Is It Killing You?: A Dara Drabble
The second instalment of the Dara wedding drabbles! Sorry it took so long, but the next one will be out veeeerryyy soon :) enjoy! And please let me know what you think!
*
Centurion Mall Islamabad, Pakistan 2041 11 Days to Go
“So you just… Missed your final fitting last night?” Pixie asked, narrowing her eyes. Samara nodded, continuing to stare up at the Cinnabon menu in front of her. “For no reason? Even though it was booked and going to be all private, like you like, and you flew down for it specifically? You just... Decided not to turn up?”
“Yep.” Samara sighed, sounding bored. “… Pretty much.”
“And you made this completely sensible decision after you and my idiot cousin decided that not speaking between now and the wedding was a good idea? And it’s apparently totally unrelated to an argument you said you both had over Divya Kapoor?”
“That’s what I told you.” Mara muttered, hiding her sigh. “Does Ari want anything from here? Is she already at the shop?”
“Samara.” Mara suppressed her irritation as Pixie forced her to face her, the guy at the register being completely ignored. “What happened? Did you tell him how you feel? Because if he’s ignoring it, well, let me tell you-”
But by then, Mara had already begun to roll her eyes.
“You don’t need to tell me anything!” She groaned, rolling her eyes. God. Talk about obsessed. “Dany and I fought, like we always do, no big deal, there were no feelings to tell him about and I decided to spend my night drinking shakes and watching documentaries on white collar criminals instead of turning up to an empty, scary shopping mall after hours for a tailoring appointment!”
… And whilst none of that was a lie, it wasn’t exactly the whole truth either. Not that Mara even knew what the full truth was so, really, it was inconsequential.
Samara almost regretted telling Pixie that she’d join her and Ari for their final fittings that morning. But it needed to be done, and Pixie had arranged for them to all meet for lunch at the exclusive Islamabad Club - of which, of course the Zafars and Awans were members -, after which, Mara knew, they’d spend the day together. Samara had figured it would be… Nice to have company at the fitting. And the outfit needed to be ready for tomorrow, and Pixie and Ari were leaving for London to prepare her bridal shower that afternoon and -
She just wanted to order her breakfast Cinnabon.
“Everyone will be staring. Wondering why we’ve got a security guard stopping people from entering the couture section with the named designer acting as our tailor, people will be, as you put it, gawping, but you put that aside to watch some lame documentary and bloat before your fitting?” Pixie huffed, her voice dangerously soft. Mara’s facade cracked slightly. Well, of course it sounded bad when Pixie put it like that. Pixie could be talking about the births of unicorns and she could make it sound like the news alert for a military blast. “Have your lost your mind?”
Mara tried to blink away her guilt.
She didn’t even know why she was feeling guilty! She was fine. She’d just… Fancied lying face-down on the sofa last night, yelling stupid comments at the screen as the criminals on it made it too damn easy for them to get caught.
And honestly, for the record, not talking to Danyal for the next week and a half or whatever was a blessing. He was irritating. Sometimes, it felt like she was more his parole officer than his fake fiancee. She hadn’t had any messages to say he’d landed in Mumbai safely, nothing alerting her to the fact he and Raj were on their seventeen hour flight to Las Vegas. No irritating, reassuring messages that, despite Dany’s guilt at the secret bride waiting for him on the other side of the stag Raj had so generously curated for him, Dany was not going to blurt out the secret of Divya being the preferred bride and consequently ruin their entire plan and, oh, possibly have Raj throw him out of a plane.
It was great. Mara hadn’t heard from him since his shitty, silent, rude as fuck exit this morning. Woohoo.
“I…” Mara struggled to find words. Good words, anyway. “Am waiting to be served.” She finished lamely, motioning to the slightly terrified Cinnabon employee, watching them with wide eyes from behind the register.
“And bloat more? Are you kidding?” Pixie hissed, tossing back her perfect black hair.
“No, and neither is he about marrying that asshole, so I can bloat as much as I want - but thank you for caring about the aesthetic.” Mara told Pixie calmly - before turning to the register. “Can I get a normal Cinnabon for now, and have one pecan and two chocolate on standby for our driver to bring it upstairs in a little while?” Before the guy could respond, Mara turned to Pixie - whose mouth was open in outrage. “Am I getting anything for you and Zarina or not?”
Pixie narrowed her eyes.
“Right.” She said sarcastically. “You and Dany definitely didn’t fight. You’re not missing him at all.”
Mara pretended she hadn’t heard, and turned back to the register.
“And give me a couple of tubs of extra frosting, too.” She muttered quietly, chewing on her lip as she took out her wallet.
. . .
Pixie had been right. She had been right. Having so many of the other shoppers gawping at her was… Suffocating.
She hated it. The way people watched and whispered and smiled. There was nothing to smile about. She’d stared at her reflection, that stupid reflection surrounding her on all sides while she stood on that ridiculous little podium, of her hair being a mess and bags under her eyes and a lot of bloating… Looking like a mess. Eating her Cinnabon, with frosting on the corners of her mouth.
Mara had almost thrown up, it was so suffocating. She’d claimed she needed a second and then thrown herself into the very last couture lounge, away from everyone’s prying eyes, while Pixie had sampled tiaras out of boredom and Ari’s sleeves had been getting fixed.
And she’d had to force herself to breathe. And calm the Hell down, because she was panicking over nothing.
It was fine. It was all just great. After the wedding, she’d be free of Dany’s stupid, ridiculous, assholish ways and she wouldn't have to listen to Pixie, or Ari, for that matter. It’d all be over.
As Mara had slid against the wall and to the floor, wearing a baggy T-shirt and her heavily decorated skirt, somehow… She hadn’t felt better.
"Five minutes.” She’d whispered to herself, fighting to keep the water in her eyes from spilling and staring up at the intricately carved wooden ceiling. “You get five minutes to do your drama.”
And five minutes later, Mara was back on the stupid podium surrounded by mirrors, smiling politely at the tailors and thanking her on-looking fans with appropriately self-deprecating laughter. She arranged her face into whatever it needed to be, grinning and bearing it all.
Only those who knew her - really knew her - would ever have been able to tell that she’d cried.
