Chapter 4 Breathe In, Breath Out & Try Not to Die
Present Day
July 8 th
Chicago
Kat Kar
K at couldn’t see herself . Ugh, her camera lens was dirty and foggy. How could she film a spontaneous road trip montage if her camera insisted on picking up every grubby, oily thing in its vicinity?
“Shit, it’s hot! Why the hell is it so hot here?” Kat muttered to herself.
“It’s Chicago in July, miss. Whaddya expect?” The Uber driver loudly chewed his gum in the front seat.
“How do people live here?” Christian asked.
“We eat a lot. You got your deep-dish pizza, your Chicago dog, Italian beef—not to mention Greek Town, Korean Town, Chinatown. We eat, and we bowl. That’s Chicago. You ladies interested in seeing the sights? I could give you a tour of some of the star attractions.”
Kat looked at the man’s receding hairline, yellowed fingernails, and barely contained beer gut. She pasted on her artificial smile—the one that used to generate over 10K likes. “We’ll pass. We just need to get back home to the St. Regis.”
The driver let out a low whistle. “Oh, lady, you live at the St. Regis? Those are some nice digs.”
Kat preened at the recognition. “Thank you. Yes, yes, I do!” She smoothed her bob into place. “I’m Laila Malik,” she said, as if she hadn’t practiced that phrase a few hundred times in the mirror.
“The lawyer?” Harold asked. “Wow! You look too young to take on that case of the orphans.”
Christian shot Kat a look as Kat stammered to reply. “Yes, well, I use a hydrating mask at night to help reduce puffiness and wrinkles—”
She couldn’t believe the Uber driver had heard of Laila Malik. Shit—how many people knew this woman? Was she a local celebrity?
The driver gave her a confused look before replying, “Uh-huh.” He turned his focus back on the road.
Christian jabbed Kat swiftly in the ribs and pointed at her phone screen. On it was an article with the headline:
Chicago Lawyer: Laila Malik Joins Coalition of Voices Challenging the Government’s Treatment of Undocumented Immigrant Children.
“You’re impersonating Mother-effing Teresa,” Christian said out of the side of her mouth.
“I know, I know. It’s fine. I can handle it.” Kat waved the article away. But a bead of sweat ran down her back as she shifted uneasily in her seat.
As they pulled up to the St. Regis 45 minutes later, a shudder went through her.
The building loomed ahead, all sharp angles and sleek lines—like a giant, well-dressed middle finger. It screamed discreet exclusivity. The people who lived here had clearly made it in life.
“Kat, it’s boiling in here. Why aren’t we going in?” Christian asked, fanning herself with her hands.
“I got the AC on as high as it goes, lady,” the Uber driver responded, annoyed.
Kat couldn’t breathe. As she stared at the gates of the imposing condominium, she suddenly realized that watching Ocean’s eleven and taking a tiny tub of blush that cost $8 was not the same as waltzing into someone’s home and taking hundreds of thousands of dollars.
She started wheezing heavily.
“Oh my God, Kat! What the hell? What is wrong with you? Are you dying?” Christian was yelling from very far away—or at least, that’s what it felt like to Kat.
She was too busy falling through a deep, dark tunnel. Her chest hurt, sharp jabs of pain tore through her sides. She couldn’t form words.
Her mind, however, kept echoing: she was a total fuck-up. Her parents were right about her. Why had she dropped out of college? She would never amount to anything. She was going to jail. Everything she touched, she fucked up.
And yes, she had lied about using filters on Instagram. Because cameras were imperfect devices, and her nose did not look that crooked in real life!
—
“F INALLY, SHE IS AWAKE . Such a princess, this one.”
That couldn’t be her mother’s voice. There was no way her mother could be in Chicago.
“I made some samosas for you, Christian. You look like you could use a snack after all the running around.”
Kat’s eyes flew open in terror as she caught sight of her mother pulling out a greasy paper bag filled with samosas and chutney.
“Ammu!” she thought she screamed, but it turned out to be a whispered croak instead.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Malik. That’s so sweet of you. I am starving, ” Christian said, grabbing two and digging in.
“Let me go check on Khatira’s father. He always gets lost in these big hospitals.” Her mother struggled to get to her feet.
Watching her made Kat wince. Her mother’s arthritis was clearly getting worse. She silently watched her grab her cane and shuffle out of the room.
“You called my mom ?” Kat hissed at Christian the moment the door shut behind her mother.
