I went down to the kitchen and checked the fridge. Yep, it was definitely the tequila that made the Chinese food taste so good. I poked at the congealed bits of oil sticking to the rubbery chicken before tossing it out and pulling out a coffee pod. Thank god my parents had fancy taste in coffee. I’m sure Ida would have something for me to eat.
A fly buzzed around the kitchen. Why the hell were there so many goddamned flies in here? I opened the window to let it out.
I peeked outside, down the driveway, but it was empty. I hadn’t seen the woman across the street since yesterday.
I should really go grocery shopping. I had some packages to toss in the mail anyway, so I reckoned I would just head downtown.
I addressed the envelopes, replied to a few customer emails, and checked the time. Seven minutes past ten. I hesitated. I knew I should go over, but there were no words for me to describe how desperately I just wanted to go back to bed. I chugged back my second cup of coffee and peered out the kitchen window again. The street was relatively empty, but there was a blue Toyota Camry parked outside Ida’s that I had never seen before.
And was that someone at her front door?
I craned my neck but I couldn’t see more than a sliver of a man in a sports jacket and chinos ringing the doorbell. A sudden sense of dread settled over me, even though I wasn’t really sure why. I suppose I should just go to Ida’s and get this over with.
My shoes were still nowhere to be found, so I rummaged around the coat closet and found a pair of flip-flops I could wear.
Stepping out of the living room screen door, I made my way through my backyard to Ida’s backyard. I was already halfway there before I even noticed I was going that way instead of up her driveway. Force of habit, I supposed, even though it’s been many, many years since Ida babysat me.
The sunlight that beamed down felt like it was scorching my corneas. It did nothing to help my headache. I seriously hoped this wouldn’t take too long. Fucking chinos and sports jackets were definitely not my type anyway. If it was one of her matchmaking schemes, shouldn’t she have set up tea or something, like she did the last time?
Anyway, no time to change my mind now. I was already at her back door.
“Ida?” I normally just let myself in, but I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing to set some boundaries. Who knows? Maybe it would even send her a message to back off a little.
I heard the sound of a car door close and an engine starting up.
“Ida?” I was about to knock again, when something caught my eye.
Right there, lined up neatly against the wall, next to Ida’s gardening basket, was a pair of white Converse sneakers.
Hang on. Those couldn’t possibly be mine. But then, they couldn’t be Ida’s either. Not unless she’d inexplicably decided to switch from the old-lady orthopedic shoes she’s worn since I’ve known her. I was suddenly more aware of my heartbeat than I was before.
I reached down and checked the inner side of the left shoe. The Chinese food and tequila from the night before rose up to my mouth. A purple patch, like a bruise screaming out against the clean white canvas. A purple patch from when I dropped a jar of grape jelly a few weeks back and a large chunk of it splattered on my white Converse All Stars.
That was so fucking weird. How much did I drink last night? I must have accidentally tried to come in through Ida’s back door instead of mine yesterday. I mean, our houses did look identical. I’d have been out-of-my-mind drunk, though, to get my own house mixed up like that.
I stuck my feet into my sneakers and tossed my flip-flops back into my parents’ yard.
The screen door slid right open when I tried it. Ida should be a little more concerned about her safety, shouldn’t she? But then again, who was I to lecture her? I’ve been so drunk every night since I got back home that I haven’t even been turning the security system on before going to bed.
“Ida?” I stepped inside.
I was immediately jumped on by Ida’s snow-white Tibetan terrier.
“Hi, Snowy,” I said, scratching behind his ears the way he liked. Damn, the little tyke must be getting on now. This was the second terrier Ida had since I moved to the US, brought in to replace the identical one who died about nine or ten years ago.
Ida’s house, just like my parents’, had not changed. It smelled exactly the same, for one. Talcum powder, tea, and old wood. It was pungent and distinct. I tried not to breathe too heavily. The random hand-painted plates hanging from the walls and lacy tablecloths and doilies draped over poufy floral chairs were all untouched.
And of course, the dolls. I thought they were beautiful when I was a kid, but they looked pretty creepy now. Ceramic, hand-painted faces with synthetic curls and frilly, yellowing dresses. They lined every shelf. A few were even on the flowery sofa, seated upright. It was straight out of a goddamned horror movie.
I’d forgotten how much time I spent in here as a kid, when my mom would leave for days at a time for her charity work. I mean, how would the orphaned kids in Africa eat if she and her friends didn’t organize luncheons to which they could wear their Louboutins and sip on glasses of Dom Perignon? I used to do my homework on Ida’s kitchen table as she brought me cookies and milk. She wasn’t terrible. Just someone who didn’t have kids of her own and got a little too invested in her neighbors’ exotic new adopted child, I suppose.
She even had a few pictures of me on the wall. I remember when most of those went up. After my middle school graduation. When I won third place at a design competition at school. She’d never taken them down.
The layout of Ida’s house was the same as mine, so it didn’t take me too long to realize that I was alone, except for Snowy.
That was weird.
Why the hell would Ida drag me here so early that I couldn’t even nurse my damn hangover, and then just not show? And what happened to the guy I saw ringing the doorbell?
