SIXTEEN
A t lunch the next day, I spend some more time googling. First, I look up Jay’s scholarship, the Bright-Knowles Award. I can’t find much about it, though, only it’s mention on a few websites that list Canadian scholarships. It’s apparently funded by several high-profile donors, and the only way to apply is to be sponsored by one of the members of the board.
The scholarship itself doesn’t have a website or a list of board members anywhere, so I can’t see who makes the decisions. Maybe Salma Hoque’s boss is on the board?
I google Salma Hoque next. Most of the hits from her name are from the press conference two days after Jay disappeared. I watch the clips carefully to see if I missed anything when I first watched them.
Salma Hoque is beautiful. Medium-brown skin about the same tone as my own, and big brown eyes that look like Jay’s. She does look younger than my own mother. She’s sad in the clips, of course, with bloodshot eyes and hunched shoulders. I don’t know the woman, but her emotions look real to me. Not faked.
I can’t find any mention of her on the internet after this date, so that means this was the last time she made any statement about Jay’s disappearance. I google every combination of Jay Hoque + father and Salma Hoque + boyfriend and come up empty. It would have been too easy if a Google search could have found Jay’s father. I look up Jay’s address on Google Maps. It’s a small townhouse in Scarborough. The outside view doesn’t tell me much.
Salma Hoque legal assistant gets a hit, though. I find her name on some person’s public Instagram post from five years ago about a law office’s staff holiday party. Jay mentioned his mother worked at the same place for years. This must be it. On a whim, I call the office and ask for her. The person says she hasn’t worked there for months, and they can’t tell me where she is now.
I can’t find anything telling me if she’s working now. Has Salma been unemployed since Jay went missing? I remember Kegan’s comment that she hadn’t responded to messages from the housing office. But she must have contacted the school to unenroll Jay right before I moved in. Where is she now? Just lying low? Is she depressed? I open a transit map and see that it’s only about a fifty-minute ride to Jay’s house in Scarborough.
I think I’m going to have to pay a visit to Salma Hoque.
That evening I’m in my room editing the second podcast episode when my phone buzzes.
Jay: We don’t do the standing eight o’clock dates anymore, do we?
Aleeza: I mean, we can? We usually talk before eight. What are you up to?
Jay: Just lying in a dark room having an existential crisis.
Aleeza: Oh no. Are you okay?
Jay: I mean, finding out I’ll be dead in a few months is kind of heavy. I thought about going to the campus drop-in counseling, but what the hell would I tell them?
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Jay about his coat and phone washing up on the beach. I could have investigated it on my own without involving him.
Aleeza: Jay, we will figure this out. I promise. And then you’ll know how to avoid it. You’ll be okay.
Jay: Okay, let’s talk about something else. You posted another octopus on your Instagram today. Why are you so into them?
I check my Instagram, and yes, I posted an octopus mural I saw in early November. He must be checking my feed regularly. He didn’t follow me—I’d notice if Jay Hoque followed me on any social media.
Aleeza: I went to an aquarium when I was a kid, and the tour guide went on for a while about what amazing problem solvers they are, and how they’re really smart. My brother said I was like an octopus because I was into puzzle games. And it kind of stuck.
Jay: You like them because they’re smart?
Aleeza: And I think they’re cool looking. Plus, I love that some octopuses can camouflage themselves to blend into their environment.
Jay: I don’t think you blend in even though you want to.
Aleeza: What do you mean?
Jay: I mean the few times I’ve seen you in person you stood out. I noticed you. But that could be because it’s hard not to notice the person who told me I’m dead.
I exhale. My heart is breaking for Jay. I wish I knew how to make him feel better—even a little bit.
Aleeza: We will figure out how to prevent it.
Jay: But we haven’t yet, have we?
Aleeza: We will. I’m like an octopus, remember? I solve things. I won’t let you go.
Jay: I trust you. But ... I keep thinking about all the things I’ll miss out on if I die. I’m only nineteen.
Aleeza: Things like what?
Maybe this is how I can help him. I’m no therapist. But I can listen.
Jay: Like ... I don’t know. I want to travel. Maybe go see Dhaka, where my mom was born. Or Africa, or India. I’d love to see Japan too.
That reminds me of what Jack said that night, that wanderlust shouldn’t hurt someone . But it seems unlikely that Jay wanting to travel has anything to do with this—he didn’t have a trip planned. He was last seen in Toronto, and his things were found in Toronto.
