Chapter 9

Yelp review—The Red Hibiscus, posted 3:37 PM, deleted 3:40 PM, screenshot preserved in Akila’s camera roll under the album title “EVIDENCE”:

★★★★★

okay so I came here with my BOSS (who I have an insane crush on, long story, involves a giant stuffed panda, genuinely don’t ask) and she told me she was OVERWHELMED BY HOW BEAUTIFUL I LOOKED. just. casually. as a statement of fact. like reading out the weather. like sworn testimony. sky is blue, water is wet, you overwhelm me, anyway—

and then OUTSIDE after we shared a cigarette (which is basically kissing????) she leaned in SO close and I thought she was going to and she DIDN’T but she LOOKED at me like she WANTED to and she called me unbearable and it sounded like a love confession and I am going to need to be airlifted somewhere cold and dark for one thousand years.

the mango lassi was incredible. 10/10.

p.s. if you’re reading this, Roman: no you’re not. very common name. don’t flatter yourself.

p.p.s. please.

***

Tomorrow night? 

I couldn’t stop staring at Aleena’s text. It had been five minutes. I had stared it for nearly fifteen yesterday, when I’d first gotten it. But I still hadn’t replied and it was Wednesday morning and she’d followed up with: Kaalia? 

I had to answer. I couldn’t ignore her forever. 

Can we call? I typed back. 

My phone lit up with an incoming call notification almost immediately. 

“Hello?” Aleena’s sweet, breathy voice filled my ear. I imagined her walking on the sidewalk, her hair swirling around her beautiful face. Roman and I were never going to happen—why couldn’t I get over it and just like her, for God’s sake? 

“Hi,” I said. “Aleena . . .” 

“You wanted to talk?” 

I had to do it. But I was going to take the cowardly way out. “My boss asked me on a last minute trip to India to sign a book deal. I’ll probably be out of the country for at least a few weeks. I don’t want to, um, hold you back or anything. I think we should . . . I think it’s best if we stop seeing each other.” 

“Are you trying break things off with me?” 

“I’m just—I don’t think it’ll work. I’ll be gone for so long and I don’t want you to wait—” 

“I would wait for you, Kaalia.” 

She was beautiful, kind, and loyal. Perfect girlfriend material. 

The lack of hesitation made me freeze. I hadn’t expected her to put up a fight. “I—I can’t—it’s not—” 

“Let me take you out tonight,” Aleena said. “One last time. If you don’t like me, you can end it. But let us have tonight, at least.” 

I was sitting, but I could feel my knees weaken. I didn’t have the strength to protest any longer. What if I was wrong for ending things with her prematurely? Maybe it was better to wait. Maybe tonight would change things.

“Okay,” I whispered into the phone. 

“Okay?” Aleena repeated. I could hear the smile in her voice. 

Despite myself, I smiled a little too. “Okay.” 

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” she promised. “Text me your address.” 

As soon as I lowered the phone from my ear, I noticed two things: Layli standing at my door, mid-knock. And second, through the glass wall, far behind her, I caught Roman looking at me from Moya’s desk.

“That better have been your sister, mother, or grandmother,” Layli said, “because I know you weren’t smiling like that for a woman that’s not Roman.” 

I’d told her and Iseul yesterday about our time at the restaurant. Both had instantly been reassured Roman wouldn’t fire me and immediately called their bets back on. Not only that, they’d made an additional bet that something would happen between us in India. (“You’re insane! She’s my boss—something can never happen!” was met with only laughter and more bets, like: “Bet they’re going to kiss in a summer monsoon.”)

“It’s none of your business,” I said now. But the fight had left my tone. I just sounded tired. “I tried to end things with her, alright? She said to let her have one more chance before breaking it off. I’m going out with her tonight.” 

“Do you know much money Iseul and I have on—” Layli was hissing. Then we both noticed Roman walking up behind her at the same moment. She schooled her face into perfect politeness. “Oh, Empress, how nice to see you. Oh, you wanted to speak to Kaalia? Pass right by me. I was just asking her if she was seeing someone.” 