*
Bellagio Las Vegas Las Vegas, Nevada
“Have you told the Mrs that you’ve arrived safely?” Raj sighed, slinging an arm over Dany’s shoulder.
“Yeah.” Dany lied, avoiding eye contact. They were leaning against the wall of the lift, exhausted - Dany perhaps more so than Raj. After all, Dany had been the one struggling to keep in his secret for the past seventeen hours. He’d almost kissed the tarmac when they’d landed. “
“Good.” Raj said happily, squeezing Dany’s shoulders. “Now, you’re all mine.”
At that, Dany gave him a funny look - but then the elevator doors opened and Dany grinned, as, in the sprawling penthouse that laid out Vegas beneath them, he saw some of his closest friends - including Ed Styles, Hughie Horan, the Princes Stefan and Gustav of Monaco and…
Dany’s smile faded slightly as he spotted TJ - Divya’s supposed boyfriend, and somehow one of Mara’s old friends - and Rafi, Mara’s cousin, amongst the others.
It barely lasted a second, Dany meeting their eyes - but then he was engulfed in the crowd, laughing as he was put on the shoulders of his friends.
“Ladies, gentleman, philanderers, assholes and whores!” Raj shouted loudly, jumping onto the table. A waitress in a scanty maid’s outfit supplied Raj with a drink. “Now, as we know, our whipped boy over here has requested this be a dry stag-”
“You’re all raging alcoholics.” Dany snorted good-naturedly over the booing crowd.
“- but I solemnly swear that, in the name of this stag party…” Raj paused dramatically, as the rest of them quietened. “We will act drunk, we will look drunk, and, for all intents and purposes, over the course of these next few days, we will be drunk for the greatest stag party the world has ever seen - because, as of a few moments ago, the text has been sent, the Mrs knows he has arrived safely and he is all ours!”
Dany pretended to bow as the group cheered.
It helped him to hide his expression of guilt.
Dany could feel TJ’s eyes more than Rafi’s, boring into the back of his head. But it wasn’t because of Divya that Dany felt… Uncomfortable.
You could just text her when you get a m-
No, you can’t.
Dany didn’t look in TJ’s direction again.
. . .
Merkenwell & Kay LLP Bank, London 9 Days to Go
She’d decided during her… Drama queen moment (one which she did not begrudge herself, because letting out feelings was a positive, healthy thing to do), at the fitting yesterday. The idea had struck her like lightning and without Danyal to talk her out of it, and with nobody else knowing the truth…
So she’d seen Ari and Pixie off at the airport that evening, knowing they’d be in London by the morning. And by the time they’d landed… Samara was already packed, waiting for the Zafar jet to return.
She wasn’t meant to be here! Not in London, not in Fleet Street. Not outside of this office. Her bridal shower was due to start on Saturday - two whole days away, and the jet wasn’t meant to be flying until Friday because of it. What if they found out she was here? How was she going to explain herself?
Normally, Mara would’ve asked Danyal for help. But seeing as the most Mara had heard from him since his leaving were SnapChat stories on his friends’ feeds… She wasn’t counting on it.
“What are you doing?” Samara whispered to herself - and her face began to crumple as she stared up at the towering glass building in front of her, innocuous and unmarked. Exhaling slowly, Mara began to pace, blinking away the blur in her vision. “What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?”
She was going to be sick. That was what she was doing. Preparing herself to projectile vomit all over the pavement. It would be gross and disgusting and it’d make tears stream down her face, she’d be throwing up so badly, and because she’d be crouching over it’d come out of her nose, too, it’d be disgusting -
Samara forced herself to stop outside of the entrance.
“Stop being a pussy.” She told herself - before taking a deep breath and storming inside.
. . .
“I’m here to see Madeleine Kay.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I don’t need one. I’m her d-” Samara stopped herself. For a moment, she couldn’t speak - her heart was hammering in her throat and she felt dizzy, and sick, and she wanted to cry. But the neatly polished receptionist before her saw none of that - she saw a well-groomed and stylish young, dressed impeccably in cigarette pants and high heels. “Just tell her it’s Samara. She’ll want to see me.”
. . .
She’d found out when she was sixteen.
By eleven, Samara already knew she was adopted. It was almost a relief. It didn’t even bother her that, seemingly overnight, her adoptive mother - Madeeha Kayani, her ‘uncle’s’ sister - changed overnight. If anything, it made sense to the precocious young girl. Mara wasn’t hers. It explained the sudden swings between a… Calculated coolness, and random bursts of affection. It made her feel happy, smug even, at not being crazy for seeing them.
So the problem wasn’t that Samara was adopted. The problem was that nobody was willing to help her find her adoptive parents.
Mara could barely remember all of it. It had happened… So quickly. One day, everything had been fine, and the next, Mara was a rebellious child, lashing out at her fancy school and throwing tantrums. It didn’t help that she could read moods - and more often than not, Madeeha seemed disinterested in Samara’s need to find where she’d come from. Not hurt, not scared of losing her. Just increasingly bored of Mara’s interest and, as time wore on, bored of Samara herself.
Samara had been relieved when she’d been sent to a top girls’ boarding school in Kent. Things had only gotten worse and, with the promise of rough terrain in the form of her teenage years on the horizon… Mara wanted to be far away.
And then, during her first year at Benenden - her secondary school, the boarding one - she’d been hit by a cyclist on campus.
It had been… Not great. A broken wrist, bruised ribs - and worst of all, she’d needed pins placed in her hip while it healed. Nobody had been able to contact Madeeha. The hospital and the school had ended up doing most of the heavy lifting, while she was hospitalised. And they’d been great, they really had. Mara still kept in contact with the school - her old teachers, the nurses who had looked after her in the infirmary -… But they hadn’t been family.
She’d gotten the idea when she’d had her blood transfusion, before the surgery. Before then, she’d toyed with being a vet - but by the time the surgery rolled around, in just a few, short days, Mara had felt enough like a piece of meat on the table that the thought made her want to hit something. She didn’t want to look after people. The only person she ever wanted to be able to look after, was herself.
