“That you’d lie to my boss to trick me into meeting you here?”
“It wasn’t a lie,” he said. “Honestly, I’d love to support your work. And I have the resources to do so in a big way. I wasn’t kidding about being impressed. But I would never do it without your blessing. This conversation isn’t for me to vet you. It’s the reverse.”
Zia thought of Himmat, what it would mean to him if they could increase their headcount. They could expand the test program in West Bengal, lower the threshold for loan forgiveness. Jason would be able to make his fundraising quota, at least until the whole dance started again next year. Zia would… Zia would be able to keep doing what she’d been doing—pretending to scratch an itch when she was really picking a scab.
“You want to know the real reason I’m here,” said Tommy. “Well, I don’t know if I realized it until right now, but the reason I’m here is to apologize.” He stood, knocked on the tabletop. “My offer stands. Good to see you, León. Really. Have fun tonight.”
“You too,” said Zia. “And… I’ll consider it.”
There was that grin again.
“All a man can ask,” he said, and was gone.
Zia watched his retreating back, noticed how the crowd parted unconsciously to accommodate the supreme confidence of his gait, the precision with which he hewed to his own line.
High school was a long time ago. Sometimes, people changed. She had.
Hadn’t she?
+
5
+
“It’s a physical manifestation of the group chat,” said Li Jie.
“I prefer to think of the group chat as a digital instantiation of us,” said Selai.
“What’s the difference, really?” asked Daniela. “We contain multitudes.”
It was hard to believe. Zia, Aafreen, Galang, Kodjo, Selai, Daniela, Vachan, and Li Jie all in the same place at the same time. The band was getting back together, and Zia silently thanked the gods of red tape that the obstinate BSF officer hadn’t made her miss this. Then she silently thanked Himmat for pushing her to actually go when she finally had the chance.
“So this is what high school reunions are like,” said Kodjo, looking around at the campus from which they’d graduated a decade and a half ago. “Nicer venue than in the movies, but they nail the ambient level of social anxiety.”
The reception was staged in the tiered garden in front of the school. A repurposed thirteenth century château, the fortress now struggled to keep its elite students in rather than invaders out. Torches burned in brackets along the exterior walls and braziers smoldered throughout the garden, illuminating guests and setting in flickering firelight. Servers prowled with trays of hors d’oeuvres. A live chamber orchestra soared through Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. The drinks were appropriately strong, and Zia was sipping a rather excellent Old Fashioned.
“Hard to believe we spent four years here,” she said.
“Felt like a lifetime,” said Vachan.
“Feels like a lifetime ago,” said Aafreen.
“Sometimes, I wish I could go back in a time machine,” said Kodjo. “Then I remember how awful teenagers are to each other.” He grimaced. “And if Lucy is any indicator, it isn’t limited to teenagers.”
“Want to talk about it?” asked Zia tentatively.
Kodjo swallowed the rest of his gin and tonic. “She’s got a bulldog of a lawyer. They’re shooting for full custody, the house, everything.”
“For fuck’s sake,” said Vachan.
“But the boys,” said Kodjo, shaking his head. “I’m amazed at how calmly they’re dealing with it all, even if their classmates are at least as bad as ours were.”
“Kids are more resilient than we give them credit for,” said Li Jie.
“I mean, we survived, right?” said Aafreen, with a crooked grin that accentuated her almost painfully intense beauty.
“There’s that.” Kodjo chuckled. “But let’s not get caught up in my divorce proceedings. I spend enough time thinking about that as it is. Daniela, I hear rumors the new label you’re shepherding is really taking off.”
“Oh, nothing serious yet,” said Daniela.
“If three Grammys in one year isn’t serious for an indie, what is?” said Li Jie.
“Breakeven,” said Daniela. “You’re not truly independent until you’re profitable.”
“Spoken like a real artist,” said Vachan.
“Real artists hit the black,” said Daniela, the promptness of her response reminding Zia of the ever so brief period when Vachan and Daniela had dated.
“Amen,” said Selai.
“And they definitely wear leather jackets,” said Galang, tugging on Daniela’s sleeve with a wink. “Always patinated. Never distressed.”
“That’s right,” said Daniela, with an infectious laugh. “The secret to making great art is to look good doing it.”
These were Zia’s people. She felt an ease in their presence she hadn’t felt in years, but also something more, as if, while taking a breather from constructing her house of self, she’d noticed that said house had accrued enough moats and fortifications to rival this chateau.
The conversation ebbed and flowed between reminiscence and personal updates, jokes and pathos. Li Jie was writing a new programming language that he hoped would be as groundbreaking as Lisp. Aafreen was in the midst of renegotiating half a dozen Maldivian emigration treaties. Vachan was slowly but surely taking over the family business, which involved bitter fights with his grandmother over his decision to increase wages for migrant laborers at the tea estates. At one point, Tommy strolled by talking animatedly to two of his old lacrosse teammates and nodded to Zia surreptitiously.
This conversation isn’t for me to vet you. It’s the reverse. Zia was still trying to parse the surreal airport rendezvous. Per Kodjo’s point, teenagers were awful to each other. Was the fact that she wanted so badly to hate Tommy blinding her to the fact that he no longer deserved it? Zia knew how painful snap judgements could be to the person on the receiving end. If she declined his offer, was she avoiding an elephant trap or slapping away an olive branch? Was it even ethical for her to refuse, no matter the source of funds, given how many people they could use the money to help? But wasn’t that an argument for taking blood money? Where did you draw the line? These were precisely the sorts of questions she was getting tired of asking herself.
Aafreen was talking, but Galang was gazing at Zia curiously. He’d noticed the nod. She returned his look to implicitly promise a tête-à-tête. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into the telepathy routine they’d developed while jointly editing her mother’s book. Hard to believe they’d get to see each other in person again in less than two weeks when he’d promised to drop by Chhattisgarh en route to a new assignment. They’d have time to really talk then.
Li Jie rattled the ice in his empty tumbler. “Seriously though,” he said. “If it weren’t for you all, I honestly don’t know if I would have made it through this joint.”