“Yolanda, can your sister babysit Allegra this weekend?” Alice had said. There had been a short pause and then Alice had said, “Great, I appreciate it. Let me know if she has any other openings in the weeks to come?” Another pause. “No, Malaika won’t be working for us anymore.”
There it was. Even though she’d been expecting it, a sadness had welled up inside Malaika when she heard the words. She had expected to be fired this morning, but Alice had still been asleep when Malaika left the house.
Alice is probably calling the au pair agency right now, asking for a replacement. Will she let Malaika stay on for a few more days? Or will she be made to leave immediately? Either way, Malaika must act fast. She’s running out of time.
Now, as she surveys the gilded lobby, she feels her ribs constrict in anxiety. She wishes she could talk to someone who has done this before. Malaika is aware of her privilege: she doesn’t need the money to pay bills, conventionally speaking. No one is forcing her to be here. She’s here to fund a dream. Still, it would be nice to have a mentor. A guide of sorts.
Her phone buzzes. A text from Calan flashes on her screen.
Where are you? Aunt Alice came over to talk to me. Can we meet?
Malaika swallows. Alice has told Calan Malaika is to be fired. Malaika pictures him putting up a fight, defending her. She is sure he did a good job—Calan is very protective of the people he cares about. But the chances of him convincing his aunt are next to zero. Alice isn’t the type to be persuaded. Calan has probably realized this by now, which is why he wants to break the news himself. She scrolls through an earlier message, one she hadn’t seen.
Your phone shows you’re in the city! What’s going on? Are you OK?
She had forgotten she had given him permission to track her. How would he react if she were to answer this question honestly? He’d still be her friend. Malaika is sure of it. But he would judge her. Even if he didn’t mean to. People judge—the incident with Hans had taught her that. She’d done nothing wrong—having sex with one’s ex-boyfriend was hardly a scandalous thing—but people couldn’t resist pointing, taunting. Labeling her. They had done the same with Eva Stone. Slut-shaming. Perhaps the worst of all judgments. And one that only applies to women.
But now is not the time to dwell on the unfairness of the world around her. In fact, she shouldn’t dwell on anything right now. She needs to make herself numb. Pretend she’s an actress, playing a part. That’s the advice Andy had given her.
She is about to order a drink when she hears a voice behind her.
“Verena?”
Before turning around, Malaika takes a deep breath: in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is it, she thinks.
She has no choice.
*
From: [email protected]
Friday, November 1, 2019 1:31 a.m.
Re: A message from me
Dear Gina,
This is a confession, if you want it to be. I never had an affair with your husband. I lied. Alice tells me you already know this, but now you have it in writing. You can use it against me if you’d like. To sue me. To destroy my reputation (or what’s left of it). But before you do, I want you to know why.
My cousin is Zofia Nowak. Zofia had a romantic relationship with your husband that lasted nine months. She was in love with him. Zofia has told me a lot about you, all wonderful things. She said you were always kind to her, especially after she was hospitalized. She told me you came to see her and that she pretended to be asleep because she couldn’t stomach facing you. Zofia cares about you very much. She feels guilty about the pain she has caused you. I understand and empathize with these feelings, especially after having met you. Zofia also feels guilty about the pain she—and I—have caused your husband. On this count, I feel no remorse. None whatsoever. Your husband is a selfish, reckless, cruel man. He ruined my cousin’s life in ways that I lack the language to describe. I doubt he feels remorseful, but, if he does, I am very glad.
The things I told you when you came to see me are true. Except they weren’t about me. They were about Zofia. You’ve probably figured this out by now. For nearly a year, your husband took advantage of my cousin. He used her for sex, for intimacy, and for emotional labor. He also manipulated her. In private, he wined and dined her. He gave her expensive and thoughtful gifts. He made her feel like a woman in a romantic comedy that has just discovered she is the princess of a faraway land. In public, he ignored her. Worse: he continued to treat her as his personal assistant, nothing more. He continued to expect her to manage his professional and private calendars, including the events he attended with you and your son. Their relationship existed on his terms.
Your husband’s ability to pretend as though Zofia was nothing more than a subordinate when they were in public led her to question the reality of her own memories, even while they were still involved. She doubted her own sanity. As you know, this has a name: it’s called gaslighting. And your husband was responsible for it. It only got worse after they broke up. I was living in Florida at the time. I remember her calling to ask if she’d really told me about the man she’d been seeing—she obviously had, but she didn’t trust her own brain. I knew about him from the start,