It had taken three weeks of waiting patiently in that infirmary and one incredibly awkward, painful struggle to reach the cabinet and steal her medical file. So what if Madeeha couldn’t be found? Who cared if she hadn’t come down to see Samara, since she’d arrived back in London? After all, she wasn’t real family. And they’d argued before Samara had left for boarding school, and hadn’t communicated since. They didn’t owe each other anything.
Samara always smirked wryly when she thought back to what she’d found in that stupid file. The kind of plot twist that not even Samara, with her love of fiction and desperate hope that one day she’d be worthy of affection, could have imagined.
Surprise! She wasn’t adopted. Samara was a very specific, rare blood type… That she’d inherited from Madeeha Kayani. Her father’s name hadn’t been listed.
When confronted, Madeeha didn’t have anything to say - not anything that made sense, at least. It had taken her such a long time to confront her adoptive and biological mother - and boy, was that fucked up to think -, that Samara’d had the time to do her own digging. She’d become obsessed. Madeeha had known about her accident, but she just hadn’t cared. Everything else Samara found out after that, was… Nothing.
It had all been bullshit. Such utter, complete fucking bullshit. Madeeha had gotten pregnant. She hadn’t wanted a baby. Her brother had found out and convinced her she could keep it, that they could hide it somehow. Adoption had somehow seemed like a smart idea.
And as soon as Samara knew the truth, well, Madeeha didn’t have to pretend to care anymore.
Before Samara had even turned seventeen, she’d decided to move away. To her uncle. He’d lied, too, but at least he’d kept her around - and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
She’d moved to attend NYU, after a blistering argument with Madeeha - now going by Madeleine - or Maddie to her friends - Kay, completely shedding herself of Samara’s existence at her fancy new law firm - when she was seventeen. She’d celebrated her birthday on a sunny morning in Central Park, eating ice cream and wondering whether she’d ever truly be loved. Her aunt had made it clear upon arrival that she wasn’t wanted… But it paid to be friends with Maddie, the fancy, impressive lawyer in London. So Samara had been allowed to stay.
Not that it had been all bad. Her cousins had become her sisters and her uncle… Cared. More than Maddie did. In fact, upon reaching New York, Samara began to tell anyone who asked that her adoptive mother was dead.
It wasn’t a lie. The mother Samara had thought she’d had as a child had stopped being present when she was eleven, and the mother she had by birthright had ceased to exist the moment her… Human incubator had decided to make Samara’s entire life a lie.
That had been almost three years ago. She and Madeleine Kay hadn’t spoken since.
Nobody knew. Mara’s uncle didn’t even know she knew the truth. She’d thought about telling him, a few times, but… What good would it do? So the secret stayed hidden.
… Until Samara had met Danyal Zafar.
They’d been memorising each other’s life histories one night, holed up in a hipster coffee place in Brooklyn. Mara had corrected something he’d said - something stupid, she couldn’t even remember what now - and Danyal had… Known she was lying. Apparently, in all of his memorising, Danyal had been able to tell that the fake tell Mara had made for herself was actually the real one.
So she’d told him.
It had surprised her, how much it had… Hurt, to say out loud. But somehow, it had made New York feel like… Home. To admit it.
Mara had confessed, over her coconut latte served in a goblet made out of wafers, that her experiences with Madeleine Kay was why she was so obsessed with Sophia Zafar.
Soph Zafar had gone through hardship, but she’d stayed true to who she was. She hadn’t blamed her culture, or her religion, or her family, for her mistakes - for her marriage to Zayn Malik. She owned that shit. And despite it, despite however difficult or fucked up her life had gotten, she’d kept moving. She’d made a new life for herself, away from the Malik brand. She’d become a ridiculously successful editor, and businesswoman, as well as a fashion industry legend. She’d married someone who adored her and had lived her happily ever after, was a great mother - and Samara knew that was true more than ever, after seeing the way Dany was with his mum - and had just… Done better. Been better than what she’d started off with. And then she’d fought off cancer!
She wasn’t just her career idol, Samara had explained. She was the super-Mum Mara wished she’d had. And although lying to Super-Mum sucked, knowing she was exactly what Samara had imagined, even if Mara would only ever be this close for a short while… It made Mara feel a little bit better about the rest of the world.
Mara smiled whenever she remembered what had happened next. She’d looked away from her coffee, up at Danyal - and found him watching her, eyebrows raised, and clearly overwhelmed by all she’d told him. They hadn’t exactly been friends at that point.
But then he’d sighed, and leant back in his chair and said, super sarcastically -
“Your Mum sounds awesome.”
Mara had blinked. And then she’d thought Dany was emotionless. And then she’d laughed, struck by how much… Lighter she felt, having said it all out loud - and having someone acknowledge it, even if it had been with one sentence and a vaguely hidden grimace of disgust - … And then she’d smiled to herself, as Dany told her he was going to buy her a cookie.
. . .
Samara felt oddly… Calm, as she waited.
Maybe calm was the wrong word. Agitated. Offended. Anxious. But it wasn't the same stomach churning fear as before, and for that, she was grateful. She supposed that once you were in the belly of the beast, it was a little bit too late to be scared of the beast as a whole.
After the receptionist - the law offices of Merkenwell & Kay were too fancy for name badges, apparently - had managed a clipped phone call, Mara had been instructed to go up to the reception on the thirty-first floor. So far, she'd been waiting for twenty nine minutes.
Surprisingly, it wasn't bothering her as much as it could have. She didn't have anywhere better to be. Jesus, after next week… She wouldn't have anywhere to be, full stop.
Feeling a flutter in her stomach as she a woman walking past her, much further down the corridor, Samara twisted the engagement ring on her finger.
“Can I help you with something?”
Mara glanced up, surprised to find a middle-aged businessman in a smart suit smiling down at her.
She blinked. In twenty eight of the twenty nine minutes she'd been on the thirty-first floor… She'd been ignored by even the guy who sold sandwiches from a noisy IKEA cart.
“I’m here to see Ms Kay.” Samara said, pairing it with a polite smile - one of her more charming ones. The way this guy was looking at her was… Odd. He had a kind face, and grey streaks in the sides of his hair. Samara’s stomach squirmed. “I was told to wait here, she's meant to be in a meeting…”
“We just finished.” This man was easily closer to Dany’s dad’s age than Samara’s - and although he didn't have the immediately calming, if not slightly imposing, demeanour of Samara’s almost-father-in-law… He didn't seem creepy. “I can walk you over?” He offered.
