Chapter Nine
“A Little Bit Yours”
by JP Saxe
Lucy
“That was a fantastic service, wasn’t it?” Mom says, a wide grin on her face as we step out of church together on Sunday morning.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, returning her smile. “Pastor Rick got personal during his sermon today for a change. He’s usually so much more reserved.”
She stretches her arms and takes in the bright sunshine. “Yes, it was just what I needed to hear after the exhausting workweek I had. How about you, honey? How’s school going?”
We walk ahead, falling into our usual postchurch ritual of catching up on everything from the previous week.
I tell her about the changes I made to the cheerleading routine for the upcoming game and what homework assignments I’m working on.
My voice quivers while I tell her about the museum trip, and my thoughts are on the conversation with Julien that felt both eye-opening and unfinished.
Thankfully, Mom doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
“Enough about me,” I say as we round the corner. “What’s new with you, Miss Life Coach?”
“Well, I wrapped up my coaching with Susan after five months of working together, and I’m onboarding three new clients on Monday.
” Her eyes, sunken and tired as they may be from her workaholic ways, light up with a smile.
“Sometimes I can’t believe I get to do this for a living.
Ten years ago, I thought my only purpose in life was being married to your father. And now…”
“Your clients are lucky to have you,” I say, bumping my hip against hers.
She winks at me. “I know, honey.”
We look across the street at the sound of barking, and Mom’s shoulders stiffen.
Mr. George and Mr. Rao wave at us while their dog, Raj, yips and jumps at the sight of me.
When I used to hang out at Meera’s place, Raj hardly ever left my side, following me everywhere with his wagging tail—even to the bathroom.
Meera often joked that maybe he’d been my dog in a past life.
I haven’t seen Raj in forever, and he still remembers me. God, I love that dog. “Hi, buddy!” I call out, blowing kisses at him, and he dashes forward, straining the leash Mr. George is holding in a tight grip.
Meera’s dads cross over to our side of the street, wide smiles on both of their faces. I notice Mom’s eyes zeroing in on their interlocked fingers, and I swallow, my throat dry. This is going to be…uncomfortable.
Raj bounds over to me and falls at my feet, his tongue hanging out. I reach down and rub his belly, but I’m keenly aware of the tension in the air as Mom makes small talk with Mr. Rao and Mr. George.
“Yes, everything is great,” she says, her words clipped. “I hope your café is doing well.”
“It is, thanks,” Mr. Rao says. “We’re thrilled that Lucy is our newest employee!”
At that, I straighten, my eyes lifting, and Raj whines at the sudden loss of attention.
Mom clears her throat. “Yes, she told me about the new book club. Sounds fun. Well”—she turns to me, taking my hand in hers—“if you’ll excuse us, we should be heading home.”
Mr. George nods and pulls on Raj’s leash again. Next to him, Mr. Rao rubs his bald spot, a sad smile along his lips. “We’ll see you around, Lucy. Have a great Sunday, both of you.”
Mom is already tugging me away, so I give them a quick wave and resume listening, albeit half-heartedly, to my mother’s upcoming plans for her career as my stomach squirms with guilt.
Meera
I swipe my hand along my forehead, catching a bead of sweat.
I’m standing by the stove in our kitchen, making dosas for my friends as they “ooh” and “ahh” at the process.
We were going to grab breakfast at the local diner, but there is a ton of chicken curry left over from last night, and Appa didn’t want it to go to waste.
Ron seemed intrigued by the concept of dosas, so Dad asked if I’d cook for us all.
“Interesting,” Ron says, tearing off a piece of the first dosa from his plate. “It’s like a savory Indian pancake.”
“Nah, the consistency is more like a crepe,” Valeria says as she watches me spread the rest of the dosa batter in concentric circles around the pan with the back of the ladle. “Hey, Meera, why haven’t we ever had dosas at your place before?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” My hand nearly shakes as I push down on the batter.
The only people I’ve ever made breakfast for are my parents…
and Lucy. We’d hang out in the kitchen early in the morning after our sleepovers, talking about music and books and Bollywood.
