Chapter 5 Back to Chesterton
Present day
July 9th
Kat Kar
Chesterton, Indiana
K at dropped her phone into her purse and closed her eyes in pure misery, the buzzing messages and notifications fading into oblivion. Nothing mattered anymore. She was going back to hell on Earth—otherwise known as her hometown of Chesterton, Indiana.
“Dekha ek Khwaab to yeh silsile hue
The one dream I saw, has become so many dreams now
Door tak nigahon mein hain gul khile hue
In these roses all around I see the blossoming of love”
Eighties Bollywood music blasted from the back of the station wagon as Kat looked on in utter despair at the countryside whizzing by.
“Oof. No one sings like Kishore Kumar anymore—he was extraordinary, no?” Kat’s mother popped paan into her mouth and started singing along.
“What are you eating there, Mrs. Malik?” Christian asked before Kat could kick her.
“You people call it the betel leaf. It is a leaf that generates a little bit of stimulus. Gives you energy and makes you feel good,” her father answered.
“Oh, can I try?” Christian asked.
“Sure, sure.” Kat’s mother quickly wrapped the leaf around the areca nut and handed it to Christian.
“Oh, I must put this on the ‘gram,” Christian looked over at Kat. “Unless I shouldn’t?”
“It’s fine,” Kat sighed and closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”
“So, why were you in Chicago?” her father asked. “I thought you were making videos in Los Angeles. Your lifelong goals had been fulfilled, no?”
“Don’t ask so many questions,” her mother admonished him. “She just got out of the hospital. You know she has the headaches and such.”
Kat could feel their disappointment like a weighted blanket in the car. They didn’t understand who she had become. She could see the uncertainty in her mother’s eyes. They didn’t know how to talk to her or what to say.
“We were looking at colleges,” Christian interjected into the awkward silence. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise. But Kat was looking at DePaul as well as Columbia. You know, just exploring her options.”
Kat looked at Christian with a gratitude she didn’t know how to fully convey.
“Colleges and universities are wonderful. You know who else is wonderful? Khaleel Quazi. What a strong young man that boy has become. His family is coming to our house for dinner next week. I think he is home from university,” her mother said, nudging her father.
“Purdue University. But he is a smart boy. What would he talk to Kat about?” her father asked.
“Okay, Abu, I don’t want to talk to him. But if I had to, I could. I am capable of making conversation,” Kat said.
“About what? Putting colors on your face? I watched your videos. All you do is mash shiny things everywhere.” Her father glanced at her in the rearview mirror with barely disguised contempt.
“I review makeup and beauty brands. I’m necessary for consumers. I hold brands accountable for providing reliable, safe, and ethical products,” Kat replied hotly, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt over the lawsuit accusing her of failing to do just that.
“Let’s just listen to this music and get home, nah?” her mother chimed in nervously, looking between Kat and her father.
Chesterton, Indiana had never been home, Kat fumed. It was a prison of mediocrity and people bent on making her feel invisible and unwanted.
6 Days Earlier
July 3rd
Los Angeles
Laila Malik
The girl at the store had ignored her.
Uncomfortable and unsure, Laila grabbed the first thing she saw, hoping the romper with the wrap skirt was trendy enough for an art gallery showing. She also prayed that the coral color wouldn’t make it seem like she was trying too hard.
Laila winced at the slight wedgie, cursing herself again for not trying the outfit on in the store.
Slipping into her rented Porsche Carrera, Laila eyed her cell phone. Jay hadn’t called her once. He hadn’t spoken to her the entire morning. And she had left for the airport without a backward glance in his direction.
She peered at the small gift she’d brought for Gabriel, hoping he would like it. Hoping he would like her. Somewhere in the last week, he had become the only person she wanted to impress. Everything—and everyone—else had fallen away for her.
There it was. The sign for Eden Gardens loomed ahead. The lush foliage and palm trees felt welcoming and refreshing.
Laila smiled determinedly. She was going to shake off the cobwebs of uncertainty and enjoy today. Whatever it held for her.
She handed her car over to the valet, who pointed her in the general direction of the building. Taking in the well-dressed crowd, she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the passing servers. Thank God the bar was already open.
