All day long, the news fluttered around like a crow inside my belly. How could I tell Lihini? How could I leave her behind? Would she hate me? Lihini and I have been best friends from the day she was born. Miss Chandra said our mothers were from the same background, whatever that meant, and that when they stayed at the orphanage in the weeks before we were born, that they became friends too. So actually, we were friends since before we were born. So when I tell her the news, she’ll be happy for me, right? I really, really hope she’ll be happy for me. I just need to find a way to tell her so she won’t hate me.
And then, there was another part of me, a part that made the crow flap its wings even harder. A part that imagined what life would be like in California. A part that kept popping pictures into my mind, of Mrs. Evans making me breakfast, of Mr. Evans dropping me off to my new school. Thank goodness I’m so good at my English classes. I didn’t think anyone there would know how to speak Sinhala.
“What’s wrong, sudhu?” Lihini asked. She didn’t know that I had been at Perera sir’s office this morning, or she would have asked me immediately what it was for.
“Nothing.” I shrugged, trying my best to look like my heart wasn’t about to explode. “Why?”
“You’ve been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes.”
Haiyyo.
“I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“Is it about”—she dropped her voice even though there really wasn’t anyone around—“the curse?”
I snorted. The curse was the furthest thing from my mind right now. The curse couldn’t be real. I wasn’t unlucky. I was the exact opposite of unlucky. My dreams had come true.
We were at the playground, under the ambarella tree that grew in the corner. It shaded us from the hot April sun—the hottest April yet, Miss Nayana said. This was one of our favorite spots. Most of the other girls were off fighting about whose turn it was next on the swings, and we would lean our backs against the bark of the big tree and read without anyone to trouble us.
Lihini got a small smile on her face. “Is it about a boy, then?”
“A boy?” Haiyyo, Lihini, seriously? I loved her, but she was such a romantic. Always imagining hearts and flowers and cupid’s bows to fly out of somewhere.
“Well?” She wriggled her eyebrows at me.
“Aney, you’re mad? The only boy we even see is that Upul, and he’s such a creep. He never leaves us alone.”
“You mean he never leaves you alone.” Lihini’s smile grew wider. “If he wasn’t Perera sir’s nephew, I’m sure he’d be in trouble by now.”
I thought of the way he licked his lips as he stared at me in the rearview mirror when he drove us to school. This wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned him either. Maya keeps saying that Upul couldn’t take his eyes off me. She sounded jealous when she said it. Goodness knows why. She was more than welcome to him if she wanted.
“You’re just imagining things, Lihini. He’s just being—oh, I don’t know.” My cheeks felt hot. I really didn’t want to keep talking about this. Why was Lihini so crazy about boys?
“Haiyyo, Paloma, don’t you understand? That’s the way these boys give you attention. He’s probably just shy.”
“Isn’t he in his twenties? That’s way too old to be shy, if you ask me.”
I leaned back against the tree and focused on the page again. I was reading Anne of Green Gables now, which Miss Sarah said was more suitable than Wuthering Heights. It irritated me a little when she said that, but Anne was divine. Upul was no Gilbert Blythe though. Not even the annoying Gilbert at the beginning of the story, when he pulled on Anne’s hair and called her “carrots.” I guess it didn’t matter anyway, now that I was leaving.
I thought about Mrs. Evans for the millionth time.
“Kindred spirits,” I whispered.
“Huh?”
“Oh, no, it was nothing. Just something in the book.”
“Is it good? Aiyyo, I knew I should have picked that one first.”
“You can have it as soon as I’m done, no? I’ll be fast, I pro—” But I couldn’t finish what I was trying to say.
My book was snatched from my hands and thrown away as Shanika hurled herself at me, scratching at my face, pulling at my hair. I threw my hands out and tried to push her away, screaming over her own shrieks.
“How could you? You stole it from me! You stole it from me!” She was half sobbing, never easing up on her attack.
“Shanika!” Lihini had jumped to her feet and was trying to pull her away, but Shanika was strong and pushed her off.