I’d show her the best way to prepare South Indian breakfast dishes—everything from dosa and idli to uthappam and pongal—and she would try her hand at it for half a minute before deciding it was best to leave it to me, the expert.
Appa and Dad would join us soon after, and we’d all sit at the dining table like we were a family.
Shit. Lucy really had been my family, in so many ways. She’d been the best friend I’d always wanted, the best friend I’ve ever had, the one person who I thought I could count on forever. And now—
I cough and wipe my eye, pretending the tear is from the heat of the stove. “Hey, Val, can you pop the chicken curry in the microwave? It’s on the middle shelf in the fridge.”
She and Ron go over to the fridge while I flip the dosa over and gather my thoughts. It’s been almost a year and a half since my friendship with Lucy ended, and I haven’t let myself walk down memory lane in a very long time.
I just have to make sure to keep that silly, irrational, nostalgic part of me squelched down, especially with the book club coming up soon.
I’ll be in close proximity to Lucy over the next two months.
She might fool all of Madre Maria into thinking she’s the nicest girl in town, but not me.
Only I know her for the backstabbing queen bee she is.
And that’s how it needs to be, Meera, I remind myself over the beeping of the microwave. No matter how much you miss the old Lucy.
The front door opens, carrying with it the sounds of Dad’s jingling keys, Raj’s barks, and Appa’s shout of “We’re back!”
“That smells delicious,” Dad says, walking into the kitchen. “Hope you kids haven’t started without us.”
I turn and gesture for him to grab a plate. “It was difficult, considering Ron wanted to taste-test everything, but we waited.”
Ron sheepishly pulls his finger away from the chicken curry bowl. “Sorry.”
Laughing, Valeria helps me set the table while my parents wash their hands.
I toss a piece of chicken into Raj’s food bowl and join everyone for breakfast. The curry—Appa’s special recipe—tastes even better this morning with the chatter of so many people at the table.
Ron can’t stop reaching for more while Val tells us about her mother’s chicken dish that resembles this one.
As I’m finishing my final bite of chicken and dosa, Appa says, “Putta, it’s nice having your friends over for breakfast again.”
Dad adds, “Speaking of which, we ran into Lucy and her mother during our walk. She’s eager to start working with the book club.”
My stomach coils. “I’m glad,” I say, midswallow, as I exchange glances with my friends, “that she’s looking forward to it.”
“Of course she is.” Appa stands, taking his and Dad’s empty plates to the sink. “This is a lovely thing you’re doing for an old friend, putta.”
Ron chokes, nearly spitting out bits of chicken. Valeria hands him some water, and he apologizes, coughing and hacking. “Tiny chicken bone,” he mumbles.
Dad shoots him a weird look but says nothing, only joins Appa at the sink. I sigh and turn to Ron. “You okay?” I ask.
He nods, still holding the empty glass. “Sorry. The food was delicious, though.”
“Seconded,” Valeria says. She puts a hand on my shoulder. “How are you feeling about the book club?”
I shoot a glance at my parents, who are laughing about something together in the distance, and lower my voice. “I’m scared no one will show up, but we’ve had a decent number of RSVPs on Instagram.”
“We’ll be there,” Ron says as his phone chimes. He swipes along the screen. “Mom needs me to do a grocery run. See you, Meera. Val, you coming?”
“Yep.” She gives me a hug. Then my friends say bye to my family and head out. I go upstairs to my room just as Ron’s car backs out of the driveway. I stand in front of the whiteboard, my eyes boring into the words THE PLAN: DATE SUSHANT & DETHRONE LUCY as my heart pounds faster and faster.
Two years ago, the only plans in my life were about movie marathons with Lucy and saving up for EDM concerts.
If fifteen-year-old Meera Rao-George saw me now, she’d think I was the worst person in the world.
After all, she wouldn’t let anyone think bad thoughts about Lucy, forget do bad things to her, without giving them the evil eye and a heavy dose of karma.
But that Meera Rao-George is as dead as the Lucy she was best friends with.
Nodding, I uncap the black marker tacked onto the whiteboard, crack my knuckles, and get down to business.