Chapter Twenty-Three Meera
Chapter Twenty-Three
Meera
Meera is angry, and not for any one reason or at any one person.
Her focus has simply been hijacked by pulsating, unrelenting resentment—at Townsend, at her failing body, at the fact that she cannot tuck her daughter in at night. Maybe even at Talia, for making her feel like she’s simultaneously doing too much and not nearly enough to help her.
Sitting at her desk, she tries to channel that fury into productivity, but it’s no use.
Her mind keeps slipping off her screen and out the door, hoping to find an answer for why Talia hasn’t arrived yet, and why Talia didn’t let her know she was running late, and why Meera spends more time worrying about Talia than her own kid.
Meera could probably use a hobby or a few more friends; she knows this. But she’s gotten herself too deep into this mess with Talia and Townsend and Amanda to back out now. She’s part of it, whether she likes it or not.
Her computer chirps, signaling a new email.
Meera opens it, eager to busy herself, but her heart sinks as she reads the message.
It’s a follow-up from the employee seminar about corporate policy a few weeks back, during which Cuff announced an impending security audit.
From the audit, it seems the company determined that some customer reports aren’t getting through to the right teams. So now, they’re going to conduct a comprehensive examination of Cuff’s systems and practices to mitigate potential risks, such as privacy breaches, malicious activity, identity theft . . .
This isn’t about you, Meera assures herself, closing the email. All she did was look at a few messages; she didn’t do anything wrong. And while she genuinely believes this to be true, that doesn’t stop her palms from sweating.
Just as Meera starts to feel her anxiety overwhelm her, Talia flies through the door of the ML-team office, harried and panting.
Their coworkers barely glance up from their keyboards, but Meera immediately stands from her desk and leads Talia to the bathroom, sensing they need a private space to talk.
“What’s going on?” Meera asks. “Is it Amanda?”
“I don’t know.” Talia drops her bag to the tile floor and leans against the sink. “I don’t know who they were, but I’m pretty sure they were taking pictures of me.”
Using the same tone she always employs when Gracie is frustrated or upset, Meera says, “How about you start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”
“Okay.” Talia takes a deep breath. “I was leaving Jo’s this morning—”
“You got Jo’s this morning?” Meera doesn’t mean to interrupt but can’t help herself. “I would have met you there. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Talia gives her a strange look. “I didn’t realize I needed to.”
“Right.” The words hurt more than they should.
“Anyway. I was leaving Jo’s, and I saw this car with blacked-out windows parked next to mine. And as I was getting into my car, I could swear someone took a picture of me.”
“You think they were waiting for you?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Talia says. “I’m just . . .”
“Angry?” Meera wonders if her friend feels the way she does, like her overwhelming rage might come spilling out of her at any moment, burning everything in its path.
Talia shakes her head no. “I’m just tired.” Next to her on the counter, her phone vibrates, and they both look at it with apprehension, as though it has suddenly sprung to life. Cautiously, Talia picks it up and checks the screen.
“It’s not her, is it?”
“No.” Talia shows her the screen. “It’s you.” And she’s right—on the screen is Meera’s weekly performance-optimization email, identifying bottlenecks in the ML pipeline for Talia to tackle.
“Oh, right. I forgot I’d scheduled that to send at ten a.m. I didn’t want to bug you with it earlier because”—Meera shrugs and tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice—“I wasn’t sure where you were.”
Talia misses this dig. “It’s already ten? I’ve got to get to work.”
Meera waves her off. “I’ll be right behind you. I just have to pee first.”
She waits as Talia gathers up her bag and phone and pushes through the door.
Then she locks herself in a stall and sinks down onto the closed toilet seat, cradling her head in her hands.
It’s so tempting to fall apart right now, but she can’t allow it.
Stay strong, she tells herself. Gracie needs you. Talia needs you.
Heading back to the ML-team mod pod, Meera gives herself a pep talk: She’s going to get through her inbox, make it through the day, and not give Amanda another thought until she’s home and free to let her mind wander.
But on her way back to her desk, she spots Talia sitting motionless in front of her own computer, something clamped between her hands.
“What is that?” Meera asks. Then the stink hits her. She backs up, shielding her nose with both hands. “Jesus, Talia, it smells like death.”
This gets the attention of the whole ML team, who crowd around and watch as Talia opens her clasped hands to reveal the crumpled mess of fur and cartilage inside them.
Meera peers over to get a better look, hands still over her face. “Is that—?”
