“Don’t be silly. You can stay with me as long as you need to.”
“Thanks.” Rama fidgets a moment before throwing his arms around me and hugging me.
After he goes, I spend the rest of the morning cleaning the apartment, but Rama’s never far from my thoughts. I can’t imagine how he must be feeling—the dread that’s clawing inside him. I wish I could take the burden on myself, but all I can do is wait for him to return.
It’s obvious he’s been traumatized for years by his aunt did to him, so much so that seeing her again sent him into shock. He needs to see a therapist. I hope telling his father will be the first step in his recovery.
I don’t allow myself to think about what happened between us on the balcony. Rama’s mental state is too precarious right now—all I have to do is remember how he looked when I arrived at the park yesterday and all thoughts of pursuing something with him shut down. He doesn’t need to be questioning his sexuality on top of everything else that’s going on. On top of that, season two of the series is looming on the horizon. Working together, we can’t be involved.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Rama
“Rama. What are you doing here?” The expression on my father’s face is one of stunned confusion.
I’d waited at home all day, hoping he might return for lunch as he sometimes does, but it’s after six p.m. when he walks into the house. Fortunately, Chinda is away traveling with friends, so I didn’t have to answer her questions.
“I need to speak with you, Pah,” I say quietly.
Setting his black leather briefcase on the table, my father turns a stern gaze on me. “Answer my question. Why are you here and not in America?”
“The company ended my internship.”
“What? Why?” His hand goes to his cell phone in his pocket, and I know his first instinct is to call Darren Gains.
“I’ve had some…health issues,” I hedge, dread creeping over me.
“What sort of health issues? Why wasn’t I informed? Look at me when I speak to you, Rama!”
This has been a matter of contention between us for years. I hate looking at him because when I do Aunt Sunnee’s eyes stare back at me. My father considers it disrespectful.
“Rama—”
“Pah, please,” I interrupt, clasping my hands together to stop them from shaking.
Starting toward me, he stops mid-step. Crossing his arms over his chest, he demands, “Explain.”
I swallow hard. I don’t think anything short of a terrible accident would justify the end of my internship to my father. I really don’t think he’s going to take mental and emotional turmoil as an excuse. He’ll say I’m weak. He’ll claim I’m lying.
Breaking into a sweat, feeling like a two-ton weight is sitting on my chest, I struggle to breathe normally.
“What’s wrong with you?” My father stares at me. “Are you ill?”
“Please just listen.” Moving my gaze to a spot on the wall above my father’s right shoulder, I begin. “The summer after Mah died, something happened. Something I’ve never been able to get over, although I’ve tried.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’ve really tried.” Taking another deep breath, I let it out slowly, not daring to look at my father’s face. I’ve said this much, I can say it all. “We went to America and were staying with Aunt Sunnee and Uncle Roger.” Just saying her name costs me what little courage I’ve built up. Trembling, my voice breaks. “Pah…” My eyes dart to his face. He’s listening, brow furrowed.
Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I forge on, spitting the words out as fast as I can, not allowing myself to dwell on the memory. “Our first night there, Aunt Sunnee came into my room. She got into bed withme. She t-touched me. Inappropriately. More than once. It happened several times on that trip.”
A thick silence falls over the room. When it stretches so long I can’t bear it anymore, I force out the rest of the story.
“When she showed up at Pete’s last week, I freaked out. I haven’t seen her in all these years. I tried to forget, but there she was—looking at me. Acting like I should be happy to see her. How could she not know how much I h-hate her after what she did to me? I just…shut down. I couldn’t focus on work. I was a mess. I’m still a mess. But it doesn’t matter, Pah. I hated the internship. I don’t want to work at your company. I know you’ve said that we can’t always enjoy what we do for a living, but I do enjoy acting, Pah. I want to continue with that.” I bolt to the bathroom and empty my stomach into the toilet. When I return, my father stands at the window looking out.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asks, voice tight.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of hurting you.”
“So, you didn’t tell anyone?”