A woman with calculating eyes and a slicked-back bun approached her. “Name?”
Startled and a little taken aback, Laila replied, “I’m a friend of Gabriel Santos—Laila Malik.”
She extended a halfhearted handshake, only to withdraw it when the woman let out a high-pitched laugh.
“Friend? Oh, that’s right. You’re the lawyer. I thought it was adorable that he invited you.”
Something about this woman made Laila bristle. “And you are?” she asked pointedly.
“I’m the curator of the entire event. I’m the reason he has this show.” Her gaze swept Laila from head to toe, making Laila’s wedgie creep up. “Isabella Juanita Carmen Morales,” she announced grandly.
“Laila, there you are.”
Gabriel’s hand caught her arm from behind. “I’m so excited you could make it. Come, I want to show you something I recently created. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“You can’t do that right now, Gabriel. The buyer from Morocco is here, and I need you to finesse him,” Isabella interrupted as they started to walk away.
He hesitated, then turned back to her with a warm smile. “What would I do without you, carino? You are the sun in my skies, always lighting the way.”
Carino? The sun?
The champagne began to taste bitter in Laila’s mouth.
“I’m so sorry, Penthouse. We’ll catch up soon, yes? Isabella has left me no choice but to be a sellout,” Gabriel chuckled in a way that set Laila’s teeth on edge.
Isabella simpered, tilting her face up at him. “It’s not hard when you’re so talented, mi rey.”
Laila watched them giggle and walk off, her stomach sinking.
Had she blown her encounter with Gabriel completely out of proportion? Was he just this friendly with every woman?
Her gaze dropped to her left hand.
The ring finger was unadorned.
She had left her mother’s ring back in Chicago because she wanted to be different in LA. Someone carefree. Uninhibited.
But Isabella Juanita Stúpida had soured the evening completely.
Present Day
July 10th
Chesterton, Indiana
Kat Kar
How had she ended up back here? Kat scowled up at the One Direction poster on her ceiling. She had always been partial to Zayn—he was obviously the hottest.
Her gaze drifted over to the inhaler and retainer case on her nightstand. She hated high school. She hated who she had been in high school—self-conscious, shy, and uncomfortable in her own skin.
The smell of fresh rotis and vegetable curry wafted in from the doorway. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since the apple juice at the hospital.
The only problem? In order to get to the food, she would have to face her parents. Her devout, traditional, judgmental, and unhappy parents. She wondered how their life had been without her. Surely, they must’ve pined for her every day, missing her exuberant, vivacious personality.
Gathering the willpower to face them and their misery, she propelled herself off the bed and headed to the bathroom.
Her hair had turned into a frizzy mess overnight. Why had she thought cutting it into a bob was a good idea? She should have bought a wig.
With what money? the little voice in her head whispered.
She closely examined her skin, scanning for any signs of clogged pores. Oh God, was that another blackhead on her chin? She quickly squeezed a bit of toothpaste onto it before brushing her teeth and reciting her morning affirmations:
“I am beautiful.”
“I deserve to be loved.”
“I can cut a bitch with these cheekbones.”
“People will listen to me!”
She growled out the last sentence before spitting and rinsing. Now, onto her nine-step morning skincare routine.
Twenty minutes and one gallon of water later...
Feeling refreshed, she made her way downstairs. The sound of laughter greeted her.
Christian was sitting in her chair, eating off her special yellow polka-dot plate.
“Oh my gosh, Mr. Malik, you were quite the rebel in your youth,” Christian chuckled.
“Well, I had to get Mrs. Malik to notice me somehow. Mango trees grow everywhere in Bangladesh, and there happened to be a very large one right outside her house. So, I climbed it and—”
Her father looked up as Kat entered the room, halting his story.
The whole kitchen went quiet.
“Um... don’t stop your story because of me,” Kat said, making her way to the stove with a generic plate she grabbed from the cupboard.
“What story? There was no story.” Her father gave her mother the look she hated.
“I’m not trying to interrupt anything,” Kat protested.
“Oh, like when you interrupted your cosmetology school studies and ran away to Los Angeles?” Her father latched onto the opening like a dog finally sinking its teeth into a bone.
