It's been the craziest two weeks of my life. I've been running on fumes; meeting deadlines, following leads on stories and starting up the investigation into the new information in my family's murders. So far, I've been coping surprisingly well but that might be my determination to ignore everything that's been going to hell in my life.
I've haven't spoken to or seen Haider in two weeks, he stopped texting after one week of being left on read. He'd then moved on to calling and after speaking to my voicemail twelve times he's now given up. I feel awful. I've never gone more than a week without speaking to him, and I miss him so much. Haider is so important to me, he's family and I would do anything for him. But I can't face him. Not after the way I behaved at Zia's birthday. When I took the time to think about the events of that party all I feel is shame. I don't want to have to look into Haider's eyes and know that I've disappointed him.
Dastan is his son and it doesn't matter that he was the one who behaved like an ass, I shouldn't have responded and now all I can think is that if it comes down to it Haider would choose to side with Dastan and he wouldn't be wrong for it. I was the one who broke his heart and he deserves to have his father's support in that situation. And selfish as it may be, I want Haider to never look at me as anything less than he does right now. He's the closest thing I've come to having a father since dad died and I can't handle losing two fathers. I don't think I'm strong enough to survive that, I barely survived it the first time around.
It's Wednesday night and I'm surrounded by notes I made this afternoon. I'd gone around the neighborhoods around my parents' old house where there'd been a siting of a suspicious man. Most people either hadn't seen anything and the others had but it's been too long for them to remember much detail. That's the problem with investigating this now, the trails been cold for so long that whatever information may have been useful has now been distorted by time and disinterest. The mundane progression of everyday life has frayed the loose ends of the strings tying the mystery of what happened to my family together. I've been color-coding a timeline and trying to place the information I've gathered into the correct category: potentially useful, essential, utter nonsense. It's mostly the latter.
I groan and plunk my head down onto the white wood of the desk I've stuffed into one corner of my living room. It's already seven and I'm supposed to meet Emma at the restaurant at seven-thirty. I was supposed to have made more progress by now. This is so exhausting. Sometimes I'm so tempted to just scrap this whole thing and just move on with my life but every time I think I've finally had enough I remember my parents and Tommy. So full of life and then suddenly… not. It's not fair what happened to them and they deserve justice. There must have been a reason I survived, maybe this is why I lived. Maybe, I'm meant to figure out who did this and put them behind bars. So, I can't move on, not until I have answers to the questions surrounding my family's deaths.
This is all pointless right now, there's nothing more I can do tonight. I order an uber, and throw on a pair of skinny jeans and a sweater while I wait for it to get here. We're meeting at one of our favorite Japanese restaurants. Emma and I have been spending a lot more time together these last two weeks, we've been seeing each other practically every day and she's been sleeping over most nights. I think she's afraid that without the steadying influence of Haider in my life I'll start to spiral. So, she's been sticking close. I don't mind. I love Emma; she's the sister I never had. Spending time with her these last few weeks has kept me grounded.
She's waiting for me on the sidewalk, people bustling around her while she stands unmoving in the midst of it all. I'm struck by the thought that the image matches her personality quite well. The calm in the eye of the storm, she's always had that influence in my life. Even though, she loves to stir up trouble she's also the most stable person in my life. She's still in the outfit she wore to work; it makes her look older than she is. But then she sees me and a smile takes over her face and she looks like a kid again. We walk into the restaurant arm in arm with Emma giving me an animated account of her day. She's gotten good at filling in silences around me. It's not unusual for me to zone out of conversations from time to time. So, it doesn't faze me when Emma drones on for hours at time. I actually find it comforting to just listen to her voice.
When she suddenly stops though, my attention snaps back to her. I find her pale faced and I'm on my guard immediately. I look around for the source of her distress and my stomach bottoms out on the shiny tiles of the restaurant floor. Haider. Not just Haider; Zahra, Zia, Dastan and Anne are all seated at a booth in the corner of the restaurant. They're all watching us and I feel Emma's hand tighten around my arm. "We can leave if you want," she offers under her breath and it's nice of her to offer but we can't just turn around and walk out. I offer them a wave and Zahra beckons us over with a hand. Haider's looking at me with an intense look like he's trying to solve some mystery.
