“What?” She always tried to avoid me.
“You know what. What you want to be when you get older, men.”
Lihini sighed.
“Aney, you know I haven’t decided yet, no?”
“That’s not good, sudhu. Everyone needs a plan. Or a direction.” That was what Miss Sarah said. Everyone needs direction in life. A goal to work towards. Something we must try and reach no matter what. The day she told us that was when I decided to be an actress. I’ve been practicing ever since, even though Maya made fun of me the other day when I imitated an Indian accent.
“I know.”
I was about to lecture her further, but we were interrupted by a soft humming sound outside. I could see Lihini raise her eyebrows in the dim, silvery light that came in through the window.
“Y-you think it’s her?” I asked, holding my breath. My body was starting to go rigid.
“Maya said she saw her, you know. All in white. Miss Chandra told her not to tell any of us because we’ll get scared. But she told me anyway.” Lihini’s eyes were like saucers.
“She saw her? All lies! Come on, you know Maya. She’ll do anything for a bit of attention.”
“It wasn’t a lie, men. You should have seen her. She was shaking like a mouse.”
“But I thought you can’t see ghosts. Aren’t they invisible?” At least, that’s what they said in books, right?
“Not always, sudhu. They reveal themselves sometimes. When they want to put a curse on you.”
“So you think Mohini put a curse on Maya?” I had to ask.
“Shhh, aney. You want to get us caught? I didn’t say she cursed Maya, just that Maya saw her.”
“Where did she see her, then?” I crossed my arms and rubbed them. I’d gotten goose bumps.
“Along the small corridor. You know, near Perera sir’s office. I mean, it makes sense that she would like to be near him. Mohini wants to attack men, no?” She was speaking a little louder now, and I knew I should ask her to be more quiet, but I couldn’t help it now also.
“Sin for him, no? Bad enough his wife died, now there’s a ghost following him?”
“Haiyyo, you’re giving me the chills.” She always did this—brought it up and then said she was scared.
We heard the humming again. It sounded like music. I felt Lihini jump slightly next to me.
“Let’s go see,” I said.
“What? Are you mad?”
But I had already climbed off the bed and was creeping towards the window. I knew she thought I was being reckless, but I also knew she would follow me. She’d never let me go alone. What if I got cursed too?
I was right. I could hear her sigh as she swung herself off the bed and joined me. The moon was full, so it didn’t take much effort to see into the garden.
It wasn’t Mohini. I felt Lihini exhale next to me. I exhaled, too, even though I hadn’t realized that I was holding my breath. Shanika was sitting by herself on the swing set in the corner of the playground. She was in the dark, her white nightgown trailing in the dirt at her feet. She was holding on to her plastic doll, cradling it in her arms, rocking it back and forth as the swing creaked. Her singing drifted in more clearly through the open window. You could barely see her scars in the moonlight, and with her long hair flowing softly down her back, she almost looked divine herself.
“It kind of annoys me that she won’t shut up with that song,” Lihini whispered. “I really like it and she keeps ruining it for me.”
I shivered again.
“I hope she doesn’t get punished for what she did during the visit,” I said, but that was a lie. It really bugged me that Shanika was always given special treatment when the rest of us would get in trouble for the slightest mistake.
“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Perera sir told us also how important it is that we behave. I thought I would faint when I saw her come in.”
“She’s getting desperate. That’s what it is. She turns fourteen in a few months. After that, it’s game over for her.”
“It’ll be game over for us soon, too, you know. We only have two years left.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew she was right. Most foreigners who adopt want younger children. They say it’s easier for them to get used to new cultures, learn new languages, and “fit in.” After all, Miss Chandra explained, once a foreign family adopts you, you have to learn their ways and try to be more like them. The younger you are, the easier it is to get used to. The cutoff age set by the Sri Lankan government was fourteen, but it was hard enough to be considered after you turned ten. Lihini and I celebrated our birthdays every year feeling a bit sad. It’s not like we hated being here, but we all wanted a home of our own. A family.
And anyways, we were only allowed to stay at the home until we turned fifteen. After that, it was on to St. Margaret’s Home for Girls. And no one, not a single one of us, thought about that without our hearts racing with fear. I even felt faintish whenever I thought about it. Sister Cynthia, who ran the convent, wasn’t like Perera sir or Miss Chandra. She was evil. She had seven canes in her office, and if you hadn’t memorized the day’s Bible verse, she would make you choose the cane she would hit your knuckles with.
We met her once a month, when she came to the orphanage to run religion classes. Even Maya’s knees would tremble when she saw her. And Shanika would burst into tears and we’d have to practically drag her to the lesson.
“Okay, fine. I mean, I do feel sorry for Shanika. It must be hard looking in the mirror every day. Knowing that your father would do that to you.”
We weren’t sure. I mean, they never tell us anything. But Dumila had heard Miss Nayana tell Miss Sarah that Shanika’s father had doused her in kerosene and tried to set fire to her when she was a baby. He had been angry, she had said, with Shanika’s mother. I couldn’t understand why he would do that to Shanika if he was angry with his wife though. “You think that’s why she did what she did?” We both understood I wasn’t talking about the tea. I meant what happened last December. We hated talking about it, but we couldn’t stop ourselves at the same time.
