Chapter 25 Malena
Malena
After my MCATs, I spent an entire afternoon preparing for a trip to Paris that I wasn’t even sure I was going to take. The fact that the travel and accommodations were taken care of did help push me in the direction I wanted to go. It could work.
But, when everything was packed, I was still no closer to a decision.
“There was a difficult set of k-type questions for a feedback loop about apoptosis.” I rattled off some thoughts about the test to Cora and Sabrina, who shared a split screen on my phone. They’d called just as I finished packing. “Otherwise, it went well.”
I let them know about the whole Conrad-trip thing seconds after he left the other night, and they were thirsty for an update.
“And aren’t we glad,” Cora chirped. “But the reason we waited until after your exam to call was because you needed to focus.”
“And now that it’s over…” Sabrina segued. “The trip?”
My passport and secret bank card were tucked inside a vintage Hermès bag that Sabrina gifted me for my last birthday.
When I tried to thank her, she told me that money for people who had it was never an obstacle, so they shouldn’t get any credit for spending it.
Like Cora, Sabrina was the type to show up, and that was why I loved her.
Either way, it was the chicest thing I owned, and suddenly I was considering my greatest lie yet. A trip my parents didn’t know about.
“I dunno.” I sighed. I curled my legs under me on the couch and gazed out the window, watching as the sun set over New Harbor. “It might be a step too far.”
“You can check in with me if you’re worried,” Cora offered.
“And I’ll have the State Department monitor your plane,” Sabrina added. “You’ll be safe.”
“Think about it,” Cora encouraged.
“Yeah, I will.” Just as I was about to say my goodbyes, a knock at the door startled my already erratic heart. I looked at the door then back at the screen. “I gotta go.”
The girls gave me twin wolfish looks and then hung up.
I all but ran to the door and swung it open.
My hopes barely had the chance to fall before they were picked up off the ground by curiosity.
Ishani Roy and Lucy McMaster stood on the other side of my doorway, dressed head to toe in stunning lenghas. Ishani’s was a pastel blush while Lucy’s was a deep and rich gold.
“She’s not dressed,” Lucy announced with a blank expression, then looked over to Ishani. “She’s not dressed.”
“Yes, I see that, Lucy.” Ishani cocked her head to the side. The diamond encrusted tikka sitting on her hairline stayed remarkably still. “Good thing we came prepared.”
“Umm…” I failed to understand what was happening, so I simply stood there. “What are you—”
“Conrad randomly needs a kurta on one day’s notice and needs me to call Mahesh Malhotra to whip one up at his atelier,” Ishani began as she gently placed both hands on my shoulders and moved me aside in the doorway.
Lucy followed her in, carrying a garment bag. “It was adorable.”
“What?” My mouth gaped open, but I managed to shut the door behind my surprise guests.
“I mean, Mahesh does owe me a favor, but that level of handstitched work in twenty-four hours? The man is a fashion genius, not a magician,” Ishani clarified, though that wasn’t the part I was confused about.
“But… sorry, what did you mean about Conrad?”
“Oh.” A slow grin stretched across her lips. “Yes, he tried to be sly about it like he just happened to need one.” Ishani laughed. “James tried to cover for him, made something up about how he was planning ahead for the Roy family Holi dinner in the spring.”
“Boys are dumb…” Lucy laughed with a hearty roll of her shoulders, then poked her head into my room, the only bedroom door that was open.
She walked in, put the garment bag down, and took a seat on the ottoman in front of my vanity.
She looked over and patted the seat in front of her. “Sit, I’ll get you ready.”
Still flustered, I did as told, Ishani trailing behind.
“Although, you need next to nothing. Excellent features.” Ishani took hold of my chin and turned it both directions. “Have you done stills? You might be a little clumsy to walk.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to catch up. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to the Diwali party with you.” Ishani blinked a few times, as if the last five minutes made any sense. “Obviously.”
“You can go alone. Girl power, and all,” Lucy said as she riffled through my drawer in search of brushes, “but we have Rahul Mishra’s latest line, so why waste it?”
“You’re wearing Rahul Mishra?” My mouth dropped open, and I looked at the black garment bag hanging off my bed.
“Well, I happened to have a couple of dresses from the September shows at my house in Manhattan,” Ishani explained.
“So, Conrad sent you because…” I pieced it together.
“For the same reason Scroll & Ivy members with personal access to the mausoleum’s library were either threatened or bribed to keep clear of it during the day.” Ishani smiled. “So someone could study.”
My heart stumbled. That’s why it was always empty. “Wait…”
“He likes you.” Lucy guided my chin to face her and prepared to apply eyeshadow. “So much so that he drove to Manhattan, picked these dresses up, drove back here to give them to us, and then made his way to Boston for the race.”
“Oh…” The realization fizzed up my body.
“Suffice it to say, it was clearly important to him that you not go alone, so here we are,” Ishani added. “Don’t worry, we’re plenty of fun.”
My heart dipped again. Two of the only people who’d ever shown up to his races were here with me. On his request.
He was alone so I wouldn’t be.
Sonali’s kind smile greeted me when I got separated from Ishani and Lucy a short while later. Her thick wavy hair was curled at the ends, her deep, almost burgundy lipstick popped against her tanned skin. “You look amazing.”
“You too,” I said, my fingers tangling in on themselves.
I glanced at my reflection in the window that looked out at the dark quad.
My hair cascaded down my sparkling red bodice.
I had the perfect golden jhumkas and armor in the form of Ishani Roy and Lucille McMaster.
But I still felt the overwhelming urge to hide.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She looked around the auditorium decorated with colorful garlands and electric tea lights.
