“Who wouldn’t?”
“True. But I think there’s someone else you like more than me. Or at least you did.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“And now? You’re not going to let that article change your feelings, are you?”
“My feelings?” It came out a sob. “Zion, he was just using me. Didn’t you read the paper? He strings girls along, letting them think he loves them. And then he dumps them. And I’m one of those girls. Lord. I’m so stupid.” Tears welled up in my eyes for the second time that day.
Zion went into the bathroom and brought me a wad of tissue paper. “Did we read the same article?”
I wiped my eyes and sniffed. “Why?”
He resettled himself beside me and squeezed my knee. “Yeah, he’s been with a string of women. You already knew that. And those relationships all ended. You already knew that, too. And those women are now talking about it to the media. All factual.”
Every word he said hurt, but I took a deep breath, interested to hear how he’d spin this nightmare. “Go on.”
“At least two of those girls were groupies. They sort of advertise a no-strings-attached arrangement, you know? You don’t know what Micah may have promised them. Probably nothing. They got exactly what they wanted from him. You notice none of the girls who moved on to a bigger rock star were interviewed? Why not? Why only the couple who are no longer featured in any gossip stories?”
He made a little sense, but I wasn’t convinced. “So what? So they’re bitter. That doesn’t exonerate him at all. How can I know he isn’t going to have his fun with me and then drop me, too? Look at Victoria Sedgwick. She was with one of Adam’s band members last time I checked. And she claims Micah was in love with her. How am I any different?”
“She said she was in love with Micah and that shethoughthe loved her. Doesn’t mean he did. And come on. Victoria Sedgwick is the biggest hanger-on. You don’t know if she’s even still with that band member. If she is, I wouldn’t doubt she’s trying to work her way up to Adam himself.”
I snorted. As if anyone would get Adam to look away from Eden.
And then I remembered what Eden had said about the way Micah looked at me. And how he’d never brought a girl home. And how he’d never said he loved any of those girls.
My phone rang again. I reached into my pocketbook, hoping despite my misgivings that it would be Micah. But when I saw the incoming call was from my dad, I hit Ignore and threw the phone onto the coffee table. I couldn’t deal with a lecture from him on top of everything else. I couldn’t think of anything he could do but make me feel worse.
It pissed me off that just by calling, he’d already said everything to me. I knew he’d tell me to think of the shame I was bringing to him and to my family. He’d tell me to change my behavior and stop being seen with someone who disgraced me. And a small part of me wanted to pick up the phone and call him to tell him it was over with Micah so I could hear him say, “Nalla.Good,” as if I’d done something right for a change. And then maybe he’d be proud and accept me again.
But I was thirty-three, and he’d stopped pretending to be my dad half my life ago. He couldn’t tell me how to live my life or who I could love. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake as him.
Then I thought, maybe I knew what he’d say to me, but he needed to hear what I had to say to him. I grabbed my phone and hit the call button. As I listened to the weird ringing, I realized it must have been past ten p.m. his time. How was he even hearing this story already?
The phone clicked through. “Anushka, baby doll.” I hadn’t heard his voice in a couple of months, and it always took me by surprise. Even when he was angry with me, he always moderated his tone, sounding warm and comforting. The main problem with my dad wasn’t how he treated me. But it was easier to pretend he was a horrible person than to admit that I still hadn’t forgiven him for never being there.
“You called?”
“Yes. I am calling you to talk about what is happening with this boy.” His English had been nearly flawless, though accented, after his years living with my mom. He’d reverted to the heavier Indian accent, but it was evident he hadn’t spent much time thinking in English lately. His singsong intonation sounded more like his family than him. He’d fully assimilated into his home culture. What would he do with a daughter like me?
“There’s nothing to discuss. It’s a tabloid article. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He said something in rapid Malayalam, and a woman’s voice nattered in the background. “Anika, people, they know you are a Namputiri. They read this article, and they will see it as a reflection on my family. I will hear about this tomorrow.”
I regretted calling. “Dad, you don’t get to have this both ways. You don’t get to make me a part of your family only when I’m bringing shame down on you. If you wanted me in your family, you had that choice years ago. And you left.”
Zion walked behind me and rubbed my shoulders. I was grateful for his presence in my life. Even though he was my age, he’d been more of a father to me than this man on the other end of the phone. He’d looked out for me, celebrating my victories and commiserating during my failures. He’d advised me and fed me and housed me and literally saved my life.
My dad started to speak again, but I didn’t need to hear anything he said. Even if he said he was wrong, that he’d made a mistake years ago or only today, I didn’t care. I didn’t need his recognition anymore. In a weird way, more than anything Zion had said, it was my dad’s disapproval that led me to conclude that I needed to give Micah a chance to fight his corner. I always did like to play devil’s advocate.
“Dad, I have to go. There’s someone I need to talk to.” I hung up and stood. “Zion, I’m going for a walk.”
I walked to the subway and took the G train south to Park Slope. I didn’t know if Micah would still be home, but I wanted to talk to him face-to-face. There was too much potential for misunderstanding.
When I turned up his street, I immediately spied a cameraman sitting on the lowest step in front of his door. Another reporter leaned against a tree across the street. I wheeled around before they saw me.
I doubled back to the coffee shop on the corner and ordered hot tea. At a table near the far wall, I stared at my phone, trying to decide who to contact first. Micah or Eden. Neither one had tried to reach me. The article had only been out a few hours. Maybe they hadn’t seen it. Or maybe they were trying to figure out what they were going to do about it.