“I don’t know why she did it. But I do know that Miss Chandra said it was a sin. Papayak,” she said. Lihini lowered her voice even further. “That people who try to suicide themselves will be reborn as dogs!” She stopped for dramatic effect, I suppose, but I was too busy staring out the window at Shanika.
“And also,” she continued, “it’s her fault that the Child Protection people didn’t leave us alone for months. Remember, we were all scared that they would close the home? I had never seen Perera sir so upset. And now all the box cutters from the handcraft cupboard have been locked away, like we are small children.”
I winced a little at this. I hated thinking about it. How Shanika had snuck into the handcraft cupboard after our Christmas concert last December, and cut herself all along her arms. I didn’t even know you could kill yourself that way. I thought you had to stab your heart, or drink rat poison. Maya had seen them carry her away, and she said Shanika looked like a wild beast had clawed her.
“Just, be nice to her, okay, sudhu? Sin for her, no? What if she has another breakdown?”
We all remembered when she randomly started screaming and crying and tearing at her hair one night, not long after she returned from hospital. Miss Chandra said she was possessed. Perera sir even had to give her a special injection for her to calm down. Miss Chandra gives her a special medicine now, not an injection, but I don’t think it helps her much. It just makes her act like she’s in another world or something.
Lihini rolled her eyes. “I’m always nice to everyone.” She stuck her tongue out at me and I poked her in the ribs.
It was true. She was nice to everyone. To strange girls, and to the smaller girls, and to the orphanage dog Snooby, but most importantly to me.
“Come on aney, let
’s get back to bed before Miss Chandra catches us and we get into trouble.”
We clambered back in, and Lihini grabbed my braid, making sure it didn’t hang out towards the floor.
11
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
I PACED THE LANDING outside my parents’ room, clutching the envelope, and wearing just a towel. I’d showered, but I had nothing to put on.
I needed to go in there. I could borrow some of Mom’s clothes, and put the goddamned letter back where it belonged. It couldn’t stay out here in the real world, where my secret risked being exposed once again. It looked so innocent, crumpled now by my constant handling. I never should have taken it with me. I should have just left it with the rest of my paperwork.
A misplaced feeling of dread rattled around inside my head like a loose quarter. The wet towel clung to me. I was sweating, even though I’d just had a cold shower.
I opened the window on the landing and spent a moment enjoying the cool breeze that made its way in. The street was quiet below, nothing new there. A couple of neighbors pottering about their yards, and an aging lady in far-too-tight spandex jogging, breathing heavily through ridiculous puffed-up blowfish cheeks. There was a girl with bubblegum-pink hair walking three dogs. Edgier than average for this neighborhood, true, but not strange for the Bay Area. Apart from that, everything looked exactly the same as it did when I was growing up here.
One of those new electric cars that looked like a spaceship pulled into the driveway across from ours. A tall man with sandy-brown hair and a USC sweatshirt got out and started unbuckling a child from the car seat in the back. Fucking babies everywhere these days. The woman, his wife, I’m assuming, the same one who was on my porch, was slower to get out, and seemed unsteady on her feet as she squinted angrily into the morning sun. I was too freaked out yesterday to get a good look at her, so I took my chance now. She was probably Indian—she was brown, anyway, and her long black hair continued to hang down like tangled curtains. The husband bounded up the stairs, laughing at something with the baby, but she just stood there for a few moments, glancing towards our house. There was something unsettling about the way her hair fell over, covering most of her face.
The man came back without the baby, took her elbow, and guided her indoors. It didn’t look like she wanted to follow him. Her face was impassive, but there was something odd about the way she moved—almost like a child learning to walk. She was wearing one of those wristbands they give you at the hospital. Or, you know, the mental asylum.
She looked straight up towards my window as he led her away, and I stepped back clumsily before she could notice me staring. Why the hell was she on my parents’ porch yesterday?
Fuck, I needed to stop procrastinating and get this over with already.
I know it’s a bit cliché, okay? Completely fucking nineties-Hallmark-movie cliché. I know. I know that I’m being silly about it, that I should air the place out, and that I’m a grown-ass woman who should just get on with her shit without whining about her separation anxiety and abandonment issues all the damn time. But knowing doesn’t change the fact that it’s still pretty fucking hard, okay?
The door stuck just a little, like it always did. The bed was made perfectly. Mom would have done it before she left, of course. She could never come home to an unmade bed. At least six coordinated throw pillows were piled on top of the quilt. They would both ceremoniously move these cushions over to the little ottoman at the foot of the bed every night. The dresser was cluttered with an extra tube of mascara, a little container of pressed powder, a half-full bottle of Anaïs Anaïs. She would have taken a brand-new bottle with her on the trip, I supposed. She’d never used any other perfume.
