نترس

“How soon is too soon to set up your Christmas tree?” A small, wincing, smile creased across her lips, as if she were somewhat embarrassed to even be asking the question in the first place. “Asking for a friend, of course!” she quickly clarified, even though she was most definitely, one hundred percent, the friend.

Growing up, Nadia’s family didn’t celebrate Christmas in the traditional, Christian way. Her mom would put up a small tree—barely even a meter tall—in commemoration of her own childhood holidays, but it didn’t go up until Little Christmas Eve, and that was mainly it. No presents, no carols, and certainly no nagging anticipation to start decorating. She inhaled deeply as she tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, then exhaled heavily enough to puff out her cheeks. “You can tell your friend,” she started, “that as long as it’s December, I don’t see the big deal. The biggest issue is that it’ll probably dry up and die by Christmas Day though, right? But I digress.”

His lips peeled into a wide grin, eyes squinting off into the distance as he remained smug about her first point. It was true, she could have asked anybody else, but she hadn’t. Now she was stuck with him for the day whether she liked to accept it or not. He basked in the glory of this; marinated even. “I’m between jobs,” He corrected her like always, and like always, got ignored as Nadia plowed through the conversation on her own terms. So he let her until she was done. “Interesting… Two weeks ago you were ready to force feed me a stale kebab and hope I choke… now you want to go into the meal-deal business with me. One might be suspicious you’re turning a new leaf…”

Nadia made a show of rolling her eyes, though she had to admit—okay, maybe not had to, but she was willing to, internally, to herself and to herself only—that she wasn’t nearly as put upon as she feigned being. The next hour promised waffles on a discount, for one, and for two: her workday was surprisingly fulfilling, or at least it didn’t make her want to gouge her own eyeballs out at any point for once. She was, in a short description, in a pretty good mood. “It’s called having layers, Adam. Didn’t you know? I contain multitudes,” she replied with an air of artificial intellectualism. “I can hope you choke a little and invite you to lunch. I’m simply exhibiting my vast, complex — fucking emotions. Now, are you in or out?”

Maybe it was the booze in her system, or maybe it was the impending loneliness she felt every time she remembered that this, everything around her, this new life, it wasn’t just a phase destined to end once she met some kind of goal. This was her life now. This person that she was trying to be, it was her phoenix from the ashes rendition. Maybe it didn’t always feel natural, and maybe it felt like she was wearing a costume sometimes but it was what had to be done. That’s what she kept telling herself, it’s what her mother and her therapist kept telling her. And by God, did she get sick of pretending all the time…

“I know you can…” Phoebe breathed, nose already blistering from the cold as she too, coated up. It was in that moment though that in her drunken, depressed stupor that Phoebe really looked at her friend for the answer. So what? So what if she told Nadia the reason she hadn’t gone to the party tonight? So what if she knew why she’d had to leave her hometown, or why she never touched people, or why she felt so guilty every single day of her miserable life? What, would she outcast her? Call her a freak? Nothing could be worse at this point than what Phoebe said or did to herself. She’d heard it all. “Actually, you’re probably the only person that could handle… anything about what… I think I’m going to tell you.” She declared, still slurring a little, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “But first — I’m about to literally freeze to death, so can we just go back to yours and.. I’ll explain the whole thing.”

Nadia’s interest piqued. She wasn’t a bloodhound when it came to any kind of gossip, but she was intrigued by the way people’s minds worked—their stories, what made them operate the way they did. Though to say she was interested in all people would be too generous a statement. She liked those who were interesting, who had a passion and a drive. She was drawn to Phoebe’s creativity, in particular, and a certain hesitance in the way she held herself. Nadia saw a bit of herself in it and she understood where hers came from, but Phoebe’s was unknown to her. But with that interest came a degree of worry, especially in her state; it was hard not to be, her drunken mind conjuring a whirlwind of explanations, each one crazier than the last.

“Oookay, okay,” she replied, wriggling her fingers in her pockets. “I’m honored, but—also like…” She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger nearly-pinched together. “A little concerned.” She went to nudge Phoebe with her elbow, though she purposefully missed her by a few inches, to direct her to take a left toward Nadia’s place. The walk to her apartment was a fairly short one, as nothing in Kingsholm was that far from each other. As soon as they got to the door, Nadia fumbled with her keys in her haste for warmth. She used her heel to keep the door open and let Phoebe through, then quickly scaled the stairs to her apartment. As soon as she entered, she let out a sigh of relief, tossing her scarf onto her small kitchen table. “Karsk time, babyyyy,” she sing-songed, kicking off her shoes and heading toward her coffee maker. “If things are gonna get serious, we need to prepare. You want sugar in yours?”