I was wondering whether to head back home when I heard keys in the door.
“Hi, Ida, I let myself in. I hope that’s—”
But it wasn’t Ida. It was the woman I’d seen yesterday, the one with the fluorescent pink hair who was walking the dogs. She looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
“Oh, hi,” she said hesitantly. She looked down and pushed her thick nerd glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Is Ida here? I’m here to take Snowy for his walk.” She pronounced his name Es-novi, so I reckoned she was probably Latina. She wore about a bottle of liquid eyeliner, and boy, had she caked on her foundation. Her arms were covered with a web of poorly done, nondescript tattoos.
She probably took me staring at her tats as suspicion, because she rushed to explain, “Ida leaves her spare key for me under the gnome with the red hat. Is she not here?”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Oh. That’s strange.”
“Tell me about it.” I peered out the window to the street outside. The Toyota Camry was gone. So was the man in the sports jacket. I mean, it’s not like Ida was too old to go places. She was probably out grocery shopping, or getting her hair dyed, or whatever the hell it was that old people did when they invited people over and forgot about it.
I just shrugged and started to pull out my phone to see if Ida had left me another voice mail or something.
“I’m Gloria, by the way.” She said it Gl-OH-riah, not Glow-ria.
“I’m Paloma. Sorry, I’m just, well, Ida told me to be here at ten, so I’m a little confused.”
Be nice, Paloma. Be a sweet girl. My mom’s training kicked in, and I gave her a smile. She blushed and looked down again, her bright pink bangs flopping down over her face. I wish I had the balls to dye my hair pink, but my parents would have had joint aneurisms or something.
“Pah-lo-ma.” She pronounced it the same way I did when I spoke to myself. “It’s pretty.”
“Thanks.
Let me just give Ida a call.”
We both moved towards the kitchen while I checked my phone, no new messages, and then tried Ida’s number. Straight to voice mail.
“I can’t seem to get through,” I said, watching her scratch behind Snowy’s ears. He seemed pretty apathetic about his walk. Poor dude was old. He probably just needed to chill, not get dragged around the block once a day.
“Well—” She hesitated.
“What?”
“No.” She still refused to meet my eye. “I’m sure she just went out. Forgot Snowy. That’s all.”
It was the way she said it though. Damn, some people just couldn’t lie for shit.
“Gloria.” I pronounced her name the same way she said it, and smiled sweetly. I wanted her to know I wasn’t like the pretentious suburban housewives who lived on this block and judged her because of her septum piercing or the Para siempre tattoo on her forearm. “It’s fine, you can tell me.”
“I—it’s just that Miss Ida, well, she’s been a little forgetful lately. She’s been taking medicine for it too.”
I thought back to the two voice mails she left me. Could Ida just be getting old, or was it something else?
It was suddenly a little hard to swallow. Here I was, bitching about Ida asking me over, when maybe she wanted to talk to me about her health? Maybe she needed me to help out with something, and all I’ve been is a massive asshole.
“Do you think we should call someone?” Who the fuck do you even call in these situations?
“Call someone?”
“Yes, call. Like a friend or something. She must have friends, right?”
Gloria looked a little helpless. I mean, how the fuck could she know, anyway? She just walked Ida’s dog.
“I—I’m not too sure. We could, I don’t know, maybe we should check with the neighbors? Maybe someone saw something?”
But what the fuck were we to do? Ring every damn doorbell on this street and ask if they’ve seen an old woman wander off? Seemed like an overreaction, even for me.
I looked around the neat kitchen that hadn’t changed since she remodeled it fifteen years ago.
“Maybe we’ll give it a bit of time. She probably forgot and went out, that’s all.”
Gloria nodded.
A small whiteboard on the fridge caught my eye.
12th—Bus to San Diego 7 a.m.
“What day is it?” I asked.
Gloria checked her phone.
“The twelfth.”
I pointed to the fridge.
“San Diego?” Gloria asked. “Why would she go to San Diego?”
“She has a sister there,” I remembered. “Strange she didn’t tell you, she usually doesn’t shut up about her.” I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. Gloria blushed. It must suck, feeling like the help all the time.
Fuck, I really hope Ida wasn’t getting Alzheimer’s or something terrible like that.
“She didn’t mention anything to you at all? What about Snowy?”
“Well, she travels every month or so, and I usually take care of Snowy then. Maybe she forgot to tell me?”
Damn it, all that coffee I had drunk this morning had strung me out like a tightrope. And I really needed to pee.
“Mind if I use the bathroom?” That was dumb to ask. Why the hell would I need her permission in Ida’s house?
“Sure. But the bathroom down here is being redone. You’ll have to go upstairs. It’s the second door on the—”
“I know where it is.” I smiled again. Who the hell did this bitch think she was? I walked by the downstairs bathroom, trying the doorknob anyway. It was locked.
I snuck a quick peek around Ida’s bedroom. Enough lace and dolls to be a pedophile’s fun house, but no sign of anything amiss. Neat, orderly, and straight-up creepy. Just like it always was.