I remember sitting on this bed for hours, watching her brush her hair, put on her lipstick, careful not to smudge her mascara as she applied it with a delicate little flick. She was always invited to parties, to charity events, to museum openings and cocktails and fundraisers. Everyone wanted a piece of her. Who could blame them?
I could never measure up. No matter how hard I tried. I mean, it’s genetics, right? I just considered myself lucky for being a part of this family. No matter what fucked-up things I had to go through to get here in the first place.
I was, definitely, 100 percent lucky. I knew it, they knew it, everyone else knew it. Strangers at the grocery store would come and tell me that my mom was an angel for giving me a better life. For saving me and bringing me to America.
Focus, Paloma.
This room used to be my safe space. So many nights, when the nightmares wouldn’t stop, when I would be so afraid that I would bite down on my bottom lip and the sharp edge of my front tooth would draw blood, I would sneak in here in the middle of the night and sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. It used to freak Dad out when I did that, but I really couldn’t stay away. I needed them so I could feel safe again.
But now this room was just a reminder of all the ways I disappointed them. I was on my own, once again.
I pulled open the closet door and tried not to breathe in the mothball-and-dryer-sheet smell that burst out. I needed something to change into. Nothing fancy. Just something I could throw on till I went back to my apartment for my things. A simple T-shirt and sweats would do it.
But the idea was laughable. Elizabeth Evans would never be caught dead in sweatpants. I don’t think she even owned a T-shirt. Hell, she’d put lipstick on to take out the trash and could never understand a woman who didn’t do the same. There’s just no harm in looking your best, she’d tell me as she battled with getting the tangles out of my hair while I nodded and pretended like it was totally cool that she was ripping out my scalp.
I surveyed the collection of linen shift dresses and printed peasant blouses. Some of them still had the tags on. She would regularly donate her previous season’s wardrobe to women in need. I asked her once why she thought women in need wanted her clothes. If they were actually in need, wouldn’t they prefer food, or money instead?
Because everyone does better when they’re well dressed, Paloma, she had replied, like I should’ve already known this, while we drove to whatever designer boutique for her to replenish the stock of clothes she had just given away.
There was a time I would try on clothes along with her, convinced I could find something that made me look as elegant as she did. No dress ever could. I just looked like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t, which wasn’t altogether false.
She hated it when I did this. When I hovered over her, asking to try on the same thing. She was a big fan of what the ladies in her book club called “ethnic wear.” She’d accessorize her linen with bright necklaces and trinkets that looked like they came from exotic places but were probably made in China, as besotted sales assistants would bring her clothes up to the changing room.
She’d insist that I just hadn’t found my style yet. A style that played up my features, but didn’t overdo it. I still don’t think I understand what she meant, but then, I did find my style, and it turns out she hated ripped jeans even more than me wearing her tribal wrap dresses.
I pulled over the little stool from her dressing table and stood on it, reaching into the dark top shelf. There was a light but it had burnt out ages ago. There wasn’t anything of real importance up there anyway, so why would she bother to replace it? My fingers felt dust bunnies, god I hoped they were just dust bunnies, and was that a bottle of air freshener? My heart beat faster. Was it gone?
I gave it one last swipe with my arm, and my fingers finally made contact with a cardboard box. There we go. I inhaled.
I pulled it off the shelf, taking care not to drop it. The brown OfficeMax box was just like I remembered.
I took it over to the bed and sat down, making sure I didn’t mess up any of the pillows.
The box was covered in a thick layer of dust, which was to be expected, I suppose. I pulled off the lid. I’d never gone through t
he contents in detail, though Mom told me what was in there as she walked me through how I could find these documents if I ever needed them. She was so paranoid about “documentation,” as she called it. I knew she would have put the letter there after we read it. And I was right. The envelope had been on top. I grabbed it as soon as I saw it. I don’t even know why the hell I took it. Like keeping it with me would change that they knew, somehow.
But even though I hung on to the letter, I had only ever read it that one time. The time that Dad had handed it over to me, silently, his lips pressed together and his eyes not meeting mine. I only read it once, but I think I had it memorized—
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Evans,
I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Chandra Nanayakkara, and I was the chief matron at Little Miracles Girls’ Home in Sri Lanka. I have wanted, many times over the last eighteen years, to reach out to you. To let you know of the terrible truth surrounding the adoption of Paloma. But it is only now, that you are finally returning to Sri Lanka, that I have found the courage to let you know what truly happened.
I shuddered. I couldn’t bear to look through everything now either. I just stuffed the envelope back on top, and shut the lid down tight.
I took a deep breath and weighed out my options.
Arun had read my letter, and now he’s dead. He had been threatening to take me to the authorities. Murder in my apartment aside, was it really such a terrible thing to have happened? As long as he didn’t tell anyone, my secret was safe. I mean, the two people who mattered the most already found out and hated me. What was the worst that could happen now?
It was a game I have been playing my whole life—what was the worst that could happen?
What was the worst that could happen if I had another drink?
What was the worst that could happen if Christina Hannigan’s horrible mom told mine that I swapped out her shampoo for Nair the time Mom forced me to go to her sleepover?
My Sweet Girl Page 6