Samara hesitated, glancing at the thin leather watch on her wrist. Thirty two minutes.
“Um…” She looked back at reception. There were three receptionists and each one of them was still pretending like she didn’t exist. “…Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble.”
“It's not.” The man said happily, motioning for her to follow him. Mara quickly rose to her feet. “It's nice to see Maddie have visitors, she never usually has-”
Mara nodded, barely listening - though she had noticed one thing. Maddie.
They were walking through a corridor now, filled with offices with large, glass panelling instead of doors. Clearly, this was a senior floor - so why the lack of privacy? Did they feel the need to show how hard they were working, so justify being part of some kind of tax evasion club? Was it a size thing? It seemed like a size thing…
They stopped abruptly, so abruptly that Mara almost ran into her guide’s back. Realising he was staring at her as if expecting to speak, Samara somehow managed to scramble the words to thank him… Whilst struggling to not look through the glass.
She didn’t want to ugly-puke on this guy’s shoes. They were brogues, and Mara wasn’t sure whether or not the decorative holes were permeable.
“Want me to see you in?” He offered pleasantly. Mara shook her head.
Before she knocked on the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection - a tall, thin young girl, in chic black trousers, black heels, a grey cable-knit jumper and a long black waistcoat, her hair tied into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She almost didn't recognise herself, she looked so slick.
And then, past her reflection… A tall, thin woman, in a smart white dress, tapping away at her desk.
Unfortunately, she recognised her.
She knocked before she had the time to reconsider - and walked in, without invitation.
When the woman at the desk looked up, Mara slowed, letting her hand fall gently from the door’s handle.
Samara wasn't sure how long they stared at each other for. How, all of a sudden, she felt sick again. What was she doing here? What did she want, what did she expect? There'd been a reason that Samara had never taken the thought of doing this seriously before. So why now? Why was she doing this?!
“I'm sure you have better things to do the week before your wedding, than turn up at my office uninvited.” Madeleine - no, screw that, Madeeha - sighed, after what felt like an eternity.
Just like that, Samara wasn't scared anymore. She was just angry.
“So you did get the invitation.” She murmured, raising her eyebrows - and, sitting opposite Madeeha, smiled falsely at Madeeha’s raised eyebrows as she did. “And there I was, assuming your Internet was down. Or your electricity. Or you'd suddenly lost the ability to use your thumbs…”
“I didn't think it was necessary to respond.” Maddie said coolly. She folded her hands elegantly in front of her on the desk - and Samara rest her chin in her hand and tried her hardest to look attentive.
“That’s weird, because I’m sure there was an RSVP on the bottom of the invitation.” Samara tutted.
“A waste of ink.”
Samara exhaled slowly, as they watched each other.
“Why are you here?” Maddie finally asked, rubbing her temples. Mara straightened in her chair, feeling… Stupid. She wished she knew. “You have everything you could want in New York, I’ve made sure of that-”
“It’s weird, because it’s like you think you’ve spent enough time with me to know what I want-”
“Don’t be juvenile, Samara.” Madeeha snapped. Mara raised her eyebrows. The Ice Bitch was getting sarky! A human really did exist in there! What next? Acknowledgement of human feelings? Or, the unthinkable - a pulse? “You chose to leave London-”
“I chose myself.” Samara corrected softly. This had been a stupid, stupid, stupid idea… And yet, her feet were refusing to carry her out of there. Instead, she actually leant forward. What did she have, a death wish? “And I did that, because even as a stupid little kid, I knew that you never would.”
Madeeha’s eyes narrowed for a second - and stupidly, Samara actually felt a spring of hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what it would take for her to burst, for them to just… Be honest -
“Well, clearly my parenting, whether you agree with it or not, did you well.” Madeeha smirked, tossing back her hair. It was short now, in a choppy bob cut. It suited her. Samara hated it. “I mean, your pathological need for attention managed to help you trap one of the richest heirs on Forbes.”
Underneath the table, out of Madeeha’s line of sight, Mara dug her nails into the flesh of her hand.
“Did all of your years in inheritance law give you that little nugget, or a petty Google search?” Mara asked, struggling to hide her gritted teeth. God, she was an idiot. She was an idiot, to want to be in the same room as this horrible woman, to acknowledge that this was the witch with which she shared significant DNA. “And anyway, he’s more than just a faceless heir on a list.”
“You’d be sensible to sign a pre-nup. For his sake, of course.” Madeeha continued coolly. Samara's face hardened - though if it did any more, her face would turn into marble. “As you know, it’s not my area of expertise, but I could refer you-”
“I want to know who my dad is.”
Whoa. Mara hadn’t seen that coming. That was almost as much of a shock as the whole mother thing.
… But it was better than actually being there solely for approval.
It also gave Samara a pleasant little kick of joy, at seeing Madeeha’s expression actually flash human for a second. Just a second, of course - anything longer and time itself may have split in half and cause a black hole or something -, but it was still than Mara had ever managed before.
“That’s none of your business.” Madeeha said tightly. Samara let out one, disbelieving laugh before she could stop herself. “What do you want from him that you don’t already have? Money? A roof over your head-”
“Try genuine parental affection, a lack of self-loathing from sharing a significant amount of DNA with someone who seems to have the symptoms of a sociopath-”
“Maybe if you’d actually gone to medical school, I would pay attention to your opinion-”
“He’s my father. Whoever he is. And I’m getting married, and I’m guessing he’d like to know.” Samara said seriously, not quite knowing… Where her sudden maturity was coming from, but deciding to run with it. Just to stand by her convictions, if nothing else. Maybe this is what people meant when they said she was stubborn. “Also, it kind of is my business.” Mara tilted her head slightly. “Kinda became my business when you dropped your panties and fall pregnant, ruining both of our lives.”
The small, fake smile that Samara sent Madeeha’s way made Madeeha’s lips purse in fury; and consequently caused that fake smile to quickly become genuine, at scoring another hit.
There were a few, tense seconds of silence. Mara relished in them.