“Ow! Miss Chandra! Miss Chandra!” Lihini was screaming, too, and the girls in the playground started noticing and gathered around.
“Get. Off. Me.” My hands were now acting by themselves. Slapping back. I couldn’t focus. Everything felt red.
“I need this!” There were tears on her face.
“Girls! Girls! What is the meaning of this?!” Miss Chandra’s voice boomed out over the screaming and the sobbing, harder than any slap we could give each other. Miss Nayana was right behind her.
But Shanika didn’t stop. “You stole it from me. You don’t understand. You stole it from me,” she kept screaming.
“What, Shanika? What did she steal? Was it the book? You can have it, okay? Just stop.” Lihini was trying to reason with her. Anything to get her to stop. I saw Upul and the gardener run onto the playground. They would be able to wrench her off.
“She took my place. She stole Mr. and Mrs. Evans. They were meant to be my parents, but she took them. You don’t understand. I can’t go and live with Sister Cynthia. I can’t. I need this.”
Lihini pulled Shanika’s hair back and slapped her across the face. It echoed out like a gunshot.
Shanika stopped attacking me and hunched over, in shock. Upul grabbed her from behind and pulled her away. I bent over, too, breathing hard. My face felt like it was on fire, and I wasn’t sure if it was just from her scratches.
“Miss Chandra, her face!” Miss Nayana exclaimed. She sounded worried. If Shanika had given me a scar, I would kill her.
“Let’s see.” Miss Chandra took my face in her rough hands and inspected my wounds. “Not too bad, thank god.”
“Will it heal before—?”
“Yes, yes, looks like she just needs some ice.” Miss Nayana looked relieved.
“You should know better,” Miss Chandra continued. “It will ruin the whole image of the orphanage if we hand you over looking like a street brawler! Inside now, everyone.”
Lihini didn’t meet my eye, so I watched as Upul and the gardener half dragged, half carried a sobbing Shanika inside. Her hair was messed up over her face, and her clothes were dirty. She’d picked up that stupid doll again. Her blouse had gotten untucked from the loose skirt she was wearing. I could have sworn I saw Upul push his hand inside the material as he pulled her away. He saw me looking and gave me a cheeky grin. I felt sick.
“Did you see that?” I asked Lihini in horror.
But she wasn’t looking at Upul and Shanika.
“Is it true? Are Mr. and Mrs. Evans adopting you?”
It felt like there were at least five crows inside me now, and they were pecking at my insides. How much longer was I supposed to keep this from her, anyway? She’s my best friend. I wanted to tell her that. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t abandoning her. That I would convince them to adopt her too. That we would come back for her. That I was excited to go but terrified of leaving her. That I couldn’t imagine spending even a day without her. That this was killing me.
“Yes,” was all that would come out.
I couldn’t leave it like this. I had to say something to make her feel better.
“You don’t understand. I don’t even want to go.”
The crows flapped harder. Lihini looked away, her face changed. It
had gotten darker. Different. Her eyes grew sad. The air stood still. I couldn’t breathe.
But when she finally looked back at me, it was with her usual, warm smile. When she wrapped her arms around me, it was with her usual love.
“Sudhu, you mustn’t say that! I can’t believe this. This is the best news ever.”
The crows calmed down. Lihini had set them free.
21
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
I’D ARRIVED AT HEIGHTS fifteen minutes early, so I spent the next ten minutes sitting on a bench two blocks away, near the BART station, scrolling through my Facebook feed. I hoped Sam didn’t spot me on his way in. Tons of tech bros mulled around, all plain grey T-shirts and leather bomber jackets, smartphones in their hands and egos out on display, ignoring the homeless woman standing on the corner of Sixteenth and Mission with the god is a woman, and she’s definitely menopausal sign. I hate what is happening to this city.
Still, it wasn’t terrible to get out of the house. I took a deep breath. It fucking stank, but I tried to ignore that. It felt good to distract myself from everything that had been happening over the last few days.
