Chapter Seven
“she’s all i wanna be”
by Tate McRae
Meera
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up to see a message from Lucy. I’d asked her earlier if I could use one of her photographs for the flyer.
Now I stare at her reply, my jaw slack. It’s a picture of her at Café Kismat, and it’s exactly what I need to make the flyer pop.
In it, her head is bent low, tendrils of her wavy red hair framing her face as she reads a popular romance novel with an illustrated cover.
She looks beautiful, like she does every day of her life.
My face flames, a prickly sensation gnawing at my stomach.
Jealousy? After all, she’s a perfect, ethereal being, and I’m a mediocre human—
“How are the flyers going?” Ron asks from the couch, prodding my shoulder with his large—and clearly unwashed—foot.
I swat his leg away and turn to reprimand him. “Don’t touch me with your smelly feet!”
He scoffs, although he’s smiling. “You’re the one imposing this no-shoes-indoors rule on everyone who walks in.”
“Because wearing shoes inside the house is disgusting,” I snap. It’s one thing Appa has ingrained in me since I was a mere toddler. “Do you know how gross the outdoors can be?”
Beside him, Valeria says, deadpan, “Meera, it’s a known fact white people don’t wash their legs in the shower. I bet Ron’s bare feet are worse than the outdoors.”
“Wait, what?” Ron jerks his feet up off the floor and inspects them. “You don’t have to wash your feet separately in the shower. The soap lather runs down your legs and does the cleaning on its own. Right?” He looks to us expectantly.
My jaw has fallen open while Valeria just looks defeated, like she can’t believe we’re friends with someone who doesn’t know the basics of personal hygiene.
“Whatever. We need more snacks.” Ron shoots off the couch and heads to the kitchen.
I rub the side of my shoulder, deciding to focus on my work.
I upload Lucy’s picture onto Canva and paste it into the center of the flyer, and, damn, it makes the entire page come to life.
Her fiery red hair, the pink and blue of the book cover, and the faint but luminescent orange lighting in the backdrop—nobody with eyes could look away from this flyer.
“Great job,” Valeria says, bending ahead toward where I sit on the floor, her eyes on the laptop. “And I’m not just talking about your graphic design skills. I still can’t believe you roped Lucy into this. I thought she hated you.”
I shoot my friend a proud look. “Clearly, I can be quite convincing.”
“Or Lucy was just that desperate for a job.” Valeria laughs and then sits back, focusing on the movie.
I’ve seen Om Shanti Om at least a hundred times before.
Right now, we’re in the midst of an especially fun song-and-dance sequence in the almost-three-hour-long cinematic masterpiece.
Shah Rukh Khan is shirtless in this one. What a sight to behold.
Ron comes back with a platter of cheese and fruit. He sits down, pops a square piece of watermelon into his mouth, and moans very unsexily. “How does your family always have the best fruit?”
The flyer is ready to be printed. I set my laptop aside and look at the platter he’s balancing on his lap. Hands on my hips, I say, “I bought all that cheese to try out some recipes for the café.”
Valeria grins. “So you finally convinced your parents to let you change the menu?”
I lick my dry lips. “They’ll only give in if the book club goes well.”
“It will,” Ron says as he nibbles on a small block of Emmental cheese. “And obviously, I’m happy to volunteer as a taster for the new menu.”
“Now your foot isn’t the only thing that smells in here.” Valeria shifts from the middle to the other end of the couch, but not before taking a piece of apple from the platter with a smile. We both know Ron got the platter to satiate her constant hunger cravings.
The smell of cheese doesn’t bother me, so I sit between them and draft a text to Lucy, attaching the flyer as a PDF file. Does this look ok? Thanks for all your help, by the way
Then I shake my head. Baby steps with the pretend niceness, Meera, I remind myself. There’s no need to make her suspicious. And I’m not supposed to be asking for her approval. I’m the employer here—or, rather, Dad and Appa are, but I’m representing them, so I can’t be talking like that.
Meera:
Here’s what it’ll look like. Thanks for all your help!
The song ends, and Valeria boos when SRK appears onscreen again but wearing a shirt this time. “Can we replay the song?” she asks, swiping a blueberry from the platter.