“You didn't come all of this way to embarrass yourself.” Madeeha finally said. Mara frowned, pretending to think about it. “And we are carrying on as we’ve always been - we're not discussing your father.”
It wasn't what she said - it was the way she said it.
Of course her witch of an incubator wasn't going to readily admit who Samara’s father was. Mara knew Madeeha was proud, and the guy who had been smart enough to run in the opposite direction at creating offspring with possibly the Devil incarnate? Understandable, even if it not… Jealousy-inducing. If Mara had been able to escape from the womb… She would have.
Before Mara had even seen said it, she'd known it couldn't happen. It wasn't going to be something that a couple of quick snipes was going to achieve. Then again, Mara hadn't exactly determined a goal for her visit beyond not being sick out of her nose, so… Maybe she was getting ahead of herself.
One thing Samara definitely hadn't expected, though? Was the look of fear on Madeeha’s face as she'd spoken.
It was well-hidden. In fact, if Mara hadn't been attending AP Deduction with Danyal Zafar (Case Study Divvy Kapoor), maybe she would have hesitated. After all, it wasn't like she knew the psycho-bitch from across the table well enough to be sure - and that applied to all of her personalities. Madeeha Kayani, Madeleine Kay…
But she saw it. The subtle gulp, the tension in her fingers - and the way her eyes had darted away from Samara’s and behind the -
Maddie.
It hit Samara like she'd just been back-handed into a goddamn wall. Just like that. Out of nowhere. Like she'd been sitting there, in movie freeze-frame, and all of a sudden - boom! Music, lights, camera, action!
“… No.” Mara muttered, following Madeeha’s gaze… To the man in the business suit, Samara’s guide, hovering on the other side of the glass door.
And just in case Samara was unsure? Just in case that little part of her that wanted to be proven wrong, t have a proper mother, was clouding her judgement? Samara looked back to Madeeha.
And Maddie, as that… Stranger, that random stranger Samara had just met, by chance, by accident, had called her - her eyes widened, as she realised Samara had followed her unconscious, guilty as fuck gaze.
“You're messing, right?” Samara breathed, staring at Madeeha… Incredulously. No. No. This was not - this was not how this was happening. No! How was it that this… Nightmare of a planet was consistently ruining every important benchmark she was meant to have? How?
Okay… Maybe not every benchmark (Samara figured she had the whole marriage thing covered), but seriously? This was it? She was actually going to find out who her father was, after actually asking… Like this? By recognising a look? This was her big moment, this?!
And, also, just, by the way - what kind of self-respecting lawyer, with their name on the firm they worked for’s fancy paper, had such a bad poker face? How was that even possible? Or did Madeleine Kay not work for her money, just sit around and deliver pneumonia in the form of ice glares whenever someone dared to oppose her? How the fuck did that work?
She shouldn’t have come. She should not have come.
As Samara looked up at the… Vile woman in front of her, she almost flinched. She could see it, she could feel it - all of Madeeha’s superiority, her arrogance, her power, draining from her in front of Samara’s very eyes… And being pulled to her, like some kind of magnetic force. For the first time ever, it was Madeeha who looked wary and scared and uncertain.
… And maybe if Samara had been a better person, maybe if she’d been taught compassion and a little bit of empathy, the pity she felt for Madeeha would have been enough for her to let it go. To just… Silently, humbly accept Madeeha’s first defeat and let it be. She could have been the better person.
But her mother had taught her better than that. Or, well, you know, worse.
You didn’t help someone up when they fell. You kicked them while they were down, just to prove you were a stone-cold bitch.
And Madeeha, knowing the hard expression that suddenly graced Samara’s otherwise soft, open one, could only watch on in panic.
“Samara, don’t you dare-” Madeeha tried to warn - but it was too late. She wasn’t in control anymore.
With a cool, calm twist of her head, Mara turned to face the… Dude standing outside of the door - and, upon making eye contact, motioned with two fingers for him to step inside. Happily, he did.
“Yes, ladies?”
As soon as he spoke, the glass door shutting softly behind him, Samara’s heart suddenly began to stutter, loudly and obnoxiously inside of her throat. Was this it? Was this honestly it? She thought she would have… Known. That’s what she’d always imagined. That finally, after meeting the father that Madeeha had always tried to keep secret from her, when Samara finally saw him… She’d know.
Could it be him? What if she was wrong? Could she afford to be? Could she afford to not trust herself now?
Although Madeeha opened her mouth to speak, no words came out - instead, it was Samara’s cool, pleasant voice that filled the room. It was only Madeeha who knew it was dripping with malice.
“So, how long have you and my mother been working together?”
Stunned silence.
At first, in that initial split second after having spoken, Samara felt an almost overwhelming sense of satisfaction. It felt warm and smug and triumphant. Madeeha, Madeleine, whatever, wanted to keep secrets? Well, fuck that, thank you very much. Samara was here to blow them the fuck up.
But that split second passed and, torn in a whirlwind of emotion, Samara suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed - a feeling that intensified as she saw… Dude’s expression, stunned and wide-eyed.
Why she felt embarrassed and ashamed was the dumbest part. Why was she berating herself for not being the better person? She was sick of it. Sick of going quiet, sick of hiding, sick of pretending it was all of her choice when it wasn’t, when she’d never agreed to being Madeeha’s dirty little secret. It wasn’t her own fault that she existed. It was Madeeha’s, and possibly this man’s -
Oh no. Was this it? The first thing she’d ever say, ever do, in front of her father?
… Be a total asshole, just like her mother?
Great. Awesome. Another reason for Samara to feel completely shitty.
It was Dude who broke the silence.
“… Mother?” He repeated faintly… Before looking to Madeeha, with wide eyes.
It was like Samara had been slapped. Because the way he’d spoken… She didn’t need to doubt her suspicions anymore.
For the first time in her life, she was standing in a room with both of her parents.
… This has been a mistake. Oh, Jesus, this had been such a huge, mind-altering, apocalyptic, colossal mistake.
This was real. This was… Happening, this was real, and this was not the perfect, cinematic picture Samara had imagined in her head as a kid. This was messy and brutal and fucking random and… And this man, this stranger’s face, was stunned and horrified and bewildered in comparison to the expression of guilt and fury on Madeeha’s.
