FIFTEEN
The anniversary party had wound down by the time Nadya arrived back at her sister’s house, and for that she was glad. Being surrounded by guests only would have made it worse. There was leftover food everywhere, and her sister seemed to be in good spirits.
“I’m sorry,” Nadya said, as soon as she saw her, but Jasmine dismissed her, cupcake in hand. “No,” Nadya insisted. “Really. You flew me out here, and I was gone the whole time. Then I show up, and I’m a mess. And then I miss the whole reason you invited me.”
Jasmine looked like she wanted to respond, but had to finish chewing her bite of cupcake before she could speak, so there was a delay.
“You missed the excuse I had to invite you,” she said, when she could speak again. “I have my sister back. Whichever way it happened – and I hope one day you’ll tell me – I’m glad for that at least.”
Maybe in time, she would be able to find the silver lining that Jasmine had identified. But for now, the guilt, and the shame, and the heartbreak were too much.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Jasmine asked, the tone in her voice indicating that she could tell from the look on Nadya’s face that she had not.
“I found out what I needed to.”
Jasmine gave her that singular look that always means “I’d help if I could, but I know I can’t.”
Nadya tried to appreciate her for it. Maybe one day she would. But for now, she could only move her body forward, and hope that her heart, in time, caught up.
“I have to get to LaGuardia,” she said. “It’s time I headed home.”
SIXTEEN
Jasmine dropped her out front at LaGuardia, and after they hugged goodbye, Nadya wandered inside alone. She had her noise canceling headphones, her traveling clothes, and her ticket in her hand; all the same things she’d had when she left Seattle to come to New York, but somehow, now, only three days later, she felt like she had infinitely less.
The airport had its usual annoyances, but Nadya had a hard time being bothered by them. Nothing mattered much. There would be troubles, but they were nothing like what she had already faced.
She’d checked in online from her phone, and with no bag to check in she started heading directly to her departure gate. As she passed through security, she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Salman’s well-rehearsed escape plan from his own security detail. But the momentary joy of the recollection was immediately replaced by a pang of regret and sadness.
Would it always be like that, she wondered? Would every time she thought of him bring up again the same emotions? She’d had breakups before, but they’d never been like this. It was one thing for things just not to work out, or for two people to grow apart. But this…
She put it out of her mind. She tried, at least. She had some episodes on her phone to watch, still working her way backwards through the series she’d started in the cab. That’s how she’d do it – she’d bury herself in fiction until she could bear the starkness of the reality that she’d done Salman wrong.
As she neared her gate, Nadya saw that something wasn’t right. It took her a moment to place it, as nothing she saw around her wasn’t normally something you’d see in an airport. Then she put her finger on it. What was a chauffeur with a sign doing at a departure gate? And why was he wearing the gray suit that all of Salman’s servants wore?
Her pulse quickened as her pace slowed. She walked towards him cautiously, her eyes darting around the room, looking for the trap. The sign had the same detailed, elaborate calligraphy as the one that had lured her in to the whole situation three days ago. In fact, it was the same sign.
Nadya A, it said.
Nadya walked up to the man, clearing her throat. “My name is Nadya,” she said, making her voice as level as possible. “Nadia Anderson.”
The man gave a huge, albeit very artificial, smile. “Yes, Miss Anderson. If you could just follow me…”
He took off at an aggressive clip, weaving through the crowd at such a pace that Nadya had her work cut out for her keeping up with him. When he stopped at last at the door to a private lounge, she was out of breath. He opened the door, which squeaked on its hinges, and motioned her inside.
She walked in, eyes darting around, waiting for the police, or maybe just Salman’s private security to jump out and tell her she’d been caught. The lounge was dingy, apparently abandoned. Most of the lights were out, and the room was dark, except for in the center of the room.
She saw no police. She saw no security. Instead, she saw a man in a bespoke suit, seated on a utilitarian sofa with upholstery straight from the 80s, facing away from her.
“Salman?” she said, her voice husky.
He stood, and turned. His face was impossible to read.
“Where’s your wife?” Nadya blurted out the question, her voice betraying an unjustifiable anger she didn’t know she was carrying, buried under the sadness.
“I don’t have a wife,” came the immediate reply. Salman got to his feet, putting his hands in his pockets. He seemed casual, but she thought she saw him sway just the tiniest bit.
“But I saw you,” Nadya said, her tone accusing.
“You saw what, exactly? You saw me there, outside of my home?”
“While the wedding was happening!”