Page 72 of Red Flags and Rishtas
‘You just rest, Anu,’ she said and squeezed my shoulder, promising to bring me a hot cup of tea in a bit.
I spent the entire day dozing in and out of sleep, trying hard to induce an illness out of the blue. In my worst moments, I found myself fantasising about conversations with my family physician.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you, Ananya,’ he would say, his moustache dancing on his top lip.
‘What is it?’ my mother would ask, clutching my hand.
‘She’s got a rare type of cancer.’
I know, I know. It’s a terrible thing to fantasise about. And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder how so many of my problems would immediately be resolved if I were to magically develop a deadly disease. The people who hated me would have no choice but to give me the benefit of the doubt, those who were mad at me would have to forgive me and the ones who had wronged me would be overcome with guilt.
Morning turned into night and I stayed confined to my bed, only stepping out to pee every few hours. At some point on Tuesday morning, I briefly thought about writing an email to my boss to inform her I was sick. But I’d chucked my phone under the bed last night, and I didn’t want to get up to retrieve my laptop from the study table. So I put on my sleeping mask and began counting to one hundred.
Wednesday morning arrived and my mom rushed into my room, holding the landline in her hand.
‘It’s your boss,’ she said, holding out the phone for me. ‘You didn’t tell her you were ill?’
I blinked, making an effort to swallow the sour taste in my mouth. ‘I can’t.’
My mother had had enough of me. She tilted her head to one side and pointed to the phone in her hand with her eyes.
I sighed and took it from her. ‘Hello?’
My voice was groggy and ailing, and I hoped it sounded pitiable enough for Pooja to not want to scream at me.
‘Get your ass to the office. NOW.’ It clearly hadn’t worked.
‘But I’m sick—’
‘I don’t care if you’re in the ICU. Be here in an hour or say goodbye to your promotion,’ she barked and hung up.
Quite honestly, I didn’t care about the promotion anymore. Right now, it was hard to care about anything at all. But ignoringPooja’s call would’ve meant dismissing my own hard work of three years, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to live with that a week from now. So I summoned all the energy I didn’t possess and dragged myself all the way to my office building.
The receptionist didn’t let me punch in. ‘Pooja ma’am is expecting you in her office,’ she simply said.
The door to her glass cabin was open, and she motioned for me to shut it behind me. She was wearing a nude jumpsuit with a belt to cinch her waist. The front of her open-toed suede sandals was tapping against her desk, in perfect synchronisation with her fingertips on the tabletop. She’d been waiting for me.
‘Care to explain where you’ve been?’ She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair.
She was studying my appearance. In my black Beatles hoodie and loose jeans, I looked every bit the part I was trying to play.
‘I’ve not been keeping well.’ I felt light-headed even as I stood there, and I was reminded of the lack of food in my system.
‘You couldn’t have dropped me a text or an email?’ She crossed her arms to mimic her legs.
‘Wasn’t well enough to do either,’ I said, placing my hand on her wooden desk for support.
‘Sit down,’ she said, the coldness in her voice subsiding as she decided I wasn’t telling complete lies. ‘You need to see something.’
As I took my place across from her, she turned her laptop to face me.
‘While you’ve been conveniently AWOL the last few days, a very pressing email has been waiting for you in your inbox,’ she said, pointing to the screen.
My heart skipped a beat as I read the sender’s name. Michael Evans, the global editorial director of TMJ.
Pooja’s expression hardened again. ‘He had invited you to a virtual meeting. To discuss the future of Best Man – and I’massuming yours too. The meeting was yesterday, Ananya. You missed it. And you didn’t even bother to respond.’
I swallowed hard, realising the gravity of my actions. ‘I … I didn’t see this,’ I stammered.