“How many times have I told you not to call me Empress?” Roman said, rolling her eyes. “I am not an imperial power.” 

“It’s the only title that feels as mystical and magical as you deserve.” Layli shot me an eyes-narrowed-don’t-screw-this-up look as she backed away. “Bye, Kaalia. Bye, Empress. You might not be an imperial power but you sure have extracted my heart.” 

“Yeah, thanks, Layli.” Roman stepped into my office. We were alone—but not so alone that Layli was out of earshot as she asked, seemingly casually, “Well, are you?” 

“What?”

“Seeing anyone.” In comparison to Roman’s nonchalance yesterday, this felt like a weak imitation. A performance.

Behind her, Layli—moving at a snail’s pace probably to better eavesdrop—clapped her hand silently over her mouth. She seemed to be fighting celebratory shouts. I wanted to roll my eyes at her too.

Roman was looking at me with a face I’d only seen glimmers of. Was it—could this be—jealousy? It was hard to believe someone so perfect could be jealous. She looked especially, heartbreakingly perfect today. She was wearing big gold hoop earrings; her ears were detailed lavishly with several other gold piercings: flowers that curled in her conch, teardrops that nestled into the crook of her cartilage. Her dangly gold nose ring caught the light, glinting, and a ring flush snugly on her bottom lip. Frustratingly, it made her mouth look even more enticing. Even her hair had small, dainty cuffs of gold. She looked like the most magical, badass fictional character—and I was an English literature lover, I had read thousands of books—come to life.

Somehow, I was supposed to be able to look at her and form coherent thoughts. 

“No,” I lied. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

I remembered she had seen me on the phone, smiling faintly. I didn’t understand why I had become so secretive about the possibility of my being with another woman. It was like my brain subconsciously wanted her to know I was available. 

“It was my grandma,” I continued. 

“Oh.” Roman nodded like this had cleared things up. “Which one?” 

“Um, Sri Lankan.”

Roman nodded again. Things had become incredibly tense. It felt like she knew I was lying.

“You have a lip ring.” Changing the subject—foolproof. “I’ve never seen it.” 

“I don’t wear it often,” she said. “I got it pierced when I was sixteen. Mostly I leave it out. I’m not sure it looks good on me.” 

“Good?” I was too startled by this confession to censor myself. “You look so beautiful—and so—so cool. If I were you, I would wear it everyday. The only reason I’d take it off was if seducing every woman who came into contact with me got tiring.”

Roman’s cheeks darkened slightly. She softly, subconsciously fingered the lip ring. Drawing my eyes towards her full lips, split slightly by that ring, so round and full. I was bursting, aching to take that lower lip into my mouth and gently tug on it, bite it, feel the gold beneath my teeth. I’d never kissed someone with a lip piercing before. I suddenly needed to rectify that. 

In an attempt to calm my racing thoughts, I looked down. Bad idea. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top, pastel blue, and a very low-rise, long skirt with beads and lace sashes dangling from it. Her belly button was pierced too. A gold butterfly dangled on her lower stomach. The sight of that sliver of skin was too much for me. I’d never seen it before. If I ever got the chance to undress her, I’d kiss that skin. Trace my way lower. Lick her—

Oh God. This was Code Red, Level 4, Magnitude 9 insane territory. I had to do something.

“I’ll wear it more often then,” Roman said. Her smile was soft but wicked at the same time. I wondered if she could tell the power she held over me. “I came in here, anyway, because I wanted to ask if you could help me pack my things in my office for our trip.”

“Sure.” I would say yes to anything she asked me. 

“Come meet me in five minutes then,” she said. Her teeth caught her lower lip, gently rolling that thick gold ring. I fought a horde of evil spirits not to begin daydreaming about kissing her again. 

I gave myself a very silent, very motionless pep talk (remembering the glass walls) before leaving my office.