Kat set her plate down with a heavy thud. “You’re still upset about that?”
“It was $5,000 for the semester, Khatira. That we paid. In cash. Because there were no loans available for that type of schooling. You didn’t want to be an engineer—fine. You didn’t want to be a medical assistant—fine.” He waved his hands in utter confusion. “And yet you still dropped out and ran away. After everything we did for you.”
Her father loved the phrase “everything we did for you,” like her childhood was a loan she would never be able to pay back. The explicit implication? That she was supposed to forfeit her entire adulthood and shape it to their terms and conditions.
Her jaw clenched in frustration. She owed them nothing.
Instead of giving them the apology they wanted but did not deserve, Kat rolled her eyes and stood her ground. “In my defense, I thought it was a trendy cosmetology school. How was I supposed to know they were still doing courses on chunky highlights? It was so backdated, Abu. You just don’t understand these things.”
“Okay, okay. It’s time to walk Mr. Benji. Let’s go.” Her mother announced this with a cautious glance at Kat, like one wrong word would send her spiraling back into a psychiatric ward.
“Who’s Benji?” Kat asked, stabbing her fork into the potatoes and cabbage curry—just as a cocker spaniel strutted into the kitchen, stretched, and preened for attention.
“You got a dog?” Kat demanded, outraged. “I begged you for a dog all through high school, and you always said they were too much work.”
“Yes. You and a dog are too much work,” her father replied. “But Mr. Benji, all by himself, is quite lovable and easy to manage. Aren’t you, Mr. Benji? Aren’t you?”
To Kat’s absolute shock and horror, her father picked up the dog and tickled its belly.
Without another word, her parents thankfully walked out the kitchen door into their backyard.
Kat shot Christian a look and hissed in a vicious whisper, “Alright, what’s the plan? We’ve got to get out of here ASAP.”
“What’s the rush? It’s so pretty here,” Christian yawned, smiling sleepily.
Kat did a double take, taking in Christian’s mascara-smudged eyes and wild, unbound hair. “Well, last I checked, we both had a few bills that needed funding assistance. Remember, we were pursuing the ‘government bailout’ we deserve in these trying times?”
Christian rolled her eyes. “I was checking out her socials this morning. She and her husband come into town today, Kat. We literally have five hours to pull this thing off. The only direct flight from Montego Bay lands at 3 p.m. It’s going to take us an hour to get back to her apartment. That gives us a four-hour window to get in and out. It’s insane! We can’t pull this off.”
Christian took a sip of her chai. “And that’s if you manage not to pass out again. And that’s a big if . I’m staying here and eating the Shorshe Ilish your mom is making for lunch. You can count me out.”
She turned back to The New York Times crossword puzzle, the corners of her mouth slightly tilted upwards.
Something was off about Christian. Kat couldn’t put her finger on it. She seemed... lighter. Almost giddy.
“Why do you look so happy?” Kat asked suspiciously.
Christian scoffed. “I’m a happy person. As you know, ‘Happy is the one who takes refuge in the Lord.’”
Kat stared, unblinking.
Christian flashed her a mischievous grin. “Okay, fine. Joseph messaged me last night, and I think he’s sorry. He wants to reconcile and really work through our issues.” She sighed dreamily. “I just woke up feeling hopeful. Like God was leading me down the rightful path.”
Kat was dumbfounded, acutely aware of the clock ticking in the background—along with their chances of grabbing that pile of cash slipping precariously away. She swallowed her annoyance and forced a smile. “That sounds like quite the conversation. What did he say?”
Christian blushed. “Not so much what he said, but what he showcased.”
Kat almost choked on her roti. “Please tell me you did not sext in my parents’ house. No one has sex in this house. Not even my parents.”
Christian had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. “We kept it PG-13.”
“I don’t understand—last time we talked, you and your ancestors were going to rain down Haitian curses and make sure he and his clan never procreated again. But now? Everything’s fine? How?”
“Haitians are a passionate people. The sun exploding is no match for our anger. But when we love...” Christian’s voice hitched. “We lurve hard.”
Kat felt her breakfast sour in her stomach as she furiously scrolled through her phone.
