Chapter Nineteen Meera #2
Hari looks at her, and because they were together for over a decade, Meera knows just what he’s thinking: I don’t believe you. And he shouldn’t believe her either. Because it’s not nothing.
In the two days that have passed since the incident at the park, Meera has received another three messages from the number she’s convinced belongs to Amanda, each one more menacing than the last. The first one, after a trip to the grocery store: That’s a lot of wine.
Having a dinner party? The second one, late on Sunday evening: Don’t forget to turn off the kitchen light before you go to bed.
And the last one, the one that made her decide Gracie wasn’t safe with her anymore: a picture of her daughter waiting at the school bus stop.
No text accompanied the photo, and Meera found the silence even more terrifying than anything Amanda could have said.
“When I spoke to Gracie on the phone a few days ago, she said you’ve been upset,” Hari pushes.
“I’ve been stressed, not upset.” Meera hates hearing this, that her anxiety has become evident to her seven-year-old. She really did try to hide it.
“I don’t think this just has to do with work.”
“It’s complicated, but I’m taking care of it. You won’t have to watch Gracie for long.”
“Gracie is not the problem. You know that Jessica and I”—Meera represses a groan at the mention of the new girlfriend—“are always happy to have her here. As is Marty, of course.” Hari gestures down to the dachshund puppy, who’s busy chewing on the shoelace of Meera’s Nikes. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The softness of his voice breaks her. She loved him for so long, and sometimes, she can imagine loving him again, despite what he did to their family.
But she can’t think about that now; instead, she needs to tell him enough to assuage his curiosity and not so much that he panics. “You know my friend Talia from work?”
“Sure.” After the few occasions the two met, Hari wasn’t impressed with Talia—he dubbed her a people pleaser who couldn’t express an opinion if it killed her.
“It has something to do with her.” Cautiously, Meera adds, “She’s gotten herself into some trouble, and I want to be free of distractions while I help her out.”
“Do you need to get involved at all?”
“I do, unfortunately.”
“Why?”
Meera sighs. He isn’t making this as easy as she’d hoped. “Because I might be in trouble now too.”
“Is this work trouble you’re talking about or”—Hari lowers his voice—“legal trouble?”
“Work,” Meera says, because it’s not exactly a lie.
“Jesus, Meera.” Hari shakes his head. “I don’t know why you still work at that place. After the shitty way they treated you when you were first diagnosed . . .”
“It’s not Cuff’s fault I have Hashimoto’s.”
“But the company is at fault for not doing more to accommodate you.”
And what did you do to accommodate me? Meera wants to ask, but it wouldn’t be fair; Hari did do a lot to help her out, just as he’s helping her now.
He isn’t the enemy, she reminds herself.
For as long as they live, they’ll be tied by Gracie, to whom he’s always been a good father.
He just didn’t happen to be a good husband.
“I just think you’d be so much better off doing your own thing, Meer. You’re so brilliant, and your talent is wasted at Cuff.”
Meera leans against his kitchen counter, already tired of this conversation. “Says the guy doing backend engineering for a telehealth giant. What makes you think I’d want to do my own thing anyway?”
“Oh, c’mon. You’ve always wanted to do your own thing. Remember at NYU, when you wanted to develop that app connecting mothers to milk banks?”
“I forgot about that,” Meera admits.
“Or what about that idea you told me about a year or so ago, right after you got diagnosed?”
Meera’s stomach clenches. She’d rather not talk about that idea. “It was a dark time for me. I wouldn’t trust anything I said around then.”
“No, it was great.” Hari is insistent now. “Remember? You’d wanted to create a platform offering holistic autoimmune care to people like yourself. Why didn’t you ever move forward with that?”
“Because I’ve been too busy raising the child you only have to deal with every other weekend.” Meera regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
“I don’t deal with Gracie,” Hari says, his voice icy. “I live for my weekends with her. And you know I would do anything to have more time with her.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I just . . .” Meera shakes her head. “I don’t want to discuss my lack of ambition right now, if that’s all right with you.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re plenty ambitious. I think you’re just stuck right now.”
“Maybe I am.”
“And it’s probably not any consolation, but . . .” A strange look crosses Hari’s face, and he trails off.
“But what?”
“Someone did end up creating a virtual platform for autoimmune care. Sage is in the process of establishing an employer partnership right now.”
Meera’s blood runs cold. “Your company is working with AutoInTune?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“I have, unfortunately.” She digs her fingernails into her hand. She must control her anger, at least until she gets home. Hari just won’t understand.
And luckily, her ex doesn’t seem to notice the shift. “Well, I’m always here if you need help getting unstuck.” Lowering his voice again, he adds, “Or if you want to tell me what’s really going on here.”
Meera ignores this last part. “I appreciate it. And I appreciate you helping me out with Gracie until I get things resolved.”
“Want to stay for dinner? Jessica will be here soon. We’re making black bean burgers.”
I’d rather die, Meera thinks. She says thanks, but no thanks and gives Hari a friendly, perfunctory hug. Then she heads to Gracie’s room, where she finds her daughter performing “Popular” for the mirror above her dresser.
“Did Dad say he’s making black bean burgers for dinner?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Gracie sticks out her tongue. “Yuck.”
Meera squats down and wraps her arms around her. “I hear they taste just like real burgers if you put enough ketchup on them. And hold your nose when you take a bite.”
Her daughter pulls back and gives her a serious look. “You’ll come back for me soon?”
“Cross my heart,” Meera says. “As soon as I get things straightened out.”
“You mean once that lady stops following us?”
For a second time that night, Meera’s stomach tightens like a fist. “Did you see her?”
“No. I overheard you on the phone with Aunt Talia.” Gracie lowers her eyes. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Meera knows for sure now that she’s making the right decision, leaving her daughter here.
“You’ll be careful?”
Meera touches her finger to Gracie’s perfect button nose. “You don’t worry about me. I’m the mom. Let me worry about you.”
“’Kay.”
As she does every time they part, Meera says, “You’ll be the last person I see when I close my eyes.”
“And you’ll be the first person I think about when I wake up,” Gracie finishes.
But that night, as she lies restless in bed—her lights off, her windows locked, her curtains drawn, her phone in her hand—Gracie’s face isn’t what she sees.
Instead, she sees Townsend’s, with his fastidious coif and smug fucking grin.
Even the generous glass of wine she had before bed can’t dull her rage, which has been brewing since Hari mentioned her start-up idea in his kitchen.
Because the truth is this: Townsend stole her start-up idea to create AutoInTune, and she let him get away with it.
And every time she’s reminded, she feels angry enough to lose all control.