“It’s a bat,” Talia finishes for her. “A dead bat.”
Most of the team scatters then, dousing their hands in sanitizer and shouting warnings of rabies to Talia.
“They’re right, you know,” Meera says. “You’ll need to get the rabies vaccine.” Noticing that her friend still hasn’t moved, she approaches. It’s possible Talia is in shock. “Are you all right?”
“There’s a note.” Talia nods to her top desk drawer, which she has left open. “I found it under the bat. I haven’t read it yet.”
Meera snags a tissue from the box on Talia’s desk and reaches for the paper. “May I?”
Talia nods.
Grabbing just the tip of the note between her tissue-covered fingers, Meera reads the message out loud.
“‘Remember the night he took you to Congress Avenue Bridge to see the bats fly? Remember this instead: I’m going to kill all nice memories you two have together, and when I’m done, I’m going to kill you.
’” She drops the note, letting it flutter to the floor.
“Okay, this is fucked up, even for Amanda.”
“Don’t throw that away,” Talia says, gesturing at the letter. “We’ll need that for evidence.”
“And what about that?” Meera points to the carcass still held aloft in Talia’s hands. “How long do you think that thing has been in your drawer?”
“It wasn’t here yesterday, I know that. We would have smelled it.”
“Do you think . . . ?” Meera hesitates. “Could Amanda have snuck into the office overnight to plant it?”
“Is that even possible?”
Meera shrugs. “Probably. Should I grab a bag or something to . . . ?” Meera inclines her head to the bat. “You can’t keep holding that thing, Tal.”
“But we need to keep it for evidence.” Still her friend seems to be in some kind of trance. Meera needs to snap her out of it.
“Well, we can keep it in a garbage bag. I’m going to get one from the kitchen, you’re going to put the bat inside of it, and then you’re going to scrub the shit out of your hands.”
“And then what?”
“I will help.” The unexpected male voice makes both women jump. Meera whirls around to find Aarav the custodian, likely sent over by one of their coworkers.
“Aarav, hi.”
“Vanakkam, Meera,” he greets her warmly. Then he turns to Talia and gives her a shy nod. “Morning.”
“You’re not giving him the bat, are you?” Talia hisses in her ear.
“No, of course not,” Meera says back.
“Will you ask him?”
“Ask him what?”
“Whether it’s possible for someone to break into the building.”
Aarav looks at her curiously, waiting for a translation.
“How would he know that?” Meera asks.
“He’s here all the time,” says Talia. “He would know whether Amanda could have snuck in last night.”
Meera relents. “Fine.” In Tamil, she briefly explains the situation to Aarav, saying they think someone snuck into the office last night after closing and left something in Talia’s desk.
“I just want to know, is there any way for someone to get into the building overnight? You spend more time at this place than anyone—would it ever be possible for someone to trespass?”
“Absolutely not.” Aarav shakes his head firmly. “Not without a key card, no.”
“No?” His insistence surprises her. “Well, did you happen to see anyone unfamiliar in the office this morning?”
“No. You were the first person to arrive after me.”
“What did he say?” Talia asks.
Aarav turns to her and, in English, says, “No key card, no entry.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Aarav says, switching back to Tamil. “Someone would either have to steal a key card or know someone on the inside to help them.”
“What did he say?” Talia asks again.
“Nothing.” Meera watches as Talia deposits the bat into the plastic bag Aarav holds open for her. Then she smiles and nods at Aarav, dismissing him. “Now can you please go wash the disease off your hands?”
After work, Meera and Talia visit Goldie’s at the Austin Proper, because they both agree that a dead bat in a desk drawer calls for a drink or two.
With its rose-printed wallpaper and plush velvet seating, the space is an Instagram influencer’s dream, and cocktails are stupid expensive—Meera shouldn’t be spending twenty-six dollars on a truffle old-fashioned right now—but she orders one anyway.
This is where Talia wanted to go, and Meera wants to be a good sport.
Her friend has had a shitty day, after all—though you wouldn’t know it to look at her.
Talia seems strangely calm, really, as she repositions the mint-leaf garnish in her coupe glass before snapping a pic.
“You’ve been posting a lot more often on Instagram,” Meera says, an observation that comes out sounding more judgmental than she intends.
Talia doesn’t seem to notice. “Have I?” Eyes still glued to her phone, she adds, “Gracie would love this place. You should take her here for afternoon tea.”
“She would.” Meera’s heart hurts just thinking about Gracie.