“Okay, um... how does that work when he still has a website with a make-believe charity that states you will contribute $12,363?”
“We’re working through that. He said it would take some time for the website to come down. But anything my followers contribute will be towards a just and righteous cause. He’s such a good person, Kat. Can’t you see that?”
Kat’s face spasmed.
Struggling to contain her frustration. Kat realized in that instant, that a happy Christian was way more annoying than a depressed Christian. If Kat were being brutally honest, she might actually prefer depressed Christian.
Kat slowly backed away from the kitchen table and moved to the stove top, where the morning chai continued to simmer on low. She grabbed a mug and poured the contents carefully, being sure to strain out the cardamom and cloves. She took a sip and forced herself to think.
Kat needed this money.
And if Christian could snap out of her pink bubble of delusion, she’d realize she needed it too.
So how could Kat make Christian believe that retrieving the money the universe had set aside for them—conveniently stashed in Laila Malik’s epic penthouse suite—was her own idea?
She started with her self-deprecating smile, the one she had practiced in front of the mirror hundreds of times.
The one she used in her videos when she wanted to seem more relatable.
She knew most of her audience consisted of twelve-year-olds with low self-esteem.
This specific smile reassured them that she was just like them— (even though, clearly, she was much, much better).
Kat turned around and proceeded to nudge Christian in the right direction.
“Hey, friend. Hey, hey. It’s amaaaazing that you and Joseph are reconciling the way you are. It’s clear he is your twin flame.”
Christian briefly unglued her eyeballs from her phone to flick them over at Kat.
“Go on.”
The wisps of smoke flowing upwards from the mug of chai underscored the dramatic tone Kat intended to set.
“But flames need funds. And think of all the wonderful things you could both do with $12,000. Or even a scooch more. Like a romantic getaway—after you feed poor people with their poor problems.”
Christian rolled her eyes.
“Kat, we can barely afford our own rent. We’re not exactly rich.”
“Yes, but I’m talking about the sad poor people. The ones that, after you see them, you feel bad about yourself. And weird. And guilty.”
“Because they remind you that you have a conscience?” Christian probed.
“Exactly. I like to bury those types of feelings deep down in my colon, where they belong. And I think I can do that if I help you and Joseph achieve your fundraising goals.”
“And it’s not like it would be helping your own agenda or anything?” Christian added dryly.
“Money helps everyone, okay? Poor people. Rich people. It’s something that insulates you from the hardships of life. I want it. I need it. I like it. And I know where we can get it. I just need you by my side. We’ve come so far, Christian. We can’t give up now.”
Kat turned her brown, beseeching eyes (tinted with the latest purple mascara by Thrive Cosmetics to bring out the golden flecks for a dramatic flair) towards Christian.
Christian sighed in defeat.
“Okay, but only because we’re helping people in need.”
Kat gulped down her chai with gusto, almost scalding her tongue in the process.
Thank God Christian was a virgin and not completely ruled by her vagina—yet!
“Onward and upwards, to infinity and beyond, my friend!” Kat toasted.
As Kat leaned back on the kitchen counter and watched her parents play with Mr. Benji in the backyard, her mind buzzed with a hundred things—
Money. Christian. Joseph. The minutes ticking away in the background.
She needed to get things under control.
She had not seen Joseph and this reconciliation coming, and she couldn’t afford to have any more surprises in the future.
She needed to focus on the big picture.
6 Days Earlier
July 3rd
Los Angeles
Laila Malik
Laila stared at the canvas in disbelief.
It depicted a woman drowning, her hair streaming in every direction, legs tangled in seaweed, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. But what caught her attention most were the wedding rings on the woman’s fingers. They matched the emerald set she had left behind in Chicago.
Her breath hitched. The tattered dress—the way it clung to the woman’s body—looked eerily like the sundress she had worn to Gabriel’s house that night. The night that had haunted her ever since.
“What do you think?”
She closed her eyes briefly. She would recognize that voice anywhere. It was deep and warm—like aged cognac. A shiver went up her spine.
“I think...” she said, forcing a light laugh, “she’s wearing my dress.”
“Mmm...” Gabriel’s gaze remained fixed on the painting. “It’s been hard to get that dress out of my mind.” He turned his head then, meeting her eyes. “It’s been hard to get you out of my mind.”