STATS

Name: Nadia Kazmi Nickname: Her father calls her Nooreh Chesham (“Light of my eyes”) Age: Twenty-six Birthday: 28 December 1991 Zodiac: Capricorn Gender: Female Language(s): Norwegian, English, Farsi, and a little Russian Orientation: Lesbian Species: Human Nationality: Norwegian Religion: She has a very complicated relationship with religion. Her dad is Muslim and her mom converted to Islam before they married, but Nadia is mostly Agnostic. Health Disablities: N/A Distinguishing Marks: Freckles and a number of tattoos  Drugs: Only weed Alcohol: Yes Smoke: Yes Traits: + Passionate + Shrewd + Self-sufficient + Cultured - Argumentative - Impatient - Snobbish - Insecure

“Alright, we’re back. So what’s this thing you needed me to do, or go to, or whatever?” He asked as they walked, having told them to put a quick pin in the converation until he was done inside with a client. Of course, he’d kept that little meeting private and brief, and now acted as if he was just carrying on his regular day like anybody else and he hadn’t just made some privilated skeevy kid’s day. “Oh, and my one condition. Next friday, you buy me one of those weird Norwegian tacos, but I’ll kill you if you put cucumber in it. I’m never doing anything for you ever again if there’s cucumber in it, kapiche?”

“Okay, well, first things first: I don’t need you to do this. I could have easily asked someone else,” Nadia explained, tightening the scarf around her neck. “You just happen to be one of the only people I know without an actual day job, which made you available.” She had gotten off work at two, with no real plans to work on tomorrow morning’s show until later in the afternoon, and for lunch she happened to want to take advantage of The Waffle Factory’s special. Adam might not have been her absolute first choice for a lunch companion, but he was the second body she required. “And you need two people to, uh—” she snapped her fingers, struggling to remember the right word in English, “be valid? Allowed? Whatever. You need two people to get the second meal free, so I’m doing you a favor here. If we split the bill, we’re paying half as much as we usually would.”

If she’d been of sound eyes and sound mind, Phoebe would have been more careful about what she simply dropped into a conversation around Nadia. If it hadn’t been for the swishing of her brain cells inside her head, Phoebe would have known better than to even bring the Silver party up. Despite Nadia’s sheer radiant sense of independence, she also could never leave bait alone. From past experience, she was a hook, line and sinker kind of girl — but Phoebe would never have the bravery to admit that to her face.

Watching as Nadia threw herself up mid-movie, Phoebe felt her gut plummet all of a sudden. Scrambling to collect her belongings and also follow Nadia to the exit, it wasn’t until they were just outside it that Phoebe grabbed for her friend’s elbow to pull her back. It was unusual for her to use physical force of any kind, and for a moment, she felt a spark of adrenaline and fear shoot through her at the implications. But as Nadia’s curls whirled around her head in sling-shot motion, Phoebe could only feel relief when no vision followed. Though she knew now more than ever that the moment was now tainted with even more suspicion. “Nadia…” Her voice dropped into something soft. Something serious. “We can’t,” Phoebe said, a lilt of finality about her tone that tried to ensure her friend that this was the end of the road on the plan that hadn’t even really begun. “Look, I can’t explain it… You’d think I was crazy if I did. But we can’t go to the party. Or, well…” She hesitated. “You can’t go.”

Nadia stopped short when she felt Phoebe’s hand on her elbow, bristling slightly at the gentle manhandling. Being touched wasn’t a foreign sensation in a general sense, but Nadia suddenly realized how unexpected it was coming from her friend. Her eyebrows shot up at the sound of the soft insistence in Phoebe’s voice; there was a thread of exhaustion in her tone that gave her pause, too. Nadia hummed contemplatively as she finished buttoning up her coat, a harsh wind whipping by them. She made the decision to delay things for a moment, or at least not totally plow her way into what she wanted. The seriousness of Phoebe’s words sounded like they were toeing the line of genuine upset, which, maybe to the surprise of some, wasn’t actually Nadia’s intention.

“Okay... fine, we can just go back to mine for now,” she finally said, briefly lifting her hands in mock-acquiescence in an attempt to bring levity. “Sounds like a violation of my basic civil rights, but fine. I mostly just wanted to get out of that stuffy cave anyway.” She stepped off the curb to cross the street. “But what’s the worst that could happen—I get kicked out of there by some goons? Do you know how many protests I attended during university?” She scoffed, then snorted a short laugh when she nearly slipped on a patch of ice. Classic of Norway to storm right through autumn into winter. “I think I can handle the guys who peaked in high school they probably hired to act as security.”