The setting sun gave everything a golden sheen. It was Instagram heaven. I thought about posting a picture of the skyline but decided against it. Too cheesy.
I flipped my phone camera on to selfie mode and discreetly checked out my hair and makeup. Everything looked natural, not like I was trying too hard. Good. No one needed to know that I spent almost two hours showering, shaving, drying, curling, and layering on the concealer to look like I just rolled out of bed oozing natural radiance. Same with what I was wearing. A white T-shirt and jeans, both just tight enough to show some curves, but not enough to make me look desperate. No jewelry except my usual diamond earrings. White, basic-bitch Converse. Not ideal, but I hadn’t thought to grab a fancier pair at my apartment. The frilly red thong I had on was a literal pain in my ass, but hey, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. I like the way red looks against your caramel skin, the email had said. Make sure you get nice and sweaty for me while you wear them. Think of me while it rides up. Sick fuck. Nothing pisses me off more than my skin being perpetually compared to food—caramel, honey, mocha, syrup. I mean, get more creative if you’re trying to commodify me, asshole. But whatever, repeat clients are good for business. I made a mental note to buy more underwear while I stayed at my parents’. I was shorter in supply than I had initially thought.
I flipped all my hair over my shoulder. Nope, that looked weird. I pushed it back again. Okay, better. It wasn’t like I was interested in Sam, let’s get that clear. I was just here to see what he knows about me. But if anyone was rejecting the other based on looks, it had to be me, that’s all.
“Hi, I’m Paloma,” I said, not too loudly, practicing my smile in the phone camera. My teeth looked fucking perfect. “Table for two, please.”
The homeless woman shuffled down the block and stood across the street from my bench. She was staring right at me. I tried a tentative smile, but her gaze didn’t waver. Her large green jacket looked too big, too heavy for the mild fall. I looked away. I didn’t want to stare back. Even still, I could feel her eyes on me, watching me, judging me. I snuck a glance up again.
“You know what you did!” Her voice was hoarse and loud. Nails on a chalkboard.
I looked around quickly. Everyone around me hurried by—no one gave me, or her, a second glance. Thank god.
I shuddered and stood up. Early or not, it was time for me to go. It’s not like I was guilty of anything, I just couldn’t deal with all of this. The image of me sneaking a mop and bucket wriggled its way into my mind, but I shoved it firmly away.
Focus, Paloma.
I hadn’t been to Heights before. Hadn’t even heard about it until Sam recommended it, so naturally, I thought it would be a nice, midrange establishment fit for a good Sri Lankan boy. I was surprised to see that it was a trendy rooftop bar. The kind that had a signature wall covered in monstera leaves and served overpriced cocktails in mason jars with reusable bamboo straws.
Sam was waiting for me at the entrance when I got there. I wished he wasn’t so I could’ve ducked into the bathroom to do another quick hair and makeup check. It was windy on the walk over.
“I was surprised you texted. You didn’t look like you wanted to talk to me so much the other day.” His accent twanged, as sharp as ever, but at least he wasn’t speaking in Sinhala. It still punched me right in the face, though—I was suddenly twelve again, and fighting to get away.
Damn, get ahold of yourself, Paloma. Don’t let your imagination make you lose control again.
“I was having a rough day.” I smiled. Nothing too suggestive, I hoped, but I didn’t want to seem unfriendly.
“Of course. Of course. It was rude of me. I apologize. I was just so happy to see another Sri Lankan. You understand, no?” I actually couldn’t imagine anything worse.
“Sure, of course,” I conceded. “Shall we go inside?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He did the quintessential Sri Lankan head nod that confused all Americans. I remembered how I had to train myself not to do it anymore because it pissed my mom off so much. Are you saying yes or no, Paloma? No one understands when you shake your head like a cow. Thank god I managed to kick the habit early on.