Roman is your boss. Roman is paying you very good money to do work for her, not daydream about her. Roman needs your help dismantling colonialism and capitalism. Roman does not need you to be salivating over her every minute of the day. 

This pep talk did not help in the slightest. Still, it was better than letting my thoughts roam to her mouth, her skin, her hips . . . Roman is your boss. I restarted the mantra in my head and left my office.

Focused on reciting these lines, I didn’t notice Jazmine grabbing my arm until I’d been yanked down to her eye-level. She was spinning on a rolling chair in her cubicle. The air here smelled sweet and synthetic. She was probably high. 

But she looked surprisingly lucid as she clutched me. 

“I know why Layli and Iseul changed their bet,” she hissed. Her large, dark eyes were wide. “I know it’s because they think she likes you. But I’m telling you it doesn’t matter if she does. I’ve been here the longest. Roman has a type. And you’re exactly it.” 

“Doesn’t that make their bet better, if I’m her type?” In my imagination, I was doing cartwheels and back flips. Jazmine thought I was Roman’s type. There was a possibility Roman found me attractive too. 

Jazmine seemed to sense my mind was far away, and not in the right direction at all.

“No,” Jazmine said. Her knuckles turned white on the collar of my blouse. “Because all her relationships end terribly and destructively, for both parties. It’s like a match. Bright for a little bit but quickly extinguished. Do not get involved with her. Not if you want to keep your job. And your sanity intact.” 

“Are you her ex or something?” 

“No!” Jazmine’s face flushed red. “As desi girl to desi girl, I’m giving you a warning. You don’t get it. You’re just her type. Pretty, brown-skinned, doe eyes, wickedly smart and creative at the same time. She is going to eat you alive.”

“Eat me?” I couldn’t help the amusement from seeping in. “Eat me in what way?”

“Yes, eat you! Listen to me! Every last one of her ex’s has said that she is incapable of loving anything more than she loves work. You are either going to quit heartbroken, or come to work every single day heartbroken and have to watch her fall in love with a newer, smarter woman.” 

“I’m kind of narcissistic about my intelligence, so that was kind of hurtful,” I remarked. Jazmine didn’t know Roman had told me I was equally brilliant as her. And nobody was smarter than Roman in my eyes. I couldn’t help grinning.

Jazmine let go of me. She looked almost disgusted. “Fine, fall in love. She might return your attention. But don’t kid yourself. She won’t let you love her, not for long. That’s just how she is.” She shook her head mutely and inhaled from a colourful pen. Smoke whistled from between her closed lips. Then she finally said, “You’re not the first. Won’t be the last. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A thousand retorts jumped to my tongue. Since when do you care so much about me anyway—you’re literally betting I’ll be gone by June. Or: How are you in contact with Roman’s ex’s anyway—really, every last one of them said that? 

But I only stared as she slouched back down into her giant chair, and then I went to Roman’s office.

Roman’s office was the only one with curtains over the glass walls, for privacy. 

“It’s because I make some really intense, embarrassing faces when I’m working and there’s a close deadline,” Roman explained when I entered. “I also have this habit of sitting in super weird positions. Like I’ve crouched on top of my desk balancing my laptop on my knees. It’s not the most flattering pose.” 

I laughed, but it felt a bit hollow after my conversation with Jazmine. I had brushed off her words dismissively, but they lingered still as I looked at Roman’s face. Knelt down beside her to help her pack books into boxes. You’re not the first. Won’t be the last. 

What did I really know about Roman’s past lovers, except that one of them had been a geneticist? Did I fit a perfect mold of Roman’s type? Was I going to end up like her long string of past girlfriends, devastatingly heartbroken? 

I was only crushing on her—we hadn’t even kissed, hadn’t gone on a real date, nothing—and if she were to tell me she wanted to never see me again now, I’d be devastatingly heartbroken. How much worse would it hurt if something actually did happen between us in India? 

I didn’t have time to think about that because I learned something else: Roman was a control freak.

