Chapter 7

From an unpublished essay by Kaalia Amoretta, never submitted, found in a document titled “do not open (open this)”:

My sister used to say the cruelest thing colonialism did was not steal our land or our language or our gods—though it did all of those things—but that it taught us to want things quietly. In the footnotes of someone else’s story. Apologetically, as if desire itself were an imposition.

She was seventeen when she said this. She had just finished bell hooks for the first time and had the look she always got when she found something true: like the top of her head might come off.

Kaalia, she said. I want you to want things loudly. I want you to embarrass yourself wanting them.

She said this to me the same week she wrote me a story about a girl who fell in love with the moon and refused to apologize for it. The moon came down just to see what all the fuss was about.

She was seventeen. She was already the best writer I have ever read.

I’m trying, Malini.

***

Louise made me tea while I screamed into Kiko the panda bear’s fluffy belly. Akila and Khajee, sitting on my bed, watched me impatiently. 

“So what you’re saying is Akila and I need to pre-order sarees for your wedding in India,” Khajee said once I’d finished screaming. “And Louise needs a sherwani.”

“You’re not helping,” I groaned.

Akila pulled my blankets more snugly around herself. She held a pillow to her chest. “What’s not helping is that Roman invited you to lunch tomorrow alone, told you to wear something pretty, and also said she never met anyone as brilliant as you except maybe herself. And now you’re going to India with her for three months.”  

“She’s my boss. There’s no way. She can’t. We can’t.” 

“You’ll be surrounded by clear blue waters, mango trees, tropical paradise . . . and poetry. I’m not that into the poetry thing, but I imagine since you’re a literature nerd it will be heaven for you.”

“Watch it,” Louise said, returning to the room with a steaming mug of chamomile tea. “Literature nerd here too.” She gently passed me the mug and added, “Yeah, that would be heaven.” 

“You’re not helping either.” 

Louise settled into my bed, tucking herself into the blankets with Khajee and Akila. She grabbed one of my flower-shaped pillows and squeezed it. “I wish that was me. I’ve been talking to this woman from Hinge for two weeks and I’m not sure she’s read a book for fun since high school.”

“You’re so pretentious,” Akila said. “At least you weren’t dating a guy for three months only for him to call you exotic and then reveal he was a Trump supporter.”

Khajee, Louise, and I all viscerally winced, not for the first time. There was no beating that. Not even my ex-girlfriend’s attempt to recreate the Bachelorette show came close to being a human-rights-hating man.

“On the bright side,” Khajee said, “though maybe not as bright as going on an all-expenses-paid, poetry-reading, tropical-paradise vacation with my soon-to-be lesbian lover, I started talking to someone.” 

This immediately resulted in a flurry of interrogation-like questions. Including Akila and I grabbing each of Khajee’s arms and pinning her down for Louise to tickle her. But even under intense torture Khajee didn’t balk. 

“I can’t tell you,” she gasped, tears in her eyes, giggling. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

“Is it a celebrity or something? Why on earth can’t you tell us?”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t!” 

Louise looked the most hurt of all of us. Her short, boyish hair was disheveled. A pink flush lit her high cheekbones. Her and Khajee had become closer friends recently, according to Akila. Louise had even started taking Khajee to the gym with her.

As much as I wanted to turn this into a hostage situation and CIA-style interrogate Khajee, I had other things worrying me. Like packing. 

“What do I wear?” 

The three of them turned toward me. It was good timing. Louise and Khajee had just started to eye each other with budding animosity. Their hands were clenched on each other’s arms in a subtle tug-of-war battle to stop the other from what I assumed was violent tickling.

Akila seemed to sense this tension too. She threw my blankets off, jumped out of bed, and immediately flung my closet door open. She gathered as many of my clothes into her arms as possible, unracking them from the hangers, and tossed everything to the floor. Of this mess, she plucked a deep-cut brown dress. A gift from my ex I’d never worn. 

I immediately started to refuse, but Akila was already holding up a hand to silence me. 

“I know who gave it to you, but it’s pretty and it deserves to be worn. Even just this once.” 

The dress unfolded in a mesmerizing sweep, revealing the soft, floaty hem. The refusal drained from my body. It was a beautiful dress. Roman never had to know it was from my ex. 

What was I thinking? It didn’t matter if it was from my ex. Roman and I weren’t dating. She had no right to be upset about anything if she did find out. 

Or maybe even that was too much wishful thinking. If she did find out, Roman probably wouldn’t care enough to be upset. Because, unlike everyone seemed to believe, we weren’t a thing. 

Khajee and Louise stayed on the bed behind me, while I sat with Akila on the floor for the next few hours, nodding or abruptly shaking my head at the clothes she selected for my trip to India.

