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Huan once described me as ‘capable, stubborn, and deeply calculating in the best way.’
I'm going to live up to that.
“Yes,” I say. “But you always know how to find everything out. I know you do, Uncle. It’s what I brag about with my friends. I tell them my uncle either knows the answer or knows someone who knows the answer.”
His laugh is jovial. “I guess the security lead on shift will know.”
I point to his phone. “Can you call him? If I have the address, I can ship what I forgot to give back to Huan, along with a gift certificate for his hard work on my trip.”
When he hesitates, I sigh. “Please? I want to close the chapter on my London trip so I can move forward, and the only way I can do that is by tying up loose threads.”
That does it. What Mohinder Uncle wants most is me moving on. He dials the number.
As I wait, my palms sweat. I don’t always know if I am a good person—I think too rationally and strategically, which feels like pro-manipulating—but what keeps me feeling okay iswhenandwhereI use my skills. The ones that get people to do what I need them to by saying the right thing. If I only do it when leading with my heart, when protecting people I love, when my conscience doesn’t thrash in protest…
I hope I’ll end up being alright.
Right now I need to find Huan before I lose the chance. Before they realize what this is about and… I don’t know… this might be irrational… but before they withhold information for ‘my own good’ so I can focus on my career.
When I get the address, I walk away calmly, even though it physically pains me not to run. When I’ve officially left Mohinder Uncle behind, I cling to that wall. It’s hitting me. Huan left, and I have to go after him.
How did he go without saying goodbye? No, scratch that. Is everything we’ve been through not enough for us to figure it out? Does he not feel what I do? Am I alone in this?—
I hold my chest.
Growing agony?
Does it ever go away?
There is one way to find out.
I send a decoy car first to distract the paparazzi, and then I take a car myself to drive to his house. He better be ready. I'm not leaving without some answers, even if they are ones I'm not ready to survive hearing.
THIRTY-ONE
I thought I could prepare myself for the eventuality that Huan and I will split ways, but it turns out I can’t. Everything I’m feeling is not reasonable. The only thing keeping me going is my new mission statement.
Find Huan To Wrangle Him And Demand Answers Why It’s So Easily Over For Him.
Who says anger is toxic? Prolonged anger might be, but this shallow anger masking other feelings is so delightful. I need more of it to wash over me, propel me, and keep me going after everything that happened.
Especially since I've had a rough twenty-four hours. First, the adoption news blast. Second, not being seen by my mother as I confess my feelings about not wanting to act. Third, Huan left. It’s enough to knock down a person, if they weren’t fuelled by outrage, driven to confront—whatever Huan and I are to each other…
Don’t pretend. You know what he means.
Pulling up to Huan’s driveway, I tug on the fetters of my frail courage and get out. Pretty sure if I stop, I'll overthink and hide in his bushes. With the amount of stalking I’ve had done to me,I’ve got enough second-hand experience to be a greatPeeping Bush Hider.But no, Komal. Set your sights on higher accolades.
Huan’s house is a sturdy, single-floor structure. The architecture is simple and blocky, and his white walls practically glow against the blue sky. It's not like the mansion I grew up in. It's reasonable, homely, and welcoming to whoever wants to ring the front doorbell. There is no security. There are no cameras. Flowers crowd the front of his lawn, some healthy and overgrown, other young seedlings sprouting a little. There is no perfection. Hands dug in that dirt, gave up, then came back and went at it again. Hung from the roof is a charming and very large bird feeder.
Charging up the front steps, I plant my feet in front of his door, but my hand wavers in front of the doorbell. I wonder if I should have rehearsed a speech. Like I should acknowledge there are many roadblocks against us, especially considering the public visibility of my life, but I’m trying to distance myself from that world to pursue happiness, and that despite all the figuring out I’ve still got to do, I’ve got?—
The door opens. I stare at an older Punjabi woman in a jogging suit with beautiful arched eyebrows, puffed hair pinned back, and warm brown eyes. Her glossed mouth parts open.I'm reminded of a popular fitness trainer who comes on after the news. She's immaculately put together, direct in her instructions, and a bit cheeky. Not sure if this woman shares the same traits, but that's what I'm associating with her.
“Komal?”
I blink. “Hi. Um, sorry. How do you know my?—”
“Preeti.” An older Chinese man pops up behind the woman. “Who is it?”
