23

Zee:Whatcha wearing? Dress to kill, please

Me:Only if it's to kill at comedeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Zee:Why. Are. You.

To be honest, I don't know either.

It's a date night for Zee (and Vern, although he doesn't know it yet) but it's another comedy night for me and, more importantly, the last open mike I would be on before the comedy qualifiers over the weekend. Since my visit with Dr. Zulkifli I'd canceled my shifts at Seoul Hot and used my time to double down on comedy, using Zee and study sessions as my cover to my parents, who said nothing. Knowing that the injury had thrown a spanner in my pro-athlete plans, they accepted my flimsy excuses, figuring I should occupy my mind with my studies instead.

I put on my usual stand-up comedy get-up: black leggings, a plain white T-shirt, and white Keds, my stomach churning with more than my usual nerves. I wish I could focus on my set, but I'm distracted. Royce will be there tonight, too—and we haven't really spoken in person since the charity gala. That knowledge, and the fact I will be springing Zee on Vern, who's expecting a quiet drink with me, makes my stomach churn.

The nerves don't disappear even when we arrive at Souled In, the restaurant, at 5:30 p.m.—a full half an hour early—and head to our table on the pretty fairy–light strung patio to wait for Vern.

Vern arrives first, hair unusually matted with product, white tee, usual jeans, white sneakers. We're twinning. I'm surprisingly pleased with this coincidence. We share a smile, though his wavers when he sees Zee. "Ladies," he says, sliding into the chair closest to me.

Zee says, "Funny we should run into you here, ha-ha." (She really did say ha-ha.)

Vern's smile is professional. "Zee, right?" They'd never actually spoken one-on-one before this.

"Yeah," Zee says, blushing. "That's what my parents didn't call me."

Don't ask me why Zee was; she just was.

"Hey, am I interrupting something?" says a voice I recognize. Royce comes up behind Zee, his eyes on me.

"Hey, Royce! I mean Ray!" Zee says, waving. "Right on time."

"Hey, Zee," Royce says. "And…Agnes and Vern." I can tell he wasn't expecting me or Vern.

"Ray and I have become quite friendly during this stand-up thing, so I figured I'd ask him to join me—well, us for a pre-stand-up hang."

Zee is trying to set me up on a double date. Crafty. I turn the full force of my glare at her, but Zee ignores it. Then again, Vern had not been expecting Zee either, so I guess both Zee and I are terrible people, and we deserve each other.

"I can spare fifteen," Royce says evenly. "Then I have to prepare for my set." His performance according to the set list is in the second half, more than two hours away.

Brr. It's cold in here.

"Aw, c'mon, Ray, surely you can spare some time for your…peers," Vern says, his smile perfect.

Royce looks at him. "I certainly can for Agnes and Zee," he replies. "And from now on, I'm going to perform as Royce Lim. It's a compromise with my family," he tells me.

"Oh wow, another persona," Vern says. "Gosh, it's just…so hard to—"

"Let's order!" I shout, desperately flagging down a server, who is not impressed with our orders of Cokes, emphasis on "full sugar, none of that diet crap" from Zee.

"This is dinner service, would you perhaps like to order some food?" she says.

"Absolutely not," Vern says at the same time as Zee says rather bossily, "Yes, let's get two orders of truffle fries and see how we feel later." The server nods and leaves.

"I don't want truffle fries. I've had dinner," Vern says.

"I don't want any, either," I say. I'd had a sandwich before I left, and also, I just saw how much those truffle fries cost.

"Maybe we should hang at the bar and leave these two," Vern says, smirking.

"I don't want food," Royce snaps.

"I'll eat all of it, then, no worries, it's on me," says Zee, both getting and not getting the subtext (as in, I'd just sneakily texted her under the table: nO mooney!).

The drinks come. "So, you guys officially registered for the JOGGCo qualifiers?" Vern asks after we've discussed what we've been watching and listening to lately.

"Yes," I say, perking up.

Royce hesitates. "Yes."

"Oh," Vern says. "Even though, I don't know, there might be some rules against…Especially after the new sponsors—" There's a question in his voice I don't understand.

"You're mistaken," Royce says harshly.

Vern laughs. "I figured you'd have some justification."

"Hello?" I wave my arm. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Vern says airily. "Just sussing out my competition. Anyway, you guys have your sets ready yet?"

"Yes, I started working on my two different sets of tight tens, with some backup replacement bits."

Vern nods and slings his arm around my chair. "Excellent. You know, we should practice with each other at mine. I can record you and give you pointers, I've made it to the semifinals for another one of the smaller regional stand-up competitions last year, and the format is the same."

"Yes, I'd love that!" I say, gratified.

Royce gets up and says, rather rudely, "Zee, I'll send you the money for my share of everything, drinks and food. I have to run."

"Yeah, sure," Zee says, her face registering surprise. "But the fries haven't even—"

He leaves without saying goodbye.