She shouldn't have come. Whatever she thought she'd been trying to do, whatever demons she thought she'd been chasing down… Samara had been more than wrong, she had been downright stupid.
In a way, Mara almost blamed herself for the origami-level bullshit unfolding before her. What had she come for? Not to really find out who her father was, she hadn't prepared herself for that. She'd said it almost… Tongue in cheek, to get under Madeeha’s skin, to remind herself of why she couldn't expect anything from Madeeha in the first place.
What had she been thinking, to just… Turn up? What was she trying to prove? Trying to say? Goodbye, before her plan with Danyal meant she silently disappeared into a future of her own making, off’ve everybody's radar? Well, in that case, Samara had really fucked herself over. All she'd done was tie herself to Madeeha more, rely on Madeeha more… Make any relationship Samara decided to have - if, if she wanted to have one - with this stranger, entirely dependent on the Satanic offering that was Madeleine Kay.
Samara had thought about this moment so many times. Imagined it, because, deep down, she’d never really expected to find out. Life didn’t work that way. People didn’t always find answers. People did live their lives alone, no matter how much they hoped for otherwise. She wasn’t exempt from that just because she wanted to be.
But the moment was here. And it was sudden and random and - and that was all Samara could think about, how random it all was. Unexpected. How many times had she considered coming to see Madeeha’s new offices? Heard her talk about work, even before leaving for New York - or rather, being run out of London?
What if Madeeha was right? What if this guy didn’t have any interest in Samara? What, he’d been working with Madeeha for all of these years, knew her well enough to call her Maddie (then again… If he was her father, Mara supposed he knew Madeeha very well. Biblically well)… And not once had he worked out that she had a child?
Either Madeeha really hated her that much, or this guy was wilfully naive.
She just felt… Numb. Empty. Unaffected, which was… Pretty insane, given what was happening.
The only comprehensible thought in Samara’s mind, however, only made it worse - because she hadn't expected this. Mara had not expected this! Even if a part of her had dared to hope, that part of her that somehow had magically asked… Not once had she ever entertained the thought, the possibility, not once, that she'd have an answer. That this would be happening. Even a few seconds ago, antagonising Madeeha - that was all it had been! Antagonising her! Mara had never expected…
Okay, that fear of being sick? Not such a fear anymore.
More of an expectation.
Mara wasn't sure how long they all sat (or stood, in the case of her… of Dude) there for, staring at one another. Stunned at Mara’s brazenness. Christ on a stick, she was stunned, and she'd said it.
“I have to go.” She breathed, rising to her feet - but three things happened at once.
Both Madeeha and… Dude spoke at the same time, and, accidentally in stepping towards Madeeha’s desk, Samara found her exit obstructed by this stranger, this random stranger, who, somehow… Might be her father.
“Samara, you are not going anywhere-” Madeeha said through gritted teeth, as, with wide, bewildered eyes… Business Suit (at this rate, Samara was going to run out of tag names) asked the question that immediately commanded a heavy silence.
“Who’s the father?”
Mara squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as reality hit her. This was happening. This was happening - even though it didn’t feel like it was, it didn’t feel real at all, she felt like she’d fallen into the goddamn Twilight zone - and it was real. She was visiting her mother - and probably for validation, and probably because she felt alone and scared about next week. It was pathetic. She’d come to Madeeha’s office, for the first time… Ever and just like that - she was going to get an answer?
She didn’t even know where to start. How could it be this easy? How was this not a special moment - did special moments not exist?
Realising Madeeha didn’t plan on replying anytime soon, Samara cleared her throat.
“That would be you.” She managed to say, her voice coming out... Hoarser than she’d expected. Dude just kept looking at her like a deer in headlights. “If you slept with her twenty or so years ago, which, judging by your expression… You did.”
It took every ounce of her self-control to try and control the sudden, super embarrassing and overwhelming urge to cry.
And then Dude turned to Madeeha and said something that broke whatever little part Samara thought she had left of her heart.
“I thought you got rid of it?”
Samara’s eyes closed in defeat.
She took that one second; that one, brief second, to feel the rejection, to feel all of her hopes dashed once again. To feel like a lost little kid, pathetic and vulnerable and unable to protect herself, desperate for a stupid fucking dream of a happy little family to come true.
One second. One.
And then, before Madeeha could say whatever smug comment her expression clearly showed was coming, Samara stared them both down and straightened her shoulders.
“I’m sensing you both have a lot of catching up to do.” She said calmly - and Samara was so proud of herself for keeping her voice even and cold, that she almost burst into tears right there. “I’ll leave you both to it.” She rose to her feet, hoping that nobody could see how her legs were shaking, and headed for the door.
“So that’s what you came for?” Madeeha scoffed, glaring holes into her head. Samara paused at the door, her face turned away from them both - her parents, Jesus Christ -, and sighed silently to herself. “Are you happy now? Convinced?”
Samara ground her teeth together so hard, her jaw hurt.
“No.” She finally replied, turning to face her with a fake, sunny smile. “No, I came to make sure that I wasn’t doing the wrong thing by not having labelled seats for the bride’s parents. Mission accomplished.”
Samara tried not to shake her head as Dude stared at her, open-mouthed, apparently lost at the word bride.
“Have a nice life.” Samara told them both seriously - before exiting from Madeeha’s office.
Every step was a struggle.
Samara refused to cry where she could be seen - not in this stupid corridor, with its rows and rows of glass offices. But her hands began to shake violently as soon as she was out of Madeeha’s sight, and she had to blink back tears.
This was what she’d waited for. Her whole life, this is what she’d hinged on - the possibility that she had a father out there, one who didn’t know her, but would love her and care and give a shit when nobody else had.
And for what? She’d waited almost her entire life for this moment, and for what?
As the lift doors closed in front of her, Mara watched her reflection - and, seeing her eyes begin to glisten slightly and her bottom lip begin to tremble, Mara forced herself to become composed.
