“Sana, tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen?” His voice is gentle. Caring.
I have no doubt that Miles really does care about me. Like my dad really cared for my mom once. But it’s not enough. They both lied.
I shake his hand off my back and glare at him. “Why are you pretending you don’t know what’s wrong, when all along youknewthat developers were going to destroy half this street?”
“What? What are you talking about? What developers?”
“The ones you took aninternshipwith.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. I turn away. I can’t look at him. Because I’m afraid that one look at those big, concerned eyes is all it will take for me to forget everything.
So I stare at the park. There are wispy white dandelions gone to seed all over the patch of grass where there will be a stage in three days, just like I wanted. I look at the path where the flower heart is going to be. I look at the brick wall where the mural full of tiles will be installed. Where people will permanently declare their love for someone. Only, will it even be permanent? Or will that be destroyed too?
What was the point of even doing any of this?
“I’m sorry,” Miles says. “I was going to tell you that I got a job. It happened so fast.”
“When were you going to tell me, Miles? Were you going to tell me when I found out that my mother sold herbuildingto them and is moving the flower shop? Or…” My voice cracks. I can’t help it. “Or were you going to tell me when I moved away from Love Street?”
“Your mothersoldher building?” There’s shock in his voice, which I don’t get. If he works there, shouldn’t he have known that?
“Yes, to the condo developers thatyouwork for. They are going to make a killing—now that the community is getting noticed because of all our hard work for the festival. Isn’t that why they hired you? Because you increased their profits?” There’s venom in my voice. I look to see his reaction.
Miles looks like he doesn’t know what to say. He told me before that things in this city needed to change to be fair for everyone, because right now the city is failing the most marginalized. He said he wants the city tothrive. But now I wonder if he’s including thecorporationswho will thrive andprofitoff all the work people do to make communities special.
I shake my head. “You’re the one who said it,” I say, waving my hand toward the shops on Love Street. “All this should be higher-density housing. And now it’s happening. Developers and chain stores aresalivatingto get here. The people who live here now are never going to be able to afford brand-new condos, and the developers are going to make a killing. You and my father were twirling your mustaches the whole time, weren’t you?”
He recoils. “Your father? I…”
“Yes, Iknowthat my father referred you for that job.I cannot believe you would keep that from me. Just like you kept the fact that you were going to have dinner at his house from me.” Why did I ever think I could trust him when hestillhasn’t told me about that dinner? I shake my head. “I’m going home. It’s been a long day, and I have to feed my cat.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t—Sana, please give me a chance to explain! I only accepted the internship today! I was going to tell you tonight. And—”
“Jobs don’t fall out of the sky unannounced, Miles! How long ago did myfatherrefer you for a position at his buddy’s company?”
He doesn’t respond to that.
“Okay, let’s make the question a bit easier for you to understand. How andwhendid my father refer you for a job?”
He sighs. “After High Park, Sarina and I were talking on the way home. I told her I was having trouble getting an internship and said I was hoping to work either in the public sector or with an ethical developer. She said her stepfather knew a lot of developers, so when the car dropped her off, I went in and met him. I talked to him for about ten minutes about what kind of place I want to work at. He said he would ask around and wrote the names of a few developers he thought would be a good fit and—”
“And he put the list into one of his envelopes?” I ask. Miles looks confused. “I saw one of my father’s envelopes in your bag. I thought Sarina gave it to you.” Miles wisely doesn’t say anything about me snooping in his things. “My father also once said you were going to join them for dinner at his house.” I should have asked Miles about thatright away. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe a part of me was afraid of this from the beginning. I realize something else. That man—Ashwin—said when Dad referred Miles, he said Miles was a friend of his daughter’s. But Dad was talking aboutSarina, not me.
Miles nods. “He invited me that day to come to dinner the next Friday. I said yes because… I mean… he was helping me find a job, and I needed a job. But then I canceled because I went to your prom that night. We didn’t reschedule. He emailed me a few days later saying a developer friend of his had an intern drop out, and I should call him.” Miles looks at me. “That’s all that happened. I didn’t speak to your dad again. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be upset. I know he’s not your favorite person… but I was desperate. Sana, Ineededa paid internship, or I’d have to move back home with my family. I can’t do that.”
I close my eyes. Moving back home would be torture for him. Exactly like it would be hard for me to move in with my dad and Noureen. I exhale, staring in front of me. I don’t even know what to say.
“Honestly, Sana,” he says. “I didn’t know they wanted to buildhereon Love Street.”
I open my eyes, but I still don’t look at him. Does it matter if he knew? He still kept this job from me. Just like Mom kept the fact that she was selling the building from me. Just like Dad kept all of this from me. Plus, Jenn, Sarina, and Noureen… all keeping poor naive Sana in the dark.
I stand. All my sadness has turned to anger. “I’ve heard enough. You and I aredone.”
I walk out of LOL Park without looking back. Here’s hoping that the festival on Saturday will be the last time I see Miles Desai.
When I get to the apartment, there’s a note from my mother on the table that says she made some lentil soup and it’s in the slow cooker. She must have left it before Jenn called her to tell her I was crying in the store.
This is why it’s so hard for me to be mad at Mom for what she did. She’s sometimes distant and needs to stop treating me like a baby, but she’s mymom. She hates cooking, and she still made me soup. She takes care of me. She makes sure that I’m safe and okay. And she’s doing the best she can.