He opened the door to the rooftop and held it so I could step out before him, then circled around me to lead the way to our corner table. Not that this was a date, but damn, this was way more than I had come to expect from the usual men I’d meet for a drink. The last jackass picked me up in his mother’s beat-up station wagon and handed me a cup of stale coffee before getting straight to the point and asking me for a hand job in my apartment parking lot. He didn’t even offer to return the favor afterwards.
I snuck a quick once-over on Sam. His long-sleeved, printed shirt was a little loud and stood out sharply in a sea of grey, but at least he didn’t have one of those ridiculous lumberjack beards, or worse, a man bun. He pulled a stool up for me and waited until I clambered on before he sat down himself. What kind of serial killer was he?
A waitress with Amy Winehouse hair and winged eyeliner set down two menus elaborately calligraphed on tiny blackboards.
“And where are you both from?” I wanted to reach over and rip off her overly volumized beehive. Why does everybody assume that I’m not from here? I know I’m brown, but isn’t San Francisco supposed to be a fucking melting pot of cultures? Isn’t that what it says on every damn blog post about the place? San Francisco—the poster child for cultural diversity. So what was it about me that screamed out, Hey, I’m an immigrant?
“The Bay Area.” I gave her my sweetest smile.
“Sri Lanka,” Sam replied. I wanted to fucking punch him.
“Ooh, how exotic.” She ignored me completely. Sam beamed.
“You know where that is?” he asked, doing a piss-poor job of masking the glee in his voice.
“Of course, hon. Isn’t it in India?”
My jaw hurt as I held a polite smile. Sam didn’t seem fazed as he launched into the usual explanation—not India, but a small island, just underneath, famous for its tea, blah blah blah.
Finally, after his goddamned geography lesson, I managed to order a glass of red wine. I needed some form of lubricant to get me through this but didn’t want to risk another evening of scotch. Damn shame, because Sam looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t let me pay either.
“So, how long have you been here for? In the US, I mean.” Was the whole Coming to America bullshit all this guy could talk about? It was called the land of the goddamned free, so why did I always feel like I was in some sort of a cage—an animal, always required to parade around?
“A long time, probably around eighteen years.” I didn’t like reminding myself that I just crossed over to my thirties.
“Wow, so you’re a full-fledged Ameri
can.”
Thankfully, our drinks showed up, and I could take a large gulp of wine.
“So, Sam, what about you?” I was desperate to talk about anything other than myself, even if it meant hearing his life story.
“Well, you saw, no? I’m a waiter, just like Arun was. Is. Sorry. Sorry.” He closed his eyes for a second. It was painful. For me, I mean. I gave zero fucks about his melodramatic bullshit. I was just here to see if he knew anything that could put me at risk.
I arranged my phone and coaster so they were both parallel to the edge of the table, and let him continue.
“I’m so sorry. I’m just very worried about him, that’s all. I have never really had someone close to me disappear like this before.”
His lip trembled.
Fuck.
I had to stop this before I killed someone.
I positioned my face into a kind but firm smile.
Arun hadn’t disappeared. Arun was dead. But there was no point in telling him that. God knows how he would react.
I pushed the image of me going into the janitor’s closet out of my mind for the millionth time.
“Sam, when we met the other day, you said he mentioned me. Anything in particular?”
Sam looked at me knowingly.
I gulped.
“That you were Sri Lankan, of course. I asked him if he knew where you were from. I mean, it’s a small place. We probably have a friend in common somewhere.”
My heart beat a fraction harder.
“I doubt it. I left when I was very young.”
“But you know Sri Lanka. Surely our paths would have crossed, no?”
If I could have reached across the table and shoved him over the railing of the rooftop, I gladly would have. I took a deep breath. Why the fuck am I doing this? I should just leave.
And then Arun’s slimy grin slid into my mind, and I knew I had to stick this out for at least one drink.
“I don’t know if Arun told you, Sam, but I was adopted.” This should be enough elbow room for him to bring up whatever Arun might have said. Sam didn’t seem like the kind of guy to try and extort me, unlike his jackass friend. Then again, I never thought Arun would have it in him either.
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