Aleeza: What else?
Jay: I want to work. Like as an engineer. I want to help build sustainable buildings. I want to look at a cityscape and know I had a hand in making them stand there. And I know I’m probably just being a romantic, but I want a family. A wife and kids. A normal nuclear family in a nice house. I want to be a good dad and cook dinner for my wife.
Aleeza: What happened to no commitment?
Jay: I guess my priorities have changed.
Wow. He’s not afraid of commitment anymore. This is huge for Jay. It wasn’t that long ago that he called me naive for wanting my own family. But I suppose learning about his mortality changed him.
Aleeza: Are there things that you’ve always wanted to do that you can do now?
Jay: I already have. Today I spent over forty dollars that I really don’t have on a burger and fries from this pricey place I read about on a food blog. Because I may never have another chance. But I’m not going to tell you the thing I want to do the most ...
Aleeza: Why not?
Jay: Because you’ll tell me it’s impossible.
Aleeza: We’re literally texting each other from different times. Nothing’s impossible.
Jay: Okay ... I want to hold you. I want to wrap my arms around you in a big hug, and not let go. I seriously considered going up to past-you today and asking for a hug.
Heat pools through my body. I curl up on my chair.
Aleeza: Just a hug?
Jay: Well ... no, but I’d be happy to start with that.
I close my eyes for a moment. I want that too. This is torture.
Jay: I have a confession.
Aleeza: Okay . . .
Jay: I did go find you this morning. I went to West Hall and hung out in front for a while to see if you’d come out. You did. I almost approached you. But I couldn’t. Then you dropped your bag, and I picked it up and handed it to you.
I swallow.
Aleeza: I remember that. That happened.
This is more proof that this friendship, or whatever it is, between Jay and me is real . Jay waited for me outside my old residence because of our relationship. And I remember seeing him there. In fact, I remember seeing him in a lot of places. Now I wonder if all that wasn’t random at all.
Jay: LOL, I should probably lay off a bit, or you’ll think I’m a stalker.
Aleeza: No. I mean ... I wouldn’t think that. I used to see you everywhere. I noticed you.
Jay: Why did you notice me?
Aleeza: Because I’ve always liked you.
I can’t believe I said that.
Jay: You had the hots for me.
I pause. I really don’t know how to answer that. I take a slow breath before responding.
Aleeza: Doesn’t everyone at the school?
Jay: I don’t care about anyone else at the school. I want to know what YOU thought of me.
Aleeza: Okay, fine. Yes, I had a crush on you. I thought you were cool. Way out of my league, though. I always felt like you weren’t like the other students here.
Jay: I’m not out of your league. I think we’re in exactly the same league, just not in the same time. Why didn’t you think I fit in?
Aleeza: You did fit in. More like ... you know when you’re looking at a Where’s Waldo picture and it’s so hard to find Waldo because there are so many people with black hair, or with glasses, or with red stripes on? Imagine a Where’s Waldo picture where no one else is anything like Waldo ... he belongs there in that crowd, but he’s still so noticeable. Your eyes are drawn straight to him.
Jay: Maybe a part of you knew we’d be close.
Aleeza: Yeah, maybe.
The chat falls silent for a while. I don’t know what to make of this whole conversation. Is Jay saying he actually wants to be with me? Maybe I should just ask him.
Aleeza: If things were different ... if we met because we were maybe rooming near each other or had a class together, what do you think would happen between us?
Jay: I don’t know. I think I’d notice how smart you are. And how we’re both weirdly obsessive about our favorite foods, and how we both like old movies. I’d like to think I would’ve asked you out, but ... I don’t know. That’s what I should do, in that hypothetical situation. But it’s possible I’d be too much of a dumbass to actually do it.
Aleeza: Because you didn’t believe in commitment.
Jay: I think I would have realized that you’d be worth so much more than a hookup, and I would have backed away because that wasn’t my style. Honestly, I think my whole no-commitment thing is a trauma response. Learning about your ultimate demise in weeks kind of makes you rethink how you’ve lived your life, you know?
Aleeza: I can imagine. Why a trauma response?
Jay: I went to see my mom again today. She said something that made me think. She said she knows she has a screwed-up view of relationships, and she’s afraid she passed it to me. She was in a strange mood ... kind of melancholy. I kept thinking she might know what’s going to happen, too, but of course that’s not possible. Maybe my mood was contagious.