“No.” She said shakily, staring down her own reflection. She placed a finger carefully under each eye. She wasn’t going to cry. She was not going to cry. Madeeha could watch the CCTV later and eat her heart out and how completely careless Mara was going to seem on that stupid camera. “Grow the fuck up. People suck. You’re fine. Grow the fuck up.”
As the lift slowly began to fill with each floor, she kept repeating that mantra - grow the fuck up, people suck, grow the fuck up -, digging her nails into the back of her leg to keep herself focused.
She made it through the ride down to reception. Past the receptionist, with a polite smile. Out of the building, and then down an easily ignored turning that led into an alleyway filled with bins, a man in a neon vest on the far end emptying one out.
Mara hovered awkwardly, waiting for him to leave. He can't have taken more than a few minutes - but to Mara, it felt like centuries, her feelings swarming in an uncomfortable mess in her throat that was beginning to make her feel nauseous.
The man left.
At first, Mara was stupid enough to think the feeling had passed - she was calm, uncaring almost. Maybe she’d been… Dramatising, just caught up in the shock of it all, and now it had passed. She’d been silly to think she needed a moment to hide. She was fine.
But then she heard it in her head again - I thought you got rid of it?
It had been so… Callous. Cruel. Incredulous, like Mara growing up to be a person was the fucked option. Like she was some kind of office printing error, that Dude couldn’t understand happening so easily, because it was so stupid.
Mara leant against the building behind her - and, sighing in defeat, felt her face crumple.
At first, it was… Difficult, almost. Allowing herself to let go. She was so good at keeping her emotions in check - and she finally felt months’ worth of pretending take its toll, as she instinctively fought the emotional release she needed.
“You’re such a child.” She muttered to herself - and then stopped, her hand halfway up to her face, as she realised what she’d just said.
Mara took deep breaths, bracing herself so that her hands were on her knees. Her eyes felt… Wet and as much as Mara tried to blink the tears away, they were too heavy to ignore - and before she could help it, as much as she didn’t want to, Mara felt her face crumple.
It was not graceful and it was not quiet. The more Mara tried to hold it all in, hold it together, the less it worked; she was crying freely now, and loudly, gasping for air and barely able to stand as her body shook - alternating between loud gasps for breath and silent, violent sobs.
"Grow the fuck up, grow the fuck - up-” She tried to tell herself - but she couldn’t stop, her mind angry at her own stupidity. He didn’t want you. They never wanted you. How could you be so stupid to think anyone would? You’re meant to know better. You should have known better…
Mara shook her head, cupping her hand over her mouth as her body ached, still convulsing. Her hands trembled - and it took three tries to remove her phone from her pocket, and another two before she heard the dialling tone.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the familiar sound, and tried to even out her breathing. With every deep breath, she seemed to… Hiccup - her breath being caught in her tears, her chest heaving and stuttering as she hastily tried to dry her already-swelling eyes.
It went to voicemail. Mara tried to sound as normal as possible - or, at least, not so totally pathetic.
“Uhm, hi, sorry, I know we said we weren’t going to talk, but I just wanted to see how you-” Mara stopped, closing her eyes. What was she doing? Why was she doing it? She shouldn’t be talking to anyone. Certainly not him.
But he was the only one she could tell - and, considering the amount of work she’d put into what was essentially going to be his relationship with someone else, she decided she was allowed… His time. What she had left of it, anyway.
“Actually, I’m lying.” Mara confessed - squeezing her eyes shut as her voice began to wobble slightly. “I… I'm in London, in secret, because I came to visit my total bitch of a mother-” Mara shook her head, sniffling and rolling her eyes heavenward. What a stupid mistake that had been. “- and I don’t know why I did, I guess it was something to do with the wedding-” Mara cringed. Shut up. “- anyway, I, um, I just-” Breathe. Speak. It’s not that hard. “… I think I just met my father. And it wasn’t good.”
It felt awful to say. Real.
Humiliating. That this was her life, that the kind of next-level bullshit she was trying to describe, was where she came from.
“I know I’m not supposed to be calling, but, well, I didn’t have anybody else to call and honestly, I don’t think I trust anyone else - to talk about this with, I mean.” She added quickly, chewing on her lip. She kept sniffling, and Mara had a horrible feeling her mascara had run… Everywhere. “I'm sorry, I guess I just wanted to hear a friendly voice." Mara stopped - again - as she tried to compose herself, feeling… Truly alone. "I just can’t believe that he doesn’t want me either.” She said quietly - and for a second, she actually had to remind herself that there was silence on the other end, because she was leaving a message. “Anyway,” Mara said quickly, realising she sounded ridiculous. “Just… Call me back, okay? I don’t know if I’m going to want to talk about it, or even be able to later, seeing as I’m going to look like an escaped panda the moment I walk down the road with running makeup, but - I hope you’re having fun and if you can call for five minutes… Please do.”
She hung up before she could change her mind.
Sighing, and beginning to try and salvage what little makeup she’d had on in the first place, Mara tried to calm herself down. It was fine. It was all… Okay.
Mara knew Dany would call. There was a possibility he’d moan about it, or making a stupid comment about Mara having the reigns on him for the sake of whoever was nearby (… and to irritate her), but… He’d call. There was no way he wouldn’t. Even if he was a total douchebag sometimes… He had her back. He’d had to, after the past few months.
Anyway, she had things to do. Any second now, Mara expected Madeeha’s stupid PA to let her know that the house she’d grown up in - the one Ari and Pixie were planning on using for the shower - was no longer at her disposable. A petty punishment, for wanting to find out the truth… And sure enough, within moments of Mara ordering her Uber, she received a message.
Don’t even think about the house - but it was text, directly from the wonderful Maddie Kay herself.
“It’s fine.” Mara told herself, taking a deep breath… Before ducking her head down, and heading back out onto the main road to wait for her taxi. You’re fine.
*
Cypress Lounge, Bellagio Las Vegas, Nevada
Dany squinted, grimacing as he sat upright, to the sound of his phone ringing obnoxiously from somewhere beside him. He groped around blindly in the sunshine and frowned, upon seeing Samara’s name flash across the screen.
He sighed, leaning back in the deck chair he’d fallen asleep in. Surrounding him, were the remains of last night’s late night kick-off party; random bits of confetti, half-eaten trays of junk food and some of Dany’s closest friends splayed out around him, in varying degrees of mess.
