Chapter 16 Anti-rude-café-bastard cream there is not
Anti-rude-café-bastard cream there is not
With only a week to go before the ‘big motive’ with the celebrity whose name I swear to god just keeps escaping my mind, Fawzia has given me a list of the remaining people to contact about the change in location.
The catering company almost dropped us, but I was able to convince them that I might just jump in front of a train if they did that to me. That worked like a charm.
I was able to find a separate room—away from the sulking eyes of my supervisor.
I don’t want to talk to him because I don’t know what will come out of my mouth.
Eat shit doesn’t quite cover it. And I know he will want to talk about it.
I just don’t know what he could possibly say that doesn’t make it ten times more awkward for both of us.
I think he knows that too; not a single message via the work portal, only official e-mails that I was cc’ed on.
Fawzia: could you draft up a very high-level progress report for me?
Fuko: Of course!
What does high-level mean? Does everyone know what it means? Do I not know it because I didn’t go to primary school in the UK?
Trying not to give myself an inferiority complex, I quickly search what that means.
‘At or of a level above that which is normal or average.’
So... basically board ready? I don’t know if I can do that by midday today.
I pull out all the stops, ignoring all the other e-mails and alerts on my phone that are coming through. I end up spending four hours on it, finishing about an hour late.
Fawzia: Fuko, I asked for high-level. This is so detailed.
Fuko: Is… that not what high-level means?
Fawzia: No, it means a very light touch, bullet points. I was wondering what was taking so long.
The message is going to haunt my dreams. I was wondering what was taking so long—maybe I am not as far from jumping in front of a train as I thought.
Fuko: I am so sorry. Let me redo it.
Fawzia: Don’t worry about it!
Inadequate friend and inadequate worker. Great.
You know what’s most upsetting about this thing is, I probably would have asked Toby if it were any other day and avoided this embarrassment.
A heavy sigh percolates out of my lungs.
I can’t mess this job up. The list of contacts is reopened again, and I double-check that I have contacted everyone and have received a response. Seemingly so.
All right, I can finally go on lunch. Dad has packed me a bento box.
He is sweet, but it is a bit strange to do it for your 24-year-old daughter.
I open the lid, and sausage octopuses (octopodes?) are smiling at me.
The egg omelette is almost sweet and melts on my tongue.
The rice with furikake (another word Sashka doesn’t approve of) adds a bit of crunch and umami flavouring to the usually boring rice.
I shovel the lunch into my mouth. Fine, father, you win this time—the food cheered me up a bit.
‘I love your lunch. It’s so cute.’ Fawzia sits down next to me as I scroll through my phone.
Leon is talking about some invitation to a party. I think it might be the one Fawzia and the events team are organising. I’m not going to say anything. He will be so surprised when he sees me at the event.
Fawzia usually buys her lunch from the Lebanese place downstairs but brought her own food today. When the microwave pings, and she opens its door, the room fills with the most delicious aroma—rich in cumin and light acidity. The orange rice topped with vegetables and some deep-coloured meat.
‘Bariis with goat, do you want to try some?’ Her eyes glitter brighter than the stud in her nose.
I run to the drawer, grab a fork, and wait patiently.
‘Bismillah,’ Fawzia says, blowing on the steaming food.
‘Bismillah, itadakimasu,’ I say back, making my colleague chuckle, and try to select an optimal scoop of food, with meat, rice, and the veggies all resting on my fork without looking too greedy.
The vegetables provide a comforting warmth.
The rice grains glide on my tongue. The meat melts with flavour, despite having some bounce when I chew it.
‘How is it!’
‘It’s so good! Is it Somali?’
‘Yeah, Mum cooked for the family. Some of my relatives are back in town. Aunties, uncles, cousins.’
The bento in front of me suddenly looks cold and alone.
I almost ask whether Fawzia wants my sausage octopus, when I remember that it’s pork.
Having family around. It’s not as if Dad is a bad cook or anything, or that I can’t make my own food, I just wonder what the rice would have tasted like if it had been made by Mum.
Maybe she would have added some mirin or white rice vinegar.
‘Hey, Fuko, have you double-checked with everyone on the contact sheet?’ Fawzia asks when she is finished.
‘Yes. Most of them preferred the new location.’
‘Even Garry from the GSV?’
Huh? Who?
‘Um...’
‘There is a second tab on the sheet, the one that says Media?’
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
‘We’ve done it,’ Toby hums behind me, washing his coffee mug. It has his face on it.
His stare is blank as he wipes his hand on a paper towel.
‘Did... did we?’
‘Hey, I’m not going to ask any questions, if it’s done, it’s done. Alhamdulillah.’ Fawzia washes her plastic Tupperware and slides her earphones under her pink hijab. A muffled K-pop song spills out as she leaves the kitchen.
‘Fuko, can—’
‘Thank you for doing this,’ I cut in before he can say anything else. My tone is harsh, and I can feel my eyebrows furrow; it doesn’t sound or look like I am thankful at all. ‘I need to go back and confirm that deliveries will be ready for the big day.’
I don’t wash my container. It’s going to be so gross when I come back home.
This is such bull. Why is this happening? Why am I so upset by him? Why does him helping me with such a small and unimportant thing make my chest so tight?
I sit down on the toilet. Piss. Wipe. Blood.
Oh. That’s why. I have no feelings for him. I am not a bad friend. I am not going to hell. I was just close to lady crimson. Like Ginger in Ginger Snaps, with their werewolf-period analogy, nature just got over me. It’s nothing. I feel nothing.