Aleeza: Do you think it’s her depression?
Jay: No. I mean, this is nothing like when she was really bad five years ago. She kind of closed in on herself then. Yesterday, she was chatty.
I want to ask him more about his mother and where she could be now. This could be my chance to get more information out of him. But ... it feels so wrong to deceive him after he told me he wants to hold me. Even though it can’t happen.
Aleeza: Why does she think she has a screwed-up view of relationships? Because of your father? Or did she have other bad relationships?
Jay: No, she hasn’t had a lot of relationships. She goes out on dates sometimes. Nice Bangladeshi men my uncle finds who don’t mind that she’s a single mother. She once even almost married this divorced man, but it didn’t work out. I think I’m portraying her as some tragic fallen woman here, but she’s not. Mom’s a ton of fun. She’s just had some rough things happen to her. My whole family has. They came to Canada with nothing.
Aleeza: How old was she?
Jay: Thirteen. They all had it rough for a long time. My grandparents, aunt and uncle, and mom all lived in a one-bedroom apartment, and they all had to work. Every weekend in high school, Mom waited tables at some posh place near the lake. She still refuses to butter toast from all the brunches she served.
Aleeza: Do you know what happened between her and your father?
Jay: Not much. She was eighteen when I was born. I know she was lucky her family didn’t disown her. They’re all a lot more religious than she and I are, but they’re thankfully not the “disown the sinners” type of religious.
Aleeza: Do you think she still talks to your father? He should have paid child support, right?
There is no response to that. A few minutes ago, he said he wanted to hold me. He said he wanted to do more than hold me. But now I’m pushing too hard. Finally, he responds.
Jay: I don’t know. I can’t ask her about him.
Aleeza: Is there another way we can find out about him? He might be relevant. Does she have any friends from back then? Yearbooks?
Jay: Don’t think so. Her closest friends are people from work.
This is going nowhere.
Aleeza: What high school did she go to?
Jay: East Scarborough Collegiate.
Aleeza: Did you go to the same school?
Jay: No.
This is still going nowhere.
Jay: I’m sorry, but that’s all I got. I’m not willing to ask my mother about my father. And I really doubt it’s important, anyway. He’s not a part of my life. At all.
And I’m not willing to give this up either. Because it’s the biggest unanswered question about Jay. But also? I’m not willing to push Jay too hard either. He’s having an existential crisis, and facing his mortality head-on, and I’m the only one he can talk to about it. I want to be there for him, not make this harder.
I stop bugging him about his father and ask him about his aunt and uncle instead, but I don’t learn anything useful. He doesn’t talk about them the same way he talks about his mother.
Aleeza: You all live together. You aren’t close?
Jay: No, we are. Sort of. I got the impression from Mom once that my aunt assumed she’d be the one raising me when they took Mom in. But Mom always made sure she was my parent, not them. We saw a lot of them of course, but Mom kept a separate life too. She even got her mail sent to a friend because she suspected my uncle was reading it.
That sounded significant. Could the aunt and uncle have been bitter or resentful about that?
Aleeza: Oh wow. Do you think your aunt and uncle would ever hurt you or your mom?
Jay: No, it wasn’t like that at all. They’re good people. It’s just, you know how intrusive Desi families are.
Yup, I absolutely know what he means. My parents were born in Canada, so they’re pretty westernized, but my mom especially can be very intrusive.
Jay: Anyway, I loved living with them because I love my cousins. Manal is one year older than me, and Madhuri is three years older. They’re awesome. Like cool big sisters. Manal especially—she’s like a best friend and a sister at the same time.
He’s quiet again for a while.
Jay: I hope they’re okay.
Aleeza: I’ll figure this out, Jay. I’m not going to give up on you. Ever.
Jay: I know you’re not. I have faith that my octopus will save me.
Later, after we watch another movie, I’m in his bed and have turned off the light. My phone buzzes with a message.
Jay: Why can I feel you here when we’re both in this bed?
Aleeza: I don’t know. I feel it too.
Jay: Maybe it’s the anomaly’s consolation gift. I can’t kiss you, but I can at least feel you near me.
I squeeze my lips together. He wants to kiss me. I turn so my back is against the wall and clutch Ted close to my heart. And like last time, I feel surrounded ... enveloped, with warmth, comfort, and belonging. I pick up my phone.
Aleeza: Good night, Jay.
Jay: Good night, Aleeza.