Phoebe could only roll her eyes, not having thought about the word until Nadia pulled her up on it. It didn’t really happen much anymore, simply because being in a different country where people struggled to speak even basic English, Phoebe wasn’t about to make it ten times harder by using words she knew nobody away from home would understand. But she was drunk, and with company she trusted. If Nadia was allowed to switch language mid-sentence, then Phoebe was going to throw her a couple of curve balls too. “I did!” She protested quickly, “In fact, it was probably the first thing I thought, actually. But whatever, it was really exclusive, so I said I wouldn’t go. We already planned a whole thing, it’s no biggie. Like before right now, I’d even forgot about it.” Not entirely the truth, but a little lie never hurt anybody. “I wouldn’t have been able to get you in anyway.”

Nadia pressed her lips together and playfully narrowed her eyes. The idea of some bougie party happening under her nose didn’t much affect her as a plain statement. In a country like Norway, there often seemed to be at least a dozen privileged assholes whichever way you turned—this was especially true during her time in Oslo for university—so some exclusive event? It wasn’t that out of the ordinary, but it was a little odd for a small town like Kingsholm. But what also struck her was the fact that Phoebe was invited. Clearly no offense meant toward her friend, but Phoebe didn’t typically scream the high society or influence needed to get into something quote-unquote really exclusive. Der er ugler i mosen, Nadia thought. There are owls in the bog. She grinned. “Well, we won’t know unless we try, will we?” she said then stood from her seat, only wobbling slightly, and nudged Phoebe to follow her. “I’m sure they have better drinks at this fancy party, anyway.”

If her face hadn’t felt hot and her brain wasn’t sloshing around inside her head with the cocktail remnants of the thermos mug, Phoebe might have taken a shred of that to heart or fretted that maybe she was being too greedy in some sense of the word. But instead, she laughed, forgetting the sentiment almost as soon as she’d heard it. “Oh my god, I don’t know, it was just a thing.” She whined, trying to fluff off the target practice Nadia was suddenly playing with her. Then again, Phoebe figured that casually mentioning the party might have made it less suspicious, only now realizing she might have done exactly the opposite. “Like… a Halloween party, or whatever. Nothing spesh. Also, I didn’t know anyone else who was going so as if I was going to just turn up like some munted loser by myself.”

Nadia grinned as Phoebe’s tone veered toward whining. The idea of taking someone on as some personal pet project generally repulsed here but there was something worthwhile in pulling things out of Phoebe, in getting her to open up, even if merely came to some silly party she was apparently invited to. “How quickly we forget the rules put in place about you and your kangaroo slang. Munted,” she repeated, though her natural pronunciation of the u, plus the drinks, left her fucking up the accent and basically pronouncing it moonted. She pulled out her phone to double-check the time, making a clicking sound with her tongue when 20:45 lit up the screen. Far too early for them to run out of booze, by her judgment. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t consider dragging me into the bowels of this so-called ‘dumb, ‘nothing spesh’ thing,” she continued, re-pocketing her phone as she shifted into a position that promised motion. “Should I be offended?”

Circling in front of Nadia, the Investor did a small curtsey the moment they were faced to face. “Thanks hun, I could say the same thing about yours.” At least someone appreciated her look and the way she sees it, the both of them seemed to have nailed their looks. “I didn’t think Kingsholm would contain PTA-esque mothers.” The Whisper shook her head in a disappointed manner, “Right? I was thinking the exact same thing. There’s so much shit on TV and with the Internet on top of that? Kids are probably watching a ton of crap that’s far worse than what I’m wearing. Anyways, I just think the mother’s are jealous they can’t pull this off. It’s so simple too.” 

Her attention diverted to the crowds of people gathered to watch the films. “Wow, I don’t know if I should congratulate or be sorry for you.” teased Francesca as she laughed. “All jokes aside, that’s really sweet of you. You deserve all the treats.” Returning her gaze on Nadia, she playfully rolled her eyes at her inquiry. “Oh I am super stoked.” she sarcastically replied. “I’m more adventurous…The thought of sitting still after countless movies doesn’t sound too appealing.” 

“You can’t throw a rock without hitting at least three self-righteous white women,” Nadia replied, shrugging as she eyed the rest of the food selection. She tried to remember what Phoebe asked for, but it was proving momentarily difficult. Cookie? Brownie? Candy? It all amounted the same frightening amount of sugar anyway, so she figured it might not be too bad if she got it wrong on the first go. She tapped her fingers against the table, then shot Francesca a sharp smile. “Hey, they can spend their night giving you shit and eyeing you in envy because they hate every single thing those kids did to absolutely wreck their bodies — blah blah blah. But at the end of the day, you’re not one who thought squeezing out two-point-five babies is what you needed to be happy. They’re just boring people.”