Chapter Five So Now I’m a Liability? #2
Eventually Mom figures out that I’m home and texts me that dinner’s ready.
I smell Indian food on my way downstairs.
Jason’s already at the built-in table near the window in the kitchen, and there’s chicken curry, potato cauliflower curry, and rice on the table.
Mom smiles as she takes off her denim apron and brings a plate of chapatti to the table.
“Sit, Meera. I made your favorite dinner for your first full day in Cherrybridge. We want to hear all about it.”
We, she says. Does Jason really care about how my day was? I doubt it. He wishes I wasn’t here. He’s smiling in that friendly, nonconfrontational way, but after hearing what he said earlier, it just feels fake.
“My day was fine,” I say. I don’t really want to say more than that. I spoon some chicken curry onto my plate. Mom’s right—it is my favorite. I love Mom’s Indian food better than anyone else’s because she makes it exactly how I like it. Not too much chili but still tons of flavor.
Mom didn’t cook much back in Toronto, mostly because she didn’t have the time.
But sometimes on her days off she would batch cook things like this for the freezer.
Most days we would eat food Nani would bring over, but her Indian food is always spicy because that’s how Nanabapa likes it.
Sometimes I’d cook, but I can only make easy things, like soup, tacos, or pasta.
But now, Mom doesn’t work. She’s just a housewife who goes for lunch at the country club with her sister-in-law. It’s ridiculous. She went from being an independent woman to an apron-wearing high-society housewife.
I have no intention of telling Jason and Mom that I overheard their conversation earlier. To be honest, them not telling me that Jason’s going to run for mayor is proof that we’re not really a family—because families tell each other about things like that.
“So did you enjoy your work with the CROP program?” Jason asks as he uses the chapatti to tear a piece of chicken off the bone. For a white guy he’s pretty good at eating Indian food with his hands. I’ll give him that.
I shrug. “It was fine, I guess. We were only weeding.”
“Hopefully you’ll get to do something more interesting later. And it’s only a few hours a day.” He pauses, like he doesn’t know what to say next. “And it’s great you’re making friends, too. Sadie said you fit right in with her classmates.”
I almost laugh at that. Sadie and Liv were fine, but I fit in with the rest of them like a cat in a dog park. I do find it interesting that Jason didn’t mention me making friends with the CROP kids, though. He’s elitist just like everyone else in this town.
“Meera makes friends so easily,” Mom says. “She’s always doing something with Keeley and Adanna back home.” She looks at me, offering the same smile Jason did earlier. “They’re still planning on visiting you this summer, right?”
I can’t help it; I glare at my mother. “Not sure anymore.” Even though I just had a phone call with them promising they would, she doesn’t have to know that. “They’ll be busy doing all the fun things I was supposed to be doing with them this summer.”
Mom puts her chapatti down onto her plate. “Meera, you can at least try to enjoy your summer. We aren’t your enemy, you know. Both Jason and I want the best for you.”
I scoff. That’s debatable. Jason wants the best for his mayoral campaign.
Which would be for me to be far away from Cherrybridge or for me to be the perfect LeClair teen, attending Randell Academy and associating with kids from families in the same tax bracket as him.
And Mom wants to pretend she’s the perfect mother with the perfect nuclear family instead of the single working parent she was.
No one really cares about what I want in this whole situation.
“You expect me to enjoy this summer?” I know my emotions are far gone when my voice hitches at the end of my question.
“I have no choice but to spend every freaking morning with a bunch of delinquents who hate me because they think I’m a rich princess.
Or I can hang out with a bunch of rich kids who are flabbergasted to discover that some people can’t afford golf lessons.
I had to quit the job that was going to give me relevant work experience to get into a very important architecture mentorship program.
And my real friends, the ones who know me and always have my back, are planning an amazing summer without me back home.
Tell me, how am I supposed to enjoy any of this? ”
I cross my arms and stare down my mother. Her face is unreadable, except for the thin serious line of her mouth. There’s a beat of silence before she looks back down at her plate. I don’t regret saying anything. She has to know there’s no way I can be happy here.
“Do you want golf lessons?” Jason asks, breaking the silence.
I want to throw my hands into the air. He really is clueless.
“No,” I say, still staring Mom down.
Mom shrugs as she spoons more cauliflower curry onto her plate. Her eyes don’t meet mine. “Well, it’s only your first day here. Things may change.”
I shake my head. My heart is racing and I feel like I might cry. “Mom, I promise I’m not going to get in trouble again if I’m back home. Do you really have no trust in my abilities?” I feel desperate. How do I get her to hear me? “I’m not like you at my age.”
She shakes her head, then finally turns to me, and it’s clear by the look on her face that I’ve hurt her.
“I do trust you, Meera,” she says. “I know you’re so much smarter than I was at your age.
I trust you so much that I didn’t turn on location tracking for you when I set up my new phone today.
I trust you enough to give you my car when you get your full license.
I’m not even giving you a curfew here. But you have to trust me, too.
Being here is what’s best for you right now. I promise.”
I scoff. It’s clear I’m not going to win this battle.
But maybe I can try to win the war instead.