Chapter 28
Ishika
Isent him a text and he hasn’t replied back.
Brent’s parents invited my family over for dinner. I am here so I don’t have to face the peril of my doomed love. I don’t plan to heal. I plan to suffer. To endure this crippling feeling of helplessness and agony.
Tell him that we should take a break and he should go to Chicago for his job offer.
Why can’t we have a long-distance relationship?
The laughter and sounds of glee fill Brent’s living room. The atmosphere of joy irritates me so I step outside to the garden for fresh air, that’s when my phone rings.
“Hey. Everything okay?” Ryan asks as I pick his call up.
I take a deep breath, listening to his voice. I need a moment to memorize him. To treasure and lock his beautiful voice that was mine once.
“Ishika, talk to me. Why are you sad?”
I want to kiss him again. But that would be a fucking problem, wouldn’t it?
A problem for my daddy, and also for Ryan’s mom.
The door opens and Brent steps out. He meets my gaze and walks over to me.
His hands drape around my shoulders as he steps closer and I frown at him for his close proximity.
Then he kisses my lips. A brush of his lips on mine.
His gesture shocks me for a second. But before I can respond, someone rips Brent away from my body and pushes him hard enough to make him stagger and fall on the ground.
My heart beats faster, Ryan is here. His fist swings and hits Brent’s jaw hard.
“How dare you touch her!” Ryan barks, his fists about to punch Brent again.
Brent raises both his hands to block Ryan. I chase after them in panic. “Ryan, stop.”
Anger highlighting his features, his jaw tightens. “She is mine,” he grinds out the words, glaring at Brent, bringing his face so close to his.
I pull on Ryan’s arm, trying to get him off Brent. Brent struggles under Ryan’s strong grip but manages to push back hard on Ryan’s chest at the same time.
“Come on, man. I know the truth. Enough of pretending. I know you guys were faking it to make me jealous,” Brent says, making Ryan’s deep scowl go even deeper.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ryan spits out.
“Ryan, get off him. He knows. I told him everything.” I can’t meet his eyes and I don’t recognize my own voice when I deliver the blow.
It was real. Don’t hate me, please.
Ryan jumps away from Brent and approaches me. “What the fuck is he talking about, Ishika?”
I steady myself, standing firmer, mustering up strength to do what needs to be done.
“I told him about our pretend relationship. I called you earlier to say thank you but you didn’t pick up. I wanted to tell you that our plan worked. Brent and I, we’re together.”
“You are lying.” He pales. “Why?”
“We were going to come to you. I owe you one, bro. I’m sorry for all the times we clashed.
No hard feelings, yeah. I needed the reality check that she wouldn’t wait forever.
This pretend boyfriend plan knocked my socks off.
I’m just glad I wasn’t too late. This afternoon, I told her that I love her, and thank God, Ishika loves me back,” Brent continues to explain what I trained him to say.
I asked for Brent’s help because no way could I do this and not drown in my own puddle of tears right in front of Ryan.
“Tell him to shut up, Ishika. Tell him that you are mine,” Ryan growls, taking a step toward Brent but my father’s hand stops him.
“Young man, you’re scaring my daughter. Look at her. She’s afraid of you. You want to talk to her then come to our home tomorrow and talk to her with decency. This is a private party and kindly don’t cause a scene,” Dad says, standing between me and Ryan.
Only for a second his vulnerability shows.
He is alarmed that he is about to lose me.
I hear him, I hear him so clear and loud, even though words haven’t spilled from his lips, even though he hasn’t uttered them yet.
I hear his heart. A part of him suspects that Brent is lying.
A small fraction of his heart thinks that I played him to get to Brent.
He blinks at me again and this time digs both his hands into his beautiful thick hair.
“We aren’t done, Ishika. I’ll fix this, whatever it takes,” he tells me gently, softly, reassuring me.
“Get inside Ishika, your mom’s looking for you,” Dad says.
With one last look my way, Ryan strides to mount his motorcycle. A minute later, smoke fills my vision, the sound of his bike howls into the silent night. The pain slices me in half and yet heartbreak feels like an illusion. I cannot accept this is our fate.
No, this is only momentary.
He will come back for me.
He won’t buy my facade. He knows I’ll give anything to have his arms around me again.
