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Loosely, I confess the details. Normally, I wouldn’t because Pollywood Komal knows all about media leaks and Pollywood Komal knows not to present a less-than-perfect image about her family, but I’ve got a rock in my chest. I’m not feeling like myself, and Preeti is holding the top of my hand, and she is reacting in all the ways I wanted my mother to react. She is actively listening and hearing me.
I know it’s not fair to compare the two, but I can’t stop.
For below the rock in my chest are other feelings. Anger, frustration, outrage. Everything I don’t want to feel about the person I love so much. All I want is to solve this issue—and I think that’s also why I’m telling Preeti. I’m desperate for help. I don't know what happens when I go back home. I don't know how to talk to my mom when I do.
“I understand your mother’s reaction,” Preeti says.
That's an unexpected wallop in my face.
“Not like that,” she insists, shaking her head. “I only mean that I get that she’s shocked. She thought her daughter was orange this whole time, and suddenly you tell her that you are blue, and in her confusion, she doesn’t react well. I think she hasn’t gotten used to you being blue yet.”
Orange… blue…
“You’re saying I should give her time?”
“Hopefully that helps. Sometimes it does. Even though I understand not all parents come around. Some stay stubborn, and don’t see how their reaction pains their children.”
The lump in my throat grows. “My mother said she doesn’t recognize me.”
“Then keep showing her this version of you,” Preeti says, her voice insistent. “Not that I’m advocating for keeping unhealthy relationships in your life, but exposure can help. Show her how being this way makes you happy. Give her time to learn the new you.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I do,” she whispers, leaning closer. “I cut my hair.”
I give her a watery smile. “Scandalous.”
“To my religious mother, it was.”
“Your hair is long now.”
“Yes,” she says, “but back when I was a teenager, I chopped it short, and the first time I came home like that, my mother freaked. She threatened to marry me off because she was so shocked and disappointed.”
“And now? How is your relationship now?”
“Mostly good. We’ve got other issues, but my hair is not one of them. Not anymore. Not for a while. Actually, I’ve got this great memory of us walking in the mall together. I think I was in my twenties, and we passed by a salon and she—ever so casually—asked if I wanted to get a trim. As if it was no big deal. As if I hadn't fought my whole life arguing with her about it. As if it didn't matter so much anymore.”
“That’s… nice,” I say, feeling a soft pang of envy.
She pats my hand again. “I hope it works out for you, Komal. Especially since you’ve been brave enough to pursue your own happiness.”
Bo clears his throat. He looks flustered, as if he isn’t sure he should be here.
“Apologies. I’m back because I got a hold of Huan.”
“Where was he?” Preeti asks.
“Your house,” Bo says to me. “In the staff quarters. Since he’s no longer a part of your security team, he wasn’t free to come find you, but he’s also not left the premises.” Bo hesitates. “Well, technically, now he has. When I told him you were here, he left immediately.”
Preeti turns, offering Bo her hand. “Should we go back to our house to give them some privacy, dear? We came here to welcome Huan home, but I think it’s better if we come back tomorrow.”
Bo takes her hand and considers me. His dark eyes assess with a lot of gravity. “Are you alright being on your own?”
Even if it’s his son, Bo is checking in on me.
“I’m good,” I say, smiling weakly at him.
In reality, my pulse is racing, and I’ve got all these overwhelming things to say to Huan when he comes. If his family stays, I’ll keep a tight rein on myself. Without them here, I’ll?—