A low orchestral rendition of a popular song floated in the space between us.
At the center of the room were a series of towering floral arrangements—marigolds, lilies, and jasmine.
A rangoli design crafted with sand painted the floor around the base of the flowers.
Even with the hundred-plus guests in attendance, each one dressed in an array of colors that reminded me of the Diwali parties of my childhood, the large space wasn’t any less daunting.
“I wanted to apologize, about that day at brunch—”
“It’s fine.” I didn’t want to relive it, and was perfectly content pretending it never happened.
“No, it’s not.” She played with her golden bangle. “Nara shouldn’t have said that to you. And I should have said something to her.”
“It’s okay,” I repeated.
My eyes skated over the pleated silk saris that were draped over the folded bleachers in an attempt to make them blend in. They did a pretty good job.
“And, for the record, I think the Armistice Day thing was really cool.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
A silence fell between us, broken a moment later by a few calls from behind Sonali. Her friends, waiting to take pictures by the canopied floral arrangements that hung above the entrance. Sonali glanced over her shoulder, her smile falling at the corners.
“I should go, but it was great seeing you.” Sonali paused mid-turn. “You and I should hang out, maybe with Cora and Sabrina next time?”
“Yeah…” It felt like an olive branch. Maybe one I’d take if my battered ego wasn’t screaming to simply go home because I’d tried and failed and was sick of feeling like a misshapen puzzle piece. “Maybe.”
Sonali walked back to her group, and I took a few steps closer to the wall.
Not long after, Ishani found me. She handed me one of the drinks she was carrying.
“I know we don’t really know each other, but based off what Conrad has said about you—” She glanced at me and stopped.
My face warmed.
The corners of her mouth tipped up. “It’s sweet, really. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. But he talks about you all the time.”
Delighted but also a little flustered, I was the shade of ruby red to match my dress.
“Anyway…” I cleared my throat, not sure how to react.
“Anyway.” Ishani took the hint and kept going. “Based on how he describes you, you don’t seem like a ‘stand in the corner’ type of person.”
“I…” I failed to put into words why it was easier to hide. “Once bitten, twice shy, I guess.”
Her brows arched.
“When I first got to Winchester, I tried to make friends with some of the other students here tonight.” I motioned toward the dance floor.
“I guess we didn’t have a lot in common, and I sort of gave up.
” The words shot out of my mouth because maybe it would be less humiliating if I said it quickly.
“I try every now and then, but I feel like I’m some other version of myself. ”
And honestly, it was exhausting.
“If it makes you feel any better, I had a similar experience. When I was a freshman, I’d never felt more out of place than here.”
“Seriously?” I struggled to believe that.
Ishani Roy oozed cool. A posh British accent, a Brazilian supermodel mom and heiress in the Mumbai-based Roy family.
Her paternal aunt was former Miss Universe, Amani Roy.
In the time it took to get me ready, she’d recited the story of her dating a prince, breaking his heart, and then hours later walking in fashion week like it was a regular Tuesday.
“Well, to be fair…” She shrugged, plucking a samosa from a circulating waiter.
She took a bite and as she chewed, her eyes narrowed like she was thinking something over.
“I’m the half-Indian, half-Brazilian British socialite whose highly publicized relationship with the future king of England was splashed across global tabloids for months.
” She gave me a knowing look. “I’m a bit of a spectacle. ”
“A fun one.” I smiled sympathetically.
Based on past experience, she was right to be a little cautious. Ishani colored outside the lines, publicly and proudly. That wasn’t always welcome, and rejection was painful. Especially from a place you weren’t expecting it.
She popped the tiny bit of samosa that was left in her mouth and sighed happily. “I tried to find common ground, and when it didn’t stick, I gave up. Probably sooner than I should have.”
“I get that.” My eyes moved across the room.
In the small clusters of people talking amongst themselves, I spotted familiar faces.
A girl from my biochem class, a few people from my differential equations lectures.
I could find a lull in conversation and use that as an opening to join in on whatever they were talking about.
But past wounds made the task even more unappealing.
Ishani shrugged, dropping her napkin on a nearby tray. “I chose Winchester over Oxford because my best friends were here. I stayed in my own bubble. It was easier, but sometimes hard things are worth it.”
“Yeah…” I glanced around. There were plenty of other people here, plenty of other chances to find a place. Speaking to Ishani now, I had a renewed hope that I would.
“And…” She sucked in a deep breath like she was about to launch into a dramatic soliloquy.
“There’s no one way to be anything.” She jutted her chin up defiantly and looked around the room.
“Nobody can simply kick you out of the diaspora because you don’t run in the same circles or like the same things. ”
A chronic ache in my chest lightened.
“I guess you’re right.” Outside of Cora and Sabrina, this was the most seen I’d felt in a long time. Thanks to her.
“You know.” She looped an arm through mine.
“I’ve never been to Carnival, but my mother loved it.
Certainly doesn’t make me any less Brazilian.
Having celebrated Holi in Mumbai the last few years doesn’t make me any more Indian.
Being the one that got away for a certain prince most definitely doesn’t make me any more British. ”
I laughed.
She was right.
For so long, my connection to my culture was mainly through my family. But their way of relating to the diaspora was a tiny facet. And in front of me were a million more.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, really. Now come on, let’s be brave, no more hiding in a corner.” Ishani nodded her head toward the party. “We are wearing couture Mishra. These dresses were meant to be seen.”
I smiled and followed.
I wasn’t brave, but I wanted to be.
Maybe I could finally take a step in that direction.