"How rude," Vern says, lifting his arm from my chair. "I guess some folks aren't raised well. Not like you, Zee."

"Er, sorry?" Zee says, an eyebrow arched in question.

The fries arrive, a fragrant basket of crispy perfection. I regret my earlier stance of not wanting to partake, but I must stay strong.

"Yeah, you know, you being Zalifah Bakri and all?" Vern says in his usual frank manner. "I mean, I know you've never really mentioned your full name or who your family is, but we all know. And we've certainly appreciated how generous you are with money, much thanks, but in spite of all your almost-suffocating displays of pocket money, I must say you're actually much more fun that I thought." He rubs his chin and gives her a thoughtful look. "Yeah, you're all right, Zee Bakri. Anyway, I gotta run, too." He gets up. "I wish I could hang, but I need to work on my set. I open tonight."

"I can't wait," I say. "Your last set was so good."

"Jinx," Vern says affectionately. Then he's gone.

I watch him go. "Well, that was…a short date. Zee, thoughts?"

Zee is looking at the fries with a weird expression I'd never seen. "I've been doing it, haven't I?"

"I'm sorry?" I say between a mouthful of fries.

She's doing a weird blink. "I've always said my family doesn't define me and I believe it, I really do…but here I am, buying people's favor like a politician on an election campaign."

"Whoa, hey, you're not that, I mean, you don't do it consciously."

She throws up her arms. "Isn't it worse if I'm doing that sub-consciously, in spite of all my talk of being a modern, independent woman?"

"Well, technically, you're a—" I try to lighten the mood.

"You're telegraphing your punch line," Zee says sourly. "I know I'm a minor."

I sigh. "Zee, you're just being generous. There's nothing wrong with wanting to treat people," I say. "I mean, you know I'm not with you for that, at all." I push the half-empty bowl of fries away for good measure.

"If you're the exception to the rule…" She pauses, gathers herself, continues. "Sure, there's nothing wrong with wanting to spread some money around, but now that I think about it, ‘spending to seduce' does seem to be my default mode." She swirls her Coke in her glass and gives a short laugh. "Maybe I'm insecure and I just didn't realize it. Or worse, m-maybe I don't know who I am without my family or the money. For all my talk about moving to California for college, about finding myself beyond my family's reach…maybe I'm just deluding myself. Maybe I'll just end up losing whatever it is that makes me, me, and then I'll find out that nobody wants to hang out with me, the real me, without the money filter."

"That's not true," I tell her with vehemence. "You're not defined by your family or your money. You're Zee. You're a bright, vivacious, and funny person. You're good at makeup videos and languages." I put my hand on hers. "And you're a terrific friend."

"Friend. Right." She contemplates me with that same searching expression. "If everything I said about family and money doesn't matter to friendship, then how come the inverse is true for you?"

A cold feeling spread over me. "I don't understand," I hedge.

"Tell me, Agnes, why haven't I, in the four years we've known each other, been introduced to your mother except in passing, or been invited to your home?"

"It's…just…it's just…I—I…My mom—" I swallow. "We just…y'know. Renovations," I finish, my face as hot as a furnace.

Zee makes an impatient noise. "God, you're doing it again. You're like a one-way mirror. Why do you hold me at arm's length, Agnes?"

"I…I d-don't, no, that's not what I meant to do at all!"

"Sure you don't," she says sadly. She shakes her head. "I'm done trying to convince you to let me in. I've got to go. Have a good set, Agnes."

Then she leaves without a backward glance, and for the first time since we met, she doesn't foot the bill.

~

I mess up a couple of times during my set. It's a mark of how affected by everything that's happened with Zee that I don't even obsess over my performance. All I can think about is Zee, my closest friend. Maybe my best friend. I cannot lose her.

Me:Hey, Zee, you up? Can we talk please?

Three dots appear and disappear. I don't blame her. I know more than anyone that trust is a hard commodity to come by and to give out. When I was ten and my mother's first episodes started, the kids I thought were my friends made fun of her and us, not understanding why I came to school with clothes that were wrinkled and sometimes dirty, why my lunch box was often empty or filled with torn pieces of white bread and nothing else, why she was weeping outside the school gates when she dropped me off. Before I came to Dunia, the only person who had ever helped me when he saw I needed it by sharing his food with me, who gave me a listening ear, for that one afternoon, when it would have cost him more to be associated with me, was the then fifteen-year-old Vern. Not my peers, not my teachers. Only Vern.

I'm miserly when it comes to giving out trust. To protect my family, and myself, I've stockpiled it like people hoard goodwill in a famine.

Me:You were right. About everything

Me:I'm sorry I didn't let you in, Zee

Me:I'll tell you everything you want.

The three dots appear and disappear.

I make a decision then. Sometimes, we can't wait for the other person to reach out first. We have to be vulnerable first.

I start recording my story over voice messages and sending them to her.

I just hope it's not too late.