Before she can reach for the remote, Ron grabs it from the coffee table and sets it next to his knee. “This actor’s, like, sixty years old. Show some respect for the elderly, Val.”
“He was only fortysomething when they filmed it,” I say, jumping to her defense.
“And we weren’t even born yet.” He finishes the last of the cheese and gives the platter, still half full of blueberries and pears, to an eager Valeria. “Have you both thought about who you’ll go to senior prom with?”
I bite the side of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. “If all goes as planned? I’ll go with Sushant.”
“I’ll probably just go with you,” Valeria says to Ron with a heavy sigh. “High school boys are so immature, and you’re the only one I can tolerate for longer than ten minutes.”
Maybe she doesn’t spot the upward tilt of Ron’s lips as he shakes his head and returns to watching the movie, but I do.
Ron and Valeria have been best friends since middle school.
I didn’t know them except on a first-name basis at the time, and I’ve often wondered if one of them sees the other as more than a friend, especially with their never-ending banter and teasing over the past year of our close friendship.
And neither of them has dated seriously, choosing instead to spend all their time with each other—or me.
I think now I finally have my answer. For Ron’s sake, I hope Val feels the same way.
Lucy
As I sway slowly on the large wooden swing in our backyard, soaking in the sunset that turns the sky pink and orange, I look at the flyer Meera texted me on my phone.
The picture of me, taken by Natalie last year, fits perfectly with the color scheme and overall vibe of the ad.
Meera’s done a great job from what I can tell, given my zero design experience, but it’s finally sinking in that this is real.
I have a job now. And it involves working with the one person I’ve been running away from since junior year.
“Hey.” Sushant joins me on the swing, which creaks under the weight of his all-muscle body. He catches a glimpse of my phone and does a double take. “This is the job offer you wanted to tell me about?”
“Yep.” I start to bite the side of my blue-painted nail, then pull my finger away. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.”
Sushant takes the phone from me and zooms in to read the text on the flyer. “Not ideal? Are you kidding? You love books, you love Café Kismat, and you love—”
“I don’t love Meera,” I say quickly, before he can finish speaking.
Saying those two words together—“love” and “Meera”—in the same sentence makes a shiver run down my spine.
It’s terrifying to even think that I once believed those words to be true.
Not anymore, I tell myself. The only person who gets my love now is Sushant. Rightfully so.
“I was going to say, you love leading people. Like with the cheer squad.” He strokes the side of my cheek with his long fingers, a lazy smile on his lips.
“And you’d be so good at this. Besides, whatever fight you and Meera had was a long time ago.
Maybe now you two can make amends and become friends again. ”
“Maybe,” I lie. It’s easier than explaining it to him. I can never admit the truth to him. If I do, he’ll hate me, and I wouldn’t blame him for it. Shifting my gaze to the slowly dipping orange sun on the horizon, I add, “You and Meera still take the bus together, right?”
Sushant nods. “Yeah, why?”
The words fall out before I can stop them. “Does she ever talk about me?”
“Uh.” Sushant laughs weakly, rubbing his hands along his jeans. “Sometimes, when I bring you up in conversation. But otherwise, not really.”
I hold my head up high, although my stomach deflates. “Good. That’s what I was hoping for.”
The backyard door slides open, revealing Mom in her faded pink flowery apron that only ever sees the light of day when Sushant comes over. “Dinner’s ready,” she announces, and wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead. It’s a hot day, and our AC needs fixing. “Hurry up before the food gets cold.”
“We’ll be right there, Alice,” Sushant replies, grinning at her.
She beams and heads back into the house.
Mom loves my boyfriend. The first time I brought him home to her, she was suspicious—Sushant’s not white, after all, nor is he Christian, and after the way Dad walked out on us, Mom’s not particularly fond of most men.
She hasn’t gone on a single date since the divorce. Her one true love is life coaching.
But Sushant did all the right things and charmed her within minutes, despite her hesitations: He raved about her somewhat-above-average cooking, which is why she now only ever makes dinners for him; he complimented her for being a self-made woman helping her clients be their happiest selves; and, most importantly, he nodded and made all the right sounds of reassurance and empathy when Mom ranted about Dad trying to interfere in our lives while still dating “that home-wrecker.”