I walk out of the toilet with a bit more pep in my step. A whistle would have swung off my lips in an energetic foxtrot; were I able to whistle, that is.
Toby is back at his desk, the one that I usually sit next to. He looks up with intense sadness in his eyes whilst his face is unwavering. He returns his gaze to the blue light of his monitor, his glasses now hiding him away with the reflection of e-mails and spreadsheets.
This ache that is making the rounds of my body—nothing but hormones.
That’s the only explanation I can think of.
I know nothing of this man. Yes, he is handsome and funny, but so is every other man out there.
We might have a little in common; I also have a lot in common with Sue from the reception downstairs.
When I say good morning, she says good morning.
When I say it’s a bit chilly out there, she says, yeah, it’s a bit chilly out there.
Hmm. Has Sue ever said anything to me that wasn’t repeating what I just said to her?
Never mind that. Never mind Sue. Toby Lewis is nothing to me.
You’ve never said my name before.
Oh my fucking god, shut this thought-train down right this second!
I slam my head into my hands with a bit too much force, a familiar aroma of the most magnificent perfume pats me on the shoulder from the corridor.
Adzo is by the printer, staring at me through the glass door.
The printer creaks and squeaks as she slowly turns away from me, her concern never dissipating.
We are so having a talk later. I can feel it.
My phone lights up.
Smelly sibling: Can we go Westfields? I need some black stilettos for castings.
Hannah is doing some modelling on the side. I think she is hoping to do London Fashion Week before she is off to uni.
I sigh. There is only one thing worse than shopping, and he is sitting in this office in his horn-rimmed glasses.
FU-chan: Fine.
Smelly sibling: Can you buy them for me? :3
FU-chan: You are such a problem.
Smelly sibling: 39
She knows virtually no Japanese but somehow picked up on the slang: three nine—san kyuu—thank you. I didn’t say I would buy them. Ugh. Sisters.
When five o’clock rolls around, I am one of the last people in the office. Toby’s gone. Not that I should care or notice.
The Tube is crowded, but not overwhelming.
It could do with an aircon. The Central line is particularly bad and insufferable.
I look at the time—I might arrive before her.
On the way up the escalators, I follow the crowd but take a turn left, right before the shopping mall.
There is a coffee shop that I can wait for Hanako in.
An iced dirty chai isn’t something I normally get, but I am more in the mood to try new things.
You’re too boring to be lucky.
It’s not about him. I am choosing to explore the world and all its different flavours. I am in control of my life.
‘It’s your choice, but I want you to know that I am going to be quite upset about it regardless,’ says a man to a woman next to him. I am just within earshot.
‘You can’t just say no to everything I want to do,’ The woman responds.
‘I just don’t want you to devalue yourself because of the people you choose to associate with.’
‘Devalue myself? We are going out for drinks, not to a strip club.’
‘Yeah, and what type of women go to clubs, Soph?’
Huh? I go to clubs. What does that have to do with anything?
‘We keep having this conversation. Any time I want to do anything with the girls, you have some sort of problem with it.’
‘I just don’t understand why you would choose to go to a club if you’re in a relationship with me.’
To have fun? To dance a little? What’s up with this dude?
‘I...’ The woman tries to defend herself but just sits quietly.
‘I just think there are better things for you to do that behave like a slut in front of all those loser men.’
‘But we are not even going to a club. I told you, it’s just some cocktails.’
‘It’s your choice, Soph.’ He says it too loudly, too proud, as if he wanted the rest of the coffee shop to hear him, to agree with his line of thinking.
He reminds me of John a little. But more unsettling, there is something in his body and tone that’s making me extremely uncomfortable.
‘If you want to be a dirty slut, be my guest.’ That he whispered so that no one but her would hear the real him.
He walks out of the shop calmly, leaving the woman alone. She doesn’t move. Her flat white is untouched.
‘Hey, sorry, I was eavesdropping, are you okay?’ I turn to her.
‘Sorry?’ She looks up at me, her hair is in a slicked-back ponytail, blue eyes red from tears forming.
‘It might be none of my business, but I don’t think he should be talking to you like that.’ I say and wait for her to tell me to fuck off.
She doesn’t. ‘He is not always like this.’
‘You don’t have to defend him to me. I don’t know either of you, but I think if this is what he is like in public, he must be worse at home.’
‘He...’ She is looking for more words to defend him. ‘I...’
She blinks as tears shoot out. I get a tissue from my bag.
‘It’s just— I don’t know. I think I am just imagining it.’
‘You are not.’
‘I am not allowed to be upset or have fun. Everything I do is wrong. I just don’t have any tangible reason. It’s just all in my head or in my heart. Nothing bad happened.’
‘You mean he doesn’t hit you?’ I ask.
She shakes her head.
‘That’s actually not the only way he could be horrible. He called you a dirty slut, in public, over something that you haven’t even done yet.’
Spitting the words back at her was a slap to her face, I know it. Her eyes round in horror, realising that I heard everything. Hearing it from my lips has brought some understanding of the gravity of this situation.
‘I’ve broken up with my partners for less.’ I let her know.
I walk with her back to the Tube in complete silence. She waves goodbye, and I hope that she will leave that pile of crap as soon as she gets off the train. People are so worried about being single that they forgive a lot of unforgivable stuff.
I look at the time. Hanako should be arriving soon. As I turn, familiar long pin-straight black pigtails bounce in the distance. I walk towards her but freeze in my step when I see my sister leaning for a kiss, as someone’s arms wrap around her shoulders. Girl’s arms.
Hanako is seeing someone. I am a bad sister that did not notice. She is also gay, and I am a worse sister because I didn’t notice that either.