Hughie was the closest - asleep and snoring softly, his face teetering on the pool’s edge; all it would take was one slight turn, and Hughie would wake up with his head underwater.
Dany turned his phone to silent as Hughie murmured, though not quite moving his head.
The screen had automatically filled with pictures of the caller, and Dany inhaled deeply as the screen transitioned to show one of his favourite pictures.
It was of the first time they’d hung out together; at a party thrown by one of Samara’s friends, thrown at a water-park. There had been a photographer, the kind Dany would have ordinarily expected at parties or clubs; and had taken a picture of the two of them in the crowd, looking ridiculous. Dany was wearing oversized pink sunglasses that took over his entire face, in a damp white T-shirt and a pair of shorts; and falling off’ve Dany’s back, her mouth round in surprise, was Samara. Her hair was loose and wet and she had round (normal-sized) sunglasses on her nose. Dany was looking up at her, amused, as he tried to catch her leg to stop her from falling - and the Dany in real-time grimaced slightly, as he saw his hand just underneath where her denim shorts stopped, his fingers clutching into the firm muscle as he tried.
We’re not meant to be talking.
A part of Dany told him to answer now, quickly, before anyone could stop him and the phone ceased to ring. She’d called first. She’d broken the rules…
But why, Dany asked himself. He was doing it so that it would help them both. So unless it was an emergency… There was no reason for Dany to answer.
They’d made a deal. They’d all but given their word.
… But what if it was an emergency?
Dany chewed on his lip as the image on the screen suddenly died - and was replaced with a small notification of a voicemail, instead.
Surely if it was such an emergency, she wouldn’t have the time to leave a voicemail…?
Dany’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his entire body feeling uneasy at so blatantly ignoring Samara’s call; and then, he felt irritated, and began to berate himself.
They’d agreed. If it was anything serious, he would know - not have a notification for a voicemail. It was probably Mara updating him about some random detail regarding the wedding, or… Or even an accidental call! After all, what did they really have to say to each other?
They weren’t in a… Formal relationship. After the wedding, they’d have nothing to say to each other.
That decided it.
Taking a deep breath, Dany switched off his phone, slipping it into the back-pocket of his shorts before he could stop himself. He was compromising. He wouldn’t return her call - not unless she messaged him, or called him again, which would indicate it was something serious - and keep to his word… And, he thought irritably as curiosity coursed through him, I’ll check my messages at the end of the trip. Even if they hadn’t agreed to try and get into good habits for after the… Ceremony, Mara wasn’t supposed to be calling him on his stag. Especially when they both knew it was a stag for a wedding different to the ones they’d sent out invitations for.
Although a small voice in Danyal’s mind told him he was being a prat, and to pick up the phone immediately, just to know what was going on (… and maybe, maybe, just to hear her voice)… Dany was resolute. They’d agreed. And anyway, he was going to have to get used to ignoring her calls, if he… Ended up with Divya.
Dany shook his head slightly, rubbing his eyes. He felt… Gross, and immediately tried to blame the relatively comfortable poolside nap he’d just woken from.
He lay back again, staring up at the beams of light wood holding up the umbrella.
What am I doing here?
It was both stupid and useless a question, simply because Dany had an answer to both. He was at his stag. And he was there, because he had orchestrated a fake wedding to make room for a real one.
Exactly. That annoying voice told him. What am I doing here?
. . .
As the hours ticked by, Dany’s day continued; one quickly filled with shenanigans and laughter, after Raj had announced that they were set to partake in some sort of survival course out in the desert. Much to Dany’s relief… That meant leaving their phones inside. Without such a constant reminder, it was easy for Dany to no longer feel so guilty.
And in London, after curiously switching her phone on and off again to make sure her signal wasn’t being funny, Samara realised that Danyal wasn’t going to call her back.
It’s fine, she told herself. She’d already called Ari, telling her that the original venue of the bridal shower was no longer available - no further explanation than that -, but had left out the little detail of already being in the city herself. Realising there was nobody to comfort her, Mara had thought it best to give herself some… Alone time. Though so far, all she’d felt was empty. I’m fine.
Mara thought about texting Danyal; but she told herself that he was probably busy, that he probably wasn’t checking his phone, and that whenever he turned it back on, he’d call her back.
But by the time Mara was in bed in a nondescript Premier Inn, tucked away in one of the city’s many red-bricked back alleys… She wasn’t so sure.
*
The days blurred into each other.
Despite the slight mishap regarding the venue, Pixie and Ari managed to pull off a perfect bridal shower - one Mara had felt privileged to find out, was Ari’s means of thanks, for helping her “totally ridiculous, completely stupid” older brother.
And it was… Lovely, a series of events spread out over the course of four days, for Mara’s cousins and friends to join as their schedule allowed. It was almost like a holiday; one filled with all of Samara’s favourite things and the illusion of company that actually cared about Mara - as a person, for who she was.
The illusion was addictive.
It was the same for Dany, in Vegas; he was caught in a whirlwind of partying, extreme sports and paint-balling, sometimes all at once - much to the chagrin of the hotel, Mara was sure. Of course, she didn’t hear it from Dany himself. TJ and Rafi kept her posted, more TJ than anyone else, and even though Mara couldn’t blame Dany… It stung, every time she thought of how Dany had ignored her call.
It was more humiliating than anything. She’d been so desperate. It was her own fault. And anyway, she’d… Served her purpose. Created a fake relationship. What reason did they have to stay in touch? Maybe Danyal had been onto something, about not being friends after the wedding. Maybe they’d never been friends in the first place.
It wouldn’t have been the first time Mara had desperately sought out affection and imagined something that wasn’t there, would it?
It was okay, though - it was fine, really, to think that her friendship with Danyal was all… In her head. It was nothing new. And Mara didn’t have any more tears to spill - she’d done that on that first, terrible day in London, quietly crying to herself under the covers until she’d fallen asleep with swollen eyes, still occasionally checking her phone just in case Dany had called, or messaged, but she’d missed it.
It was fine. She was fine. And Dany in Vegas, with his friends and exciting activities capturing his attention, clearly was fine without her, too.