The cabinet in the bathroom was packed with various bottles of vitamins and medications. That was to be expected. I mean, Ida was old. But one of the bottles was left directly on the sink counter, next to a glass of water. The label said Razadyne, so I pulled out my phone and googled it.
Razadyne is used to treat mild to moderate confusion (dementia) related to Alzheimer’s disease. It does not cure Alzheimer’s disease, but it may improve . . .
Fuck, so it was true.
“I guess I’ll head home, then,” I told Gloria after I came downstairs. “If you do end up speaking to her, please ask her to give me a ring.”
I shot a small smile towards her, but pulled out my phone and quickly punched a reminder to myself for later on today—Check in on Ida.
“Sure. I’ll lock up after I take Snowy out.” She was just grabbing his leash from the counter when a small white card caught my eye.
Maybe it was that the thick white card looked out of place among the sunny blue kitchen tiles. But it was the name that grabbed my attention—Mr. S. Williams. Black ink on white board.
He had been here.
He had been to see Ida.
Oh my fucking god.
He was still trying to find me.
“You okay?” Gloria asked.
“Did you see anyone else as you were walking in?” There was an edge to my voice, but I couldn’t make it go away. He could be fucking anywhere right now.
Beads of sweat had started forming on my upper lip.
She frowned slightly.
“Nothing unusual.”
“Are you absolutely sure? You didn’t see a man leave here?”
I was being rude. I didn’t care.
“No. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re shaking.”
“Yes, just, I must have eaten something bad. I’ll see you later.”
How the fuck did I let this happen? He’d followed me all the way here. He’d spoken, or at least tried to speak, to Ida.
My body went cold.
I could feel the gas station Chinese food churning inside me.
It was all I could do to rush back home and dart into the bathroom downstairs. The remnants from last night were not going to stay in my body for a moment longer. I managed to stick my head in the toilet just in time as I heaved out the entire contents of my stomach.
I was such a fucking dipshit. Of course he would track me down here. Had he given her his card himself, or slid it through her mailbox or something? Fuck, I hope it was that. That it was just his card, and not him. That he wasn’t planning on tormenting her like he was me.
What the fuck am I even doing? I’m a grown-ass woman. I should be ashamed of myself. Dealing with creeps from god knows where. Not remembering the shit I get up to. First that damn mop and bucket at my apartment, now my shoes at Ida’s. This is pitiful. Disgusting.
I pushed myself off the floor, unable to shake the sense of dread. I turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on my face. I wasn’t allowed to use the decorative hand towels we kept in the downstairs bathroom, so I ran my hands over my jeans. I took a deep breath in. A slow breath out. I looked in the mirror at myself. “Hi, I’m Paloma,” I tried, but I sounded different. Scared. My head throbbed. I pulled the mirrored cabinet open to check whether we had any Advil. When I swung it back shut, I saw another face, just over my shoulder.
25
SAN FRANCISCO, CA
THE FACE IN THE mirror smiled at me. I couldn’t breathe.
“HOLY FUCK!” The pill bottle in my hand clattered into the sink.
“Haiyyo, I’m so sorry!” Sam cried out, trying to grab my arm.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
“Sorry. Sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Aney. Your front door was unlocked. I tried calling for you but I don’t think you heard me. I—I think the tap was on. The door was open—”
“Fuck, do you Sri Lankans have no sense of fucking boundaries?” I put my hand on my chest. It hurt from the way m
y heart was hammering against it.
“Oh my gosh. I really didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so, so sorry.”
I pulled my arm away and stalked into the kitchen, collapsing onto a chair. I didn’t care that I was being rude, my legs felt like they couldn’t hold me up a moment longer. I glared at Sam when he followed me and squatted down next to me, peering over with concern.
“How do you even know where I live, anyway? This is some next-level stalker shit.”
Sam kept running his hands through his hair agitatedly. It made me want to reach out and slap him.
“You don’t remember? I called you an Uber last night on my phone. I told you that I’d come in and check on you if I didn’t hear from you today. You—you seemed like that tequila hit you quite hard.”
Okay, I must have been pretty wasted if even he noticed that I was drunk. And I had actually agreed to let him come by and check on me? What kind of bullshit did drunk me get up to?
“So I messaged you, and well, you didn’t reply. You didn’t pick up when I called either, so . . .”
I know social etiquette was pretty nonexistent for Sri Lankans, but this guy took the fucking cake.
I sat there awhile and let Sam get me a glass of juice. I could tell he was feeling pretty bad—he had that neglected puppy look about him, kind of like Ida’s dog Snowy had. He sat with me, quietly, for once, until I calmed down some.
“I really am sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.” He started getting up. Just what I needed, to be made to feel bad about something that wasn’t my goddamned fault at all.
“Wait.” I spoke before I could stop myself. “Want to come with me to run some errands?”
I didn’t know what was going on with me today, but I figured it wouldn’t fucking kill me to throw the guy a bone every once in a while, right? And there was a small part of me, just the smallest, teensiest part, that didn’t exactly want him to leave. The part that couldn’t forget Mr. Williams’s card at Ida’s house. Or the way Mohini always found her way back to me. Or that I couldn’t seem to stop drinking, even though I know it seriously fucked me up.
My Sweet Girl Page 15