“Oh my God! You’re awake. Finally! Thank God that Uber driver knew of a hospital nearby. You were literally foaming at the mouth,” Christian said around a mouthful of crunchy samosa flakes.
“Why the hell would you call my mother?” Kat asked.
“I didn’t. They’re your emergency contact. I didn’t realize they lived in Indiana. How quaint—you’re a Midwestern girl!”
Of course Christian didn’t know her parents lived in Indiana. Indiana was essentially the armpit of the Midwest. Who in their right mind would want to claim it?
Nor did she feel like claiming her ultra-conservative Bengali parents, who disapproved of the way she breathed.
So, she had pretended to be a born-again LA girl when she moved to the West Coast—no past, just living in the present and hoping to be YouTube famous like everyone else.
“Christian, why am I even in the hospital? What happened?” Kat started pulling on the cords attached to her.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I thought you were having some kind of rabies attack, so the driver took you to Stroger Hospital.” Christian went back to dunking her samosas into the chutney.
Before Kat could respond, she broke out into a coughing fit—just as her parents entered the room.
“Aren’t you going to get your daughter some water? Are you going to just stand there like a good-for-nothing?”
The shrill voice of her mother scolding her father pierced through the air.
“Ammu, Abu, what are you doing here?” Kat croaked as her father went in search of a nurse.
“The hospital called us. Nearly gave me a heart attack. I was at Joann Fabric because they were having a yarn sale. Two for the price of one. Can you believe these colors? Look, look! Won’t this make a nice shawl for you?”
Her mother thrust out two balls of lime-green yarn.
Before she could reply, a nurse came in with water and apple juice.
“Hi there, Kat. You gave everyone quite the scare this morning. How are you feeling?”
“Um... fine. Just a little tired. Is the apple juice sugar-free?” Kat eyed the juice box suspiciously. “Because I’m on a cleanse.”
Kat made sure to always treat her body like a temple—no matter the location. Even subpar hospitals.
Kat’s mother hurriedly interjected. “Nurse, sorry. My Kat has had”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“the mental problems in the past.”
“But we don’t judge,” her father added. “No. Even though the medicine is expensive, we buy it for her. But she stopped taking it.” He ended the sentence with a swift glare in her direction.
“Okay, okay.” The nurse wasn’t sure who to address, so she focused on Kat. “The doctor will be in shortly to go over everything. From what I saw on the chart, it looks like a panic attack. Kat, were you doing anything that could have triggered that level of anxiety?”
Kat and Christian made eye contact before Kat looked up at the ceiling.
“Um... no. I can’t remember what would cause a panic attack. I was in the back of an Uber with my friend over there,”—she gestured vaguely at Christian—“and then I just felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“Mmm,” the nurse replied. “Well, why don’t I take a look at those vitals?”
“Sure, sure. Kat loves giving her vitals,” her mother said.
“Maybe it would be best if everyone stepped out in the hallway,” the nurse suggested with a firm tone. As the family shuffled out, the nurse turned her attention back to Kat.
“Now, given your history, I have to ask. Have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself?”
Kat forced a smile. “No, not at all.” But even as she said it, the memories clawed their way in.
High school had not been a good time for her.
Between the bullies, her grades, and being obscenely overweight, she had lost the will to live. She couldn’t fathom a future outside of her suffocating present.
She had started cutting herself discreetly, just to feel like she was in control. Just to feel like only she had the power to hurt herself.
But her mother had caught her.
And amidst tears, wails, and fists banging against walls, she had been sent away to The Ecker Center for Behavioral Health.
It had been the worst three months of her life.
She could still hear the screams and howls in the middle of the night.
“No, I’m all better now,” Kat said with a forced smile. “This is the best time of my life. I’ve never looked better. I am so happy.”
The words sounded hollow, even to her.
1 Week Ago
July 1st
Chicago
Laila Malik
“A trip came up in LA, suddenly,” Laila practiced her words in the mirror, her reflection strained. “I need to go to LA. A client there needs me...”
She hesitated, pulling the corners of her lips upward into a forced smile. She needed to look lively, spontaneous, and casual. Instead, she looked worried and slightly defeated.
“LA? What client?”
Jay’s voice cut through the room.
She blinked as he walked in on her mid-speech prep.
Laila paused, the words caught in her throat. She struggled to meet his eyes. “Um... well, it’s a recent client. His work is based in LA, and I just need to vet the situation. It’s a work trip.”
Jay’s gaze landed on the burgundy bralette peeking from her open suitcase, a mocking eyebrow raised. “And you need a bikini for a work trip?”
