’m babbling like a moron, and I can hear the voice inside my head screaming shut up, shut up, but I can’t. I keep going.” She reaches for another tissue. “And the thing is, I’m not, I swear I’m not racist. I’m a really good person. I’m kind and sometimes funny. I like it when it rains, and I love animals, and”—she watches me like it’s her last breath and I need to hear her words—“I’m not stupid.”
No, but maybe I am.
“When it all started going down with Emily, she was so excited, and she wanted to tell you, but I said go slow. You didn’t like me, baby steps, right?”
“Uh, I guess.”
“Emily told you to call me Mac, not McKenzie, but you wouldn’t. You only give your nicknames to your friends, and that’s something we’ll never be.”
The light that’s in her goes out. I’ve hurt her, and the realization takes the light out of me. Tell me I haven’t been running around, wounding her the same way she’s wounded me.
“You don’t like me, and I get that, but I really like Emily, and I’m good for her, I promise.”
“I get you like Emily, but—” And then it hits. I’m an idiot. Jeez! I’m an idiot. “You’re dating Emily.”
She nods, miserable. “Emie wanted to tell you, but—”
“I didn’t realize you—I thought you liked Noah. You’re always touching him, sitting beside him. You don’t—I would never have guessed you like girls.” Farah will never let me forget she was right about this.
“It’s… easier for kids not to know about”—she waves her hands—“this. Me. I know how to put on a good show.”
I tug her coat, and she slips it from her shoulders. Grandma magically appears. “The tea is ready. I put out jam cookies and tartlets.”
“Thank you,” says McKenzie, “but I’m not hungry or thirsty.”
“Just the cookies, then,” says Grandma, then vanishes like an apparition.
McKenzie puts her shoes by the door and follows me into the kitchen. The mugs, milk, and sugar sit beside the teapot, and a circle of jam cookies is tucked to the side.
“My family doesn’t know. None of the kids at school, either. Most of them wouldn’t care, I guess. Noah for sure wouldn’t care. But my parents—they would—” She shudders. “It never mattered because there wasn’t really anybody for a long time. But then there was Emie—” She sighs. “She’s something else entirely.”
I pour her a cup of tea. “You said it.”
We share a smile.
“Do you take milk or sugar?”
McKenzie’s nose wrinkles. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had tea.”
“Sugar and milk. You always have that in times of distress and sadness.” I fix her tea and hand her a cookie. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could tell anyone. You could have told me.”
“That’s what Emie said, but how do you share a secret with someone who can’t stand you?”
I wince. “I’m sorry. Emily told me I wasn’t giving you a chance, but I was so caught up in losing her—”
“You can’t ever lose her. She loves you to the sky and back.”
Her words should make me feel better, but I feel worse. “I should’ve trusted our friendship.”
“I love watching the two of you.” McKenzie takes a sip of the tea and smiles as the taste hits her tongue. “You guys are a real friendship, you know? I don’t have that. No one at school knows the true me. I’m invisible. You wouldn’t know what it feels like, but it sucks.”
I want to laugh. I want to cry. The most popular girl at my school is sitting at my table and telling me no one sees her. Shame heats my cheeks. “I thought you wer
e taking my place as her friend. I didn’t realize she was in love and in a relationship.”
McKenzie sets down her tea. “I could never take your place.”
“If I’d known—I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so caught up in my own damage, I couldn’t see the truth of you.”
“It’s not your fault. I sound like a fascist every time I talk to you.”
“But now we know, right? You sound slightly off when you talk to me; that’s okay. I’m used to quirky people. Look at Emily. She always drops her sentences and waits for me to finish them off.”
“You caught that, too?” Mac laughs. “It drives me crazy. Like, just say it, okay? Finish the thought!”
“I’m glad you’re together. If you make her happy, then I’m glad you’re together.”
Tears fill her eyes. “We’re not,” she whispers. “Not anymore. She was so mad at me last night. It’s been tearing her apart, not being able to tell you about us. She’s such an honest person.”
“But she’d never tell someone else’s secret. She tried to tell me to stop being such a judgmental idiot and give you a chance, but I was too busy being a judgmental idiot to hear her.”
“The look on your face when you came to the house—” She lifts her hand, as if to reach for me, then lets it fall back. “I never meant to hurt you. But I was scared, and now Emie—” She pushes the mug away. “She never liked being quiet about the relationship, and she thinks you’re mad at her for not sharing. And now she’s mad at me for, well, everything. She broke up with me. I’ve messed up everything.”
“No, or at least, it’s not all you. I’m sorry. This is on me.” I take her hand. “Finish your tea. We’ll fix this, okay? We’ll go and talk to Emily.”
“Thanks.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”
“Me too. Thanks, Mac.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BRAVERY IS A RED FLAG
It takes thirty seconds to fix the rift between Emily and Mac, five minutes for Emily to lecture me on being insecure in our friendship, and two hours of pizza, movies, and laughter to make everything right in the world.
I make my way home, my head ringing with everything that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours. The essence of it all sticks with me. I know what I have to do, and it’s a risk that will either win me everything or it’s a gamble where I lose it all. I text Jerry and ask if I can stop by tomorrow and do a couple of songs around six.