Once a slut, always a slut.
7
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Ten different breakfast stations were in full swing the next morning. The air was thick with the smell of fried bread, mangoes, and sugary masala chai. Kids splashed in the infinity pool outside, their shrieks echoing off the glass wall.
Relatives and family friends clutched their plates and milled around the continental bar filled with fruit and fresh-baked pastries set beside artisanal jams. Reza was at the halwa puri station toward the back. Courtney joined him. She gave him a conspiratorial smile and drew close, her mouth brushing his ear. Whatever she whispered made him laugh.
Hena kept moving. Past the omelet station, where two chefs cracked eggs without glancing up. Past the waffle bar with freshly prepared Madagascar whipped cream and sprinkles set in crystal bowls for the little ones. She grabbed a croissant from the pastry tower and carried it to the coffee counter, raising her eyebrows at the familiar dark-haired man behind it.
“You ferry luggage, fix fondue stations,andmake coffee?” she asked him.
“I’m a jack-of-all-trades,” he told her. “And dare I say, I make a mean latte.”
Indeed, his creation was lovely, finished with a perfectly swirled foam leaf. She thanked him and took the cup, the warmth seeping into her palm as she studied the crowd.
One of you fuckers slipped that note into my purse.
But who?
She had stared at the note so long, it felt etched into her mind’s eye. But the messy handwriting from the bleeding pen gave nothing away.
Who even used the wordslutanymore? Some auntie catching up on the trending misogynist vocabulary of the nineties? Auntie Hanifa and Auntie Nipa were nestled toward the back, deep in conversation. They were the most obvious culprits. One of them had surely left the “missing husband” remark in Lulu’s advice book. But that note had been written for public flogging. Why would either of them bother sneaking her a message when they could just as easily say it to her face?
She turned her head. Another auntie was staring. Their eyes met; the woman quickly looked away. Hena exhaled slowly. If she were to suspect anyone who cast a wary glance her way, then nearly everyone here was a suspect.
It would help if she knew what the note referred to. Was she a slut for the rumored California abortion? Had someone seen her talking with Haris yesterday and jumped to conclusions? Even a simple chat and a hug could be enough for imaginations to run wild.
Or did someone know she and Reza had hung out in her suite after the welcome party?
No. They could speculate, sure, but no one could know. Even if someone had spotted him heading toward theelevators, the VIP tower had six suites, including the one where Khaled—his friend—was staying.
She should probably tell Lulu about the note, but she wanted to avoid adding stress to her sister’s week. Besides, she already knew the reason behind it. Someone wanted to mess with her. To remind her she wasn’t welcome.
The best response was no response.
Lulu walked over wearing an embroidered kamiz with delicate flowers stitched along the collar. Hena’s heart lifted. The necklace she had gifted her sister rested perfectly against her collarbone.
Lulu nodded at her plate. “That’s all you’re having?”
“Don’t go all auntie on me now,” Hena teased. “What about you? I don’t see you eating.”
“We had a food situation,” Lulu said. “The chef we hired for the halwa puri station brought in an assortment of nuts for garnish. Almonds, cashews, pistachios, you name it.”
Hena’s eyes sprang wide. Lulu had a severe nut allergy. “That’s a serious fuckup.”
“I’m staying far from the kitchen and the food stations until it’s all decontaminated,” she said. “It’s fine. I’ve been living off my protein shakes anyway. At least now Ammi can’t give me grief for not eating a well-balanced meal.”
At the mention of their mother, Hena looked around. Ammi wasn’t here. Again. Lulu caught Hena’s expression.
“She had a rough night,” Lulu explained. “We insisted she get some rest so she’ll have the energy to attend tonight.”
“Can I stop by the room in a little bit to check on her?”
Lulu frowned. “Why would you ask? She’s your mother as much as she’s mine.”
Lulu didn’t understand. She couldn’t. They were raised by the same woman, but they had different mothers. Hena hadbeen the child who happened to come along. Lulu was the daughter her mother had dreamed of.