Laila froze.
“Are you this f-friendly with all women?” she stammered.
He arched a brow. “How do you mean?” He reached out and plucked an invisible piece of lint from her shoulder, the casual intimacy making her throat go dry.
“I mean the curator. You and her...” she hesitated. “Are you two... together?”
Gabriel let out a quiet laugh. “Isabella?” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. We’ve known each other for thirteen years. She curated my first show in Mexico. She’s happily married.”
Laila nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed him. Her gaze flickered back to the painting.
“I’m married too,” she said softly.
“Happily?” Gabriel asked, just as softly.
The word pierced her.
She felt him shift closer, his presence filling the space between them. The faint trace of his cologne teased her senses, and her body—traitorous, reckless—leaned into him.
“Sorry to interrupt, Gabriel.”
Isabella’s smooth voice sliced through the moment like glass.
“This is the buyer we spoke about earlier,” she added.
The overeager man at her side stepped forward, beaming. “Mr. Santos, I’m a big, big fan. Tell me, have you ever considered doing a show in Doha? I think your work would be huge in Dubai as well.”
He grasped Gabriel’s hand in an enthusiastic shake as Isabella slid in beside him, already steering him across the room.
Laila exhaled. The spell was broken.
She turned back to the painting, trying to steady herself.
“It’s an interesting piece, isn’t it?”
She hadn’t noticed the elderly gentleman beside her until he spoke. His voice was absentminded, as if he was merely thinking aloud.
Laila studied the painting once more. “Is she... unhappy?” she murmured.
“No.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “She’s just suffocating under the weight of her decisions.”
Laila’s stomach clenched.
Is that how Gabriel saw her?
A pathetic housewife drowning under the weight of her choices?
She thought back to her last fight with Jay. Tried to remember the last time they had been happy together. Her nails dug into her palms as her mind went blank.
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
She barely made it to her car before the tears spilled over. She wiped them away impatiently, gripping the wheel.
She wasn’t unhappy. She didn’t want Gabriel. She slammed her hands against the steering wheel, frustration clawing at her insides. The problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted.
She just felt utterly and completely alone.
The life she had worked so hard to build—why did it feel so hollow?
She wasn’t sure how long she drove, but when she finally looked up, she realized she had parked in front of Redondo Beach.
The waves crashed against the shore—wild and violent.
She stepped out in a trance, kicking off her shoes, letting her purse slip from her fingers. She untied her skirt, pulled off the ridiculous romper.
Her mind buzzed with unwanted thoughts.
Gabriel walking toward her.
Gabriel smiling at her.
Gabriel, inches away from kissing her.
The dreamlike spell he had cast over her haunted her every waking moment.
Something was happening to her, and she had no idea how to stop it.
Laila waded into the surf. The cold water licked at her ankles, climbed to her knees, then swallowed her whole as she plunged deeper.
The saltwater wrapped around her, cool and cleansing.
For the first time in a long time, she felt like she had come home.
Present Day
July 10th
Kat Kar
Kya karoon haaye, kuch hota hai
What do I do? Oh, something Strange is Happening
Kya karoon haaye, kuch hota hai
What do I do? Oh, something Strange is Happening
“Oh, it’s a shame that Shah Rukh Khan and Kajol never married? Have you ever seen a lovelier couple?” Kat’s mother chomped on chana chur (fried lentil chips) as the soundtrack to her life played in the background. Kat could see the misty look in her mother’s eyes—nostalgic over a long-lost love that had never existed in her youth. Every Bengali mother had a man they should have married, but instead, they got stuck with the husband they had .
“Abu, you didn’t have to take us back to Chicago,” Kat said to her father for the hundredth time. “We could have taken the bus.”
“Nonsense. Do you know what kind of people take the bus?” her father grumbled.
“The kind that don’t have cars,” Kat deadpanned.
“Good-for-nothing hooligans. They spit on the sidewalk. They spit in the bus. God only knows what kind of bacteria you’d be sitting on. You’d get out of the bus five months pregnant .”
“That’s not how buses work, Abu,” Kat protested.