I lived far enough from the city that when I invited my friends over, it was a given they would be sleeping over. I didn’t have a second bed but I did have a huge couch I’d gotten from Facebook marketplace. Khajee and Louise usually slept on that in the living room while Akila and I shared my bed.

By the time we were done packing (several scandalous bikinis included), Khajee and Louise were yawning like cats and watching a horror movie together on my iPad. I led them to the living room like they were my children—I might as well have been holding their hands at that point—and got them settled.

Then I joined Akila in the bathroom. She was brushing her teeth. She grinned at me with a foamy mouth and nodded down—she’d already put toothpaste on my toothbrush. With friends like this, who needed a girlfriend? 

Even if that girlfriend was Roman. Right?

Akila drove me to Bloom Press the next morning on her way to work. She hugged me tightly and whispered, “You look beautiful. Now go seduce the hell out of your boss.” 

I’d decided to wear ballet flats and a knitted shrug cardigan with the brown dress. It wasn’t too fancy or anything—I’d seen Camilla wear a full-length gown to work before. But I felt especially self-conscious, knowing the reason I was wearing this was purely because of Roman and her demand yesterday: wear something pretty. 

I cursed myself as I walked in. I should have worn something deliberately ugly. I should have undermined her authority. Nobody should tell me how to dress. Especially not my boss. Maybe I could switch clothes with Layli or Iseul. They would understand. Surely they would understand. 

Roman was sitting on Jazmine’s desk, near the entrance. The moment the door shut behind me, chiming, her eyes fell on me. 

A pencil tumbled out of her fingers. She didn’t seem to notice. She stared at me, full lips slightly parted, dark eyes bright and unknowable. 

What was she thinking? 

I gathered my courage and kept walking. I nodded hello to her and Jazmine on the way to my office. Then, as soon as I closed my office door, I sank back against it until I was sitting on the floor. 

A small tap-tap on the window startled me. I swiveled around. Iseul was peering in. She mouthed, “You know the walls are glass, right?”

“Yes,” I whisper-shouted back sourly. But from where Roman was sitting, she couldn’t see me. I didn’t care what everyone else thought.

Iseul nudged the glass door open, forcing me to scoot further into my office. 

“Today’s your lunch with Roman!” she sang. “And . . . wow, you look great. Wait, are you wearing that just for the lunch?” 

Yes. “No!” 

“Sure, whatever you say. Well, don’t blow it. I still have money on you. And let me know if she asks you out on another date!” 

I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. I hadn’t told anybody yesterday—I’d been numb with shock for hours after lunchtime had passed. 

“She asked me to go to India with her,” I mumbled. Barely a breath. 

“What?” 

“She asked me to go to India with her,” I repeated. Louder: “Does that count as another date?” 

Iseul’s eyes widened. She shut my office door so fast it clanged. 

“Wait, you’re going on that India trip with her?”

“She asked me yesterday—but yes—I mean, I am—”

She grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “You have no idea what this means. You’re practically married at this point. It’s an office romance. Oh, my God.” She opened the door back up a sliver and whisper-shouted, “Layli!” 

In moments, Layli was in my office too and the door had been shut again. 

“She’s going to India with Roman,” Iseul explained.

Layli had the same reaction: her eyes snapped open like a cartoon. She clasped my face in her hands and peered deeply into my soul. 

“We’re going to be bridesmaids at your wedding,” she said, like she was casting a spell on me. 

I ripped away from both her and Iseul. This was too much. “There’s no wedding. There’s no romance. Roman likes me as an employee.” My voice was rising against my will. My cheeks flushed. “And even if she did like me more than that, I wouldn’t say yes! She’s my boss! And she’s an unbearable one at that!” 

“The walls aren’t soundproof,” Iseul mumbled to me. That was when I noticed Roman standing outside. 

She pushed the door open, her expression blank. Deliberately or unconsciously? Had she heard what I’d just said? I’d practically just yelled to the whole office she was unbearable. Layli and Iseul seemed just as terrified as me.

But all Roman said was, “Any updates on the Angel’s Teeth manuscript?”

I shook my head mutely.

She closed the door and left.

Layli and Iseul glanced at me. Nobody spoke for at least a minute. My heart pounded loudly, stuttering to the syllables of unbearable, unbearable, unbearable. 

Then Iseul sighed. “Shouldn’t be long now.” 

“What? Until what?” 

She wasn’t looking at me anymore. Her and Layli shared the same sorrowful expression. “We lost the bet.” 

“I imagine you’ll be fired any day now,” Layli said, a breath later. “But hey, it was nice knowing you, Kaalia.”

*** 

Thoughts? Do you think it’s over for Roman and Kaalia? 

Love,
Meera