“Well, there’s going to be downtime in between meetings. You always tell me I should relax more,” Laila said defensively.
“Does it have to be next week? It’s just bad timing.” Jay rubbed the back of his neck in aggravation. “Since we’ll both be out of town, who is going to supervise the HVAC guy coming out Wednesday to inspect the air conditioner? Or represent us at the Condominium Association meeting? They keep raising our fees for no reason. Honestly, Laila, you couldn’t have picked a worse week to leave.”
“Jay, I don’t have a choice. It’s important that I go.”
Jay snorted in response.
Laila forgot her initial anxiety and launched into their age-old conflict. “When you’re out of town, I pick up the slack. Can I... can I get a little reciprocity here?”
“I travel for work, Laila. Your cute little bleeding-hearts campaign, which you dress up as a career, doesn’t even cover the utilities of living here. When I travel, it means something. It’s not a weekend getaway of wearing crop tops.”
Laila was thunderstruck. “I’m traveling for work too, Jay! Why are your work trips more important than mine? I practice law and help people. Sorry, I can’t be a venture capitalist or whatever it is you do. Because every time I turn around, every business you invest in goes bankrupt in three months. At least I win my cases. Maybe you’re the one adding window dressing to that so-called career of yours.”
“So that’s how you feel about me, Lai? After everything I’ve sacrificed when you were in law school?” Jay said, tight-lipped. “I didn’t take the job in Boston because of you. ”
Laila went still, her shoulders tensing. She spoke in a voice so quiet it almost cracked. “How many times are you going to throw that in my face? I’ve apologized. I’ve tried to make Chicago our home. We live in this ridiculous penthouse because of you. Even though you’re gone half the year, I’m the one who keeps everything together. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just married to your stuff. Because you’re never here, Jay. You’re always gone.”
Jay’s eyes hardened. “You want to know what gone feels like, Lai? Let me show you.” With that, he strode toward the bedroom door and slammed it shut behind him.
Laila froze, staring at the suitcase in front of her. She wiped away impatient tears, the weight of everything crashing down. She was done. Done with compromising. Done with him—
Before she could finish the thought, Jay tapped on the door and pushed it open.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising with an unfamiliar tension. Then, in a tone she couldn’t quite place, he said, “I wanted to apologize.”
Laila looked up expectantly.
“Marie,” their marriage counselor, “has said we should hold ourselves accountable when arguments go astray. I apologize for overreacting. But your trip triggered me—”
Laila opened her mouth to protest, but Jay held up a hand to stop her.
“Your trip triggered me and made me feel unsafe because now we’re in the uncharted territory of me having to cancel my plans next week to accommodate your plans. It just feels like you don’t value me the way I value you.”
Laila rubbed her temple in frustration, feeling a headache coming on. She knew the script Marie had built out for them by heart.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Jay. Next time, I’ll be more mindful about giving you a heads-up when plans change unexpectedly.”
Jay gave a curt nod. “I would appreciate that,” he said as he walked out, shutting the door behind him with a definitive click.
Laila sank her face into her hands and took a few deep breaths. Lately, she couldn’t get through one conversation with her husband without it feeling like a verbal duel.
How had her marriage become so lonely ?
She struggled to remember when they had first started dating. There was romance there—she was sure of it. She remembered the sly smiles, the innuendos that had her hanging onto every word he said. She remembered her entire being vibrating with the need to be next to him.
She had believed he was the missing half of her hollow soul.
But somewhere along the way, the conversations began to wind down and then fade out altogether. The quick-witted banter became stark and transactional, with the bare minimum being uttered.
“Where did you put my socks?”
“I have an early morning meeting.”
“Grab some milk on the way home.”
Until finally, they had completely unraveled each other’s every thought and desire. Is that all there is? Laila wondered, then shied away from thinking about it too deeply. Because if she squinted and looked at it from a closer angle, she would have to admit that what they shared wasn’t that special.
Maybe they were just two people who happened to get along and then predictably got married, like most of the world.
She was just the other half of a necessary statistic meant to propel society forward.
She twiddled with her wedding ring.
It had been her mother’s before she passed away from dementia. Jay had wanted to buy her something sleek and modern.
But she had refused—the two-carat emerald ring made her feel close to her mother and to her Pakistani heritage.
She re-read the Urdu inscription within it, ????? ???? ?? ??? ?? “Freedom comes from love.”
With a sigh she slipped it off her finger and dropped it on her vanity table. The weight of it felt too heavy to hold on to tonight.