By the end of the night, Sushant earned the right to call my mother Alice, and he hasn’t called her Ms. Miller since.
I still wonder if he’s uncomfortable around her—she’s not exactly subtle when it comes to her more backward views.
But then again, Sushant is too kindhearted to notice anybody’s flaws.
Midway through dinner, as our plates of meat loaf and roasted potatoes start to empty, Sushant nudges my shoulder and says, “Did you tell Alice about your new job?”
I shoot him a warning look, but it’s too late. Mom looks up from her glass of red wine and asks, “You got a job, Lucy? I didn’t know you were looking for one.”
“For about a week now,” Sushant tells her excitedly as he finishes the last bite of his potatoes. “It’s the perfect job for her.”
Mom leans forward in her seat, seemingly eager. “Oh, Lucy, your first job! Where are you working?”
I gulp down some root beer to stall for time, then grip the side of the chair with my fingers to stay calm and composed. The cool wood and the leathery cushion, warm under my weight, ground me. “It’s at Café Kismat. I’m in charge of their new book club.”
My mother looks from me to Sushant, who still has the biggest grin on his face.
Slowly, her lips press into a wide but fake smile, clearly only for his benefit, and she sets her wineglass down.
“You definitely would be great at that,” she agrees.
Then she exhales and reaches for our empty plates. “You kids done?”
“Thanks, Alice.” Sushant isn’t fazed—he doesn’t know my mother like I do, after all.
Mom obviously doesn’t approve of my working at a café run by two gay men, one of whom is Indian and spiritual, but she can’t say that in front of Sushant.
She can’t say that, period. I’ll probably be subjected to snarky, passive-aggressive retorts during church on Sunday morning instead of hearing her actual opinion on the subject.
Mom retires to her office to prep for her “busy and money-making week ahead”—her words, not mine—and Sushant kisses me goodbye on the front porch in his usual fashion.
Before I turn to head inside, he tugs me back into his arms. He locks his lips with mine once more, one of his hands cupping the back of my neck and the other sliding under my top, his hand warm and big, over the cup of my lacy bra.
I pull away seconds later, toying with the collar of his shirt, not meeting his eyes. “It’s late,” I breathe.
“It’s late,” Sushant agrees. His voice is heavy with lust. “I just wish we could have some…alone time.”
“Soon,” I promise him, pecking him on the cheek and going back inside. I lean against the closed door and wipe my clammy hands on my skirt, breathing in and out, deep and slow, for three counts.
Sushant and I haven’t…gone very far. Natalie doesn’t get why I want to wait—she thinks it’s a rite of passage that you must cross before college and wishes she had someone to love like I do—but the thing is, I don’t know what’s stopping me, either.
It’s not that I only like people of one gender.
I like people for who they are and how they make me feel, and Sushant is the best person I know—so, yes, I am attracted to Sushant.
I do have feelings for him. Maybe it’s scary because I know my initial reasons for dating him weren’t genuine: I was only trying to hide my secret and find a way to sever ties with the girl I loved, and what better cover than to date the popular hot guy Meera used to like?
Like they say, two birds with one stone.
In my heart, though I wouldn’t call our relationship passionate, I know Sushant and I are great together.
We’re happy; our love is constant and consistent.
We aren’t a roller-coaster romance with exhilarating ups and downs.
We’re stolen kisses on Ferris wheels, giggles and cheers while go-karting.
He’s my best friend and my favorite person, but… he will never compare to her.
The way I felt about Meera was all-consuming—borderline euphoric.
Every slumber party left me restless and aching to kiss her forehead as she fell asleep, to caress her cheek when her eyes twitched from bad dreams. Every accidental brush of our fingers when we both reached for a bowl of popcorn made me wonder if she’d be just as nonchalant if I touched the nape of her neck, pressed my lips to hers.
Every second of every day I spent with her held the impossible, unattainable promise of the kind of love I’d never get to share with her.
She will never be mine to keep, and I’ll never be hers. It was sensible of me to end our friendship so publicly and so horribly that she would never dare let me into her life again.
I only hope this job at Café Kismat doesn’t change anything. Because as long as she loathes me, I’ll be safe. I can’t risk losing Sushant. More than that, I can’t risk losing myself in Meera. Again.