Not a normal I-like-things-clean control freak. A real every-single-detail-planned-of-the-entire-trip control freak. She gave me a terrifying, minute rundown of exactly how things were going to go in India from the moment we got there.

“Do you have our bathroom schedule colour-coded too?”

Roman looked defensive. “I made a shared Google Calendar, yes.”

I tried not to laugh. “Roman. We’re two people. People are messy.”

“Not me,” Roman said. “I can’t stand messy.”

That is going to be a problem, I thought.   

“What are we packing, by the way?” I asked. She had been passing me book after book. bell hooks’ Teaching to Transgress, Richard Dyer’s White, Sylvia Wynter’s Unsettling the Coloniality of Being/Power/Truth/Freedom. I had no idea why she’d need to pack all these books. 

“Books,” she said. 

“Yes, I know, books. What I mean is why. Aren’t we going to India to read poetry? Why more books? I’m sure you could find these all online anyway.” 

“I hate reading online,” Roman said, passing me another book. Mapping South Asian Diaspora. “My books are like my babies. I can’t neglect my babies.” 

“Your luggage is going to be way heavier than fifty pounds. It’s going to cost you a fortune.” 

Roman winked at me. “Luckily, I have a fortune.” 

I only stared at her, mouth agape, George Elliot Clarke’s Canticles forgotten in my hand. “You’re crazy.” 

“You kind of have to be to run a business.” She bit her lip, teeth catching on that gold ring. The faint click sound was so seductive I forgot our conversation.

“So we’re meeting at the JFK airport on Sunday?” I asked. Changing the subject again. 

“Yes, unless you’d like me to pick you up myself. I’ll have a car sent for you Sunday morning at nine.” 

“No, no—that’s fine. You don’t have to—a car is good.” My voice had become weak. I tucked Clarke’s poetry book into the box. 

When I looked up, she was leaning over me, putting a book in herself. Her smirk smelled like peppermint and something sweet. Her cheek nearly brushed mine, the air radiating from her skin warm, soft. I needed more. More of her. 

“What, I’m not fast enough?” I tried to joke. 

“No, you’re not,” Roman said. “But that’s not why I asked you to help me.” 

How could something so casual be filled with such meaning? Or was I just too far gone in my delusional crush on her? 

Maybe going out with Aleena tonight would be good for me. 

“Why did you ask me to help you then?” 

She pulled back, but she was still so close to me I could see the lip gloss that had smeared her lip ring. “Because you’re my assistant editor, of course.”

I had secretly been hoping she would confess her love for me right then. I forced myself to keep the disappointment off my face. 

“And I couldn’t do this without you,” she added. She glanced down—to my lips. She looked like she wanted to kiss me. Her voice had become soft and breathy, hitched, a little too high.

I leaned forward slightly. Her lip gloss would be sweet and sticky. I could cup her sharp jaw in my palm. Her mouth would melt against mine. The curtains were up right now. Nobody would see. Nobody had to know.

“What, packing?” I asked. 

We were only a breath apart. An inch—no, a centimetre—a millimetre—and we would be kissing. The gifted, brilliant, beautiful Roman Alvarez, and her assistant editor. Right in her office in broad daylight. A breach of so many ethical clauses, maybe, but none that I could think of right now. 

“This,” she said. She put her hand on my shoulder—stopping me from moving any closer. “Everything. I think . . . I think you’re what I’ve been looking for.” 

That felt like a confession, something whispered at a dark altar in utter secrecy, repentance rolling off the tongue, guilt burrowed in the knees. Not something a boss would say to her assistant.

She used my hand on her shoulder to brace herself. She rose to her feet. The distance between us yawned open. An abyss, a canyon, a world’s breadth apart.

“Thank you for helping me pack, Kaalia,” she said. The words themselves sounded far away, dream-thick, as if she were speaking through an ocean. But—unmistakable: “I hope your date goes well tonight.” 

***

Hi everyone! Hope you liked this one <3 I missed you so much and I hope you’re all loving this book so far.

Love,
Meera