I’m gonna make this right. I just need some time.
“I’m sorry you got involved,” I tell Brent as he drops me home. I am sitting in his car, parked inside the gates of my home.
“I really like you, Ishy. I think we can build on something together if we both want to. You need to heal from your breakup but I want you to know that I’m going to wait. I want us to be together for real just like our parents planned. But only when you are ready,” Brent says.
A small smile touches my lips. “I love him, Brent. Please don’t wait for me. I’m going to wait for Ryan and hopefully when the time is right, he’ll still want me.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’ll always be your friend, Ishy. Whatever you choose, I got your back.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving him a hug.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks, looking at my house.
“I wish to be alone. Tell Dad I’m fine. Stop him if he is trying to rush home.”
Brent nods and I get out of his car to head indoors. Once inside I lock the door and run upstairs. I could not stay at Brent’s house. I needed some space from everyone. Brent volunteered to drive me home. My feet fall hard and fast on the stairs, carrying me to the attic of my house.
I haven’t been here in years. But my perfect dusty corner is waiting for me.
The old cushion on the floor looks even more faded.
My knees dig into the soft landing and I curl my body into a ball.
My head falls between my elbows and knees and a fresh set of tears starts to fall.
My screams of despair and agony are frightening to my own ears.
I sob for myself, for my heart. I cry for Ryan, and how unfair I have been to him.
I scream and yell, howl and screech, until my grief and devastation changes into emptiness.
When I was a child, this attic used to be my safe haven. My favorite spot. When Dad traveled for his medical conferences and I missed him, I used to hide here and distract myself with old, cluttered things in the attic.
My mother keeps some of the best old memories locked here.
I spot a few boxes of my childhood novels, my yearbook, and a few of my favorite old toys.
My ratty princess dress costume from a fancy pageant when I was six years old and my old debate team tee shirt from high school.
My ghagra and sparkling bangles. A colorful handmade Viana scarf with intricate Portuguese folklore embroidery from our trip to Porto.
Boxes of old photographs from generations.
They are all here. Little trinkets of treasure.
Normally I would be lost in the sea of forgotten stories. I haven’t been up here since high school. I haven’t missed anybody for a long time to need this kind of refuge.
As I pick up a box, I accidently inhale a big gulp of the musty smell that causes me to sneeze.
Everything here is covered in a thick layer of dust. This place is congested and there are piles and piles of boxes stacked one on top of the other.
Another sneeze irritates my nose. Rubbing my eyes in the process, I sneeze out again.
My head bangs against the cardboard boxes that are stacked up next to me.
My pulse quickens as a box topples to the floor, scattering the contents all around me.
Right before me, resting at my feet, is my babushka doll. My dad’s present to me when he had traveled to Russia. They are the nesting wooden dolls of decreasing size, set one inside the other.
The same babushka doll that I had lost years ago.
The doll that once held a dark secret of mine.
With trembling hands and my heart hammering in my chest, I pick the doll up.
Then I twist open the first doll who wears the beautiful yellow and red floral dress and a matching head scarf, her eyes are big and ocean blue, her lips small and blood red.
Her smile so smug and knowing, her cheeks rosy and blushing.
As expected, inside her is her replica in a smaller size.
There are seven of them, a symbol of fertility I am told.
All holding a different story with a different meaning.
But it’s the smallest doll, the last one who has a hollow core that I am interested in because she is the keeper.
She promised to hold something precious for me once.
Did she keep my secret safe from the world for all these years?
A layer of dust coating the doll transfers over to my sweaty palms making it look dirty, grimy, and raw.
This is how his hands looked that night.
I remember now.
I open the second doll, twisting her at her curvy waist and inside is her replica in a smaller size again. My actions repeat, gaining momentum. I hurry and rush, my fingers shaking and hands sweating.
The third doll opens with a squeak.
The fourth doll tumbles from my hand but I juggle and grip it before it lands on the floor.
The fifth doll gets more stubborn as it fights back but I manage to disconnect the two ends. My heart rate accelerates and I am trembling from head to toe.
When the sixth doll cracks open, revealing the last cute little girl doll smiling the brightest, I smile back at her. I hear the rattle, the small sound of something that hides inside her.
As I split the doll in half, a little gasp escapes.