"Too late."
We make our way over and I steel myself for a confrontation. I know Haider won't make a scene but at the same time, I don't know how mad he is at me. "Hey girls," Zahra greets from her spot squished between Haider and Razia. "We haven't seen you girls in a while." She adds and I see the admonishment in her eyes, she knows that I've been avoiding her husband and Emma's been evading him and making excuses for me. Crap.
"Yeah," I rub the back if my neck sheepishly, "I've been swamped at work." I explain and it feels like a flimsy excuse. I'm the worst person in the world.
"Oh, well that's too bad" she says with a hint of sincerity in her voice, "would you like to join us?" she offers.
Oh no.
"We wouldn't want to impose," Emma says politely but it's the wrong thing to say. Haider's jaw clenches and I watch as his fingers twitch on the table. He's clearly irritated.
"Don't be silly," Zahra waves away her concern. She's either unaware or she simply doesn't care about the tension descending over the table. "Have a seat she says gesturing at the empty booth where Dastan and Anne are sitting. I glance at Emma and she shrugs. Well, there's no way to fight this without looking like a lunatic. I slide into the booth careful to keep some space between Dastan and me.
Anne leans forward, "Hi," she says. I turn my head toward her and I'm forced to look directly at Dastan's side profile. His jaw is tight like he's using a lot of effort to restrain himself right now. A part of my heart twists at the way his hands clench into fists on the table. There used to be a time when my presence made him feel better. Calmer. Guess those days are long gone. And that's my fault.
"Hi," I say offering her a watery smile. Emma greets her cheerfully and then we descend into awkward silence.
Emma, being Emma takes it upon herself to break the ice. She leans over my lap and I barely have time to lean back before she shoves Dastan's shoulder hard and says, "Would you stop frowning you're going to give yourself wrinkles." He's not expecting the contact so he jerks slightly away before turning his hard eyes on her, she's undeterred, "God knows you can't afford to get any uglier." She says, he just rolls his eyes, but I see him fighting a smile. We all know Emma's just teasing. If there's anyone at this table who'd be considered ugly it's definitely not Dastan. He's handsome in an exotic, unusual way. Beautiful. Rare.
"You're one to talk." He shoots back good-naturedly but he doesn't shove her back. He's careful about not making any sort of physical contact with me. "Did you steal that outfit from Mrs. Sanderson's closet?" he asks. Mrs. Sanderson was our third grade English teacher and she had an affinity for cat sweaters much like the one Emma is currently wearing. The image is so ridiculous but somehow so accurate that it startles a laugh out of me. He tenses next to me.
Emma shoots me a playful glare, "Traitor." She narrows her eyes dramatically at me.
I roll my lips together to hold back another laugh and shrug, "He's not wrong," I say gesturing to the sweater. "But if it makes you feel any better I distinctly remember somebody having a crush on Mrs. Sanderson." I tell her jerking my head in Dastan's direction.
Emma laughs a loud, boisterous sound, Anne and Zahra join in and Haider even offers us a tight smile. Dastan's still as a stone. "Why did you wear that to work anyway?" I ask.
"It's comfy," she shrugs. And then Zahra offers up some information about sweaters she'd seen for sale on some website and they launch into a conversation about comfortable work clothing. I'm not paying attention anymore because Dastan's bare skin from where the sleeve of his t-shirt stops brushes against me. The thin fabric of my sweater does nothing to shield me from the heat of his body. It's all I can think about. My skin is buzzing with electricity and there's a part of me- a small part- that wants to do it again.
Oh, my God Kiera! What are you even thinking? I lean forward and take a sip of my water to cool down my overheated skin.
"Speaking of work," Emma says turning back to me "What have you done to poor Connor?" I choke on the large gulp of water I'd just swallowed and start to cough uncontrollably. Emma reaches over to pat my back but I wave her away with a frantic hand. I manage to get the coughing subdued after a minute and realize everyone at the table is now looking at me. At us.