“I know how buses work. I’ve been on this earth a lot longer than you, Kat. You don’t tell me how buses work. I tell you how buses work.”
Her father shot her a glare in the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to the road.
Kat’s mother chimed in, turning to Christian. “And how are you, Christian? Do you want a snack? Do you need a bathroom break?”
Christian smiled sweetly. “I’m fine, Mrs. Kar. Thank you for asking.”
“Oh, girls, we have a little surprise for you.” Her mother grinned coyly. “We decided to rent an Airbnb for the weekend. A little holiday before you head back to Los Angeles.”
Kat’s mouth dropped open.
“Ma, we’re leaving tonight . As soon as possible. We can’t stay.”
“Nonsense. It’s been two years since you’ve come home! And we’ve never visited the Chicago Bean. Haven’t you always wanted to see yourself reflected in a backward kind of way?”
Kat’s mother looked so pleased with herself for knowing a tourist spot.
Christian shot Kat a panicked look.
“Dude,” Christian whispered under her breath. “We are so epically fudged .”
This was why Kat could never succeed in life: her parents were always in the way.
In high school, every time she had wanted to join a club or get a job, they had found some vague reason to say no—her safety, the long hours, unsavory people. It had resulted in her going nowhere and doing nothing .
And now?
Now, they were getting in the way of her cat-burgling exploits.
She had packed a special outfit for the occasion. She had visions of herself gracefully flipping in through a window, her hair billowing in the wind—
“Arraaay, chutiya ! Bloody idiot! Mother of a pig! Bastard! ”
Kat lurched forward as the car jerked violently to the side of the road.
“What happened?” her mother shrieked.
“It’s the bloody radiator!” her father announced. “I moved the tubes to the wheel rotor, but clearly , the ties didn’t hold like they were supposed to. And now the radio antennae are all flummoxed up.”
Her father may have been a chemical engineer , but he had absolutely no idea how cars worked.
“Let me call Triple A ,” he grumbled. “We will need to tow this thing back home, no?”
Kat’s palms began to sweat.
She needed to get out of here. Now.
She fumbled with her Uber app, heart pounding, breath tightening. Her parents were forcing their plans on her again .
Her stomach unclenched slightly when she saw her ride would arrive in eight minutes .
She was so close to leaving Chesterton, Indiana in her rearview mirror.
“Abu, that’s terrible about the um... motor rotor,” Kat said quickly, waving her phone. “But Christian and I really need to make this appointment and tour today, so we’ll just take an Uber back.”
“So, you’re just going to leave your parents on the side of the road?” her father said, his voice heavy with betrayal.
“I mean... Triple A is coming to get you, and Uber is coming to get me. What’s the difference?” Kat countered.
Her breath hitched as she geared up for another battle.
“Fine, fine. Yes. Leave when things get hard, Khatira,” her father grumbled. “That is your nature.”
Kat’s patience snapped .
“I left because you never bothered to understand me! You treat your dog better than you ever treated me!” she blurted out.
Before her father could respond, her mother cut in.
“Arraaayyy, let them go. What can they do, just sitting here? Christian, it was so nice to meet you. Please keep me in your chats. I messaged you on the WhatsApp.”
Her mother beamed. “Feel free to send me those daily Christian fortune-cookie quotes. I’ll share them with my friends at the mosque. I’m sure they’ll get a hoot out of it.”
“Of course, Mrs. Kar,” Christian said, ever diplomatic.
Kat’s mother looked at Christian with adoration—the daughter she wished she had.
Instead of Kat. The complicated, depressed, self-absorbed child Allah had sent her.
“Well, this was... so great seeing you guys,” Kat said, voice speeding up as she spotted the Uber pulling in. “Maybe I’ll be home around November. No promises. My life is so busy, and I’m very important—okay byeeeeee.”
She hurriedly grabbed her suitcase and practically leaped into the Uber. The car pulled away. Kat exhaled.
She caught a blurred glimpse of the city skyline in the distance. Her heart pounded against the clock. Three hours to pull this off.
Freedom was just ahead—freedom from bills, from lawsuits, and most of all, from her parents.
For the first time in a long time, she felt sure of something.
This was her way out.