Page 3 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
Nani takes my hand. “If you want to date a boy again, get your mother’s approval first, no matter how old you are. My parents approved of Nanabapa, just like we approved of Jason. Be good—no more breaking rules. Don’t lie, and work hard too. You’re the smartest, best-behaved girl this family has ever seen. You can get through this.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Even as a grown woman I’ll need my family’s approval to date?” Does my mother believe this? She’s always talking about women’s rights and feminism. Asking for permission was never Mom’s style.
Nani shakes her head. “This is tohelpyou, sweetheart. Your family only wants the best for you.”
Mom certainly has a funny way of showing it. What’s best for me is to stay in the city with Nani and my friends.
I sigh. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not planning to date ever again. Getting into BEAD, then into the U of T architecture program, is all I care about.”
The door opens. It’s Nanabapa, and he doesn’t look happy,not that he ever does. “Why are you just sitting there? Meera, your mother will be here to pick you up in the morning. This room needs to be back to normal by then. Vacuum and dust, too.”
“I know. I will,” I say.
He’s still scowling. “I expected more of you, Meera. You’ve turned into your mother.” Nanabapa leaves, keeping the door wide open.
“That’s the most he’s spoken to me since Mom brought me back from court,” I say to Nani. My grandfather can be strict, but for the most part he leaves me alone, so I’ve never minded living with him. It’s worth it to be with Nani. I really don’t understand Nani and Nanabapa’s relationship, though. They’re nothing alike.
She smiles and pats my hand. “Don’t worry about him, sweetheart. Keep wearing your necklace and be good. I have no doubt in my heart that you’re going to accomplish all of your dreams, despite the curse.”
I put my head back onto Nani’s shoulder. I’m not as confident as she is, but I am determined. I am not going to let Gabe Bautista, my mother, or this evil curse get in my way.
CHAPTER TWOWelcome to Cherrybridge
Mom’s pretty quiet on the drive to Cherrybridge the next day, which suits me perfectly. I don’t have much to say to her anyway. When she got to Toronto in the morning, I tried again to convince her to let me stay, but she replied with an emphatic no. She also said I could sulk as long as I wanted; she would not change her mind: I was going to live in Cherrybridge all summer.
Jason’s big house is in a new subdivision full of more big houses. The house is gray brick made to look like stone and has an arched doorway and black windows. This is southern Ontario. Why is this house contemporary Tuscan style? I cringe as we exit the car. Mom uses a key to open the front door, disables the alarm system once we’re inside, and then casually drops her purse onto a table.
I’ve only been inside Jason’s house once before, right before their wedding at a posh country club here in Cherrybridge. Mom’s Toronto family felt so out of place. My poor Rashida Aunty had no idea why there were so many forks on the table.
It’s so weird to see Mom treating this enormous mansion like it’s hers. The house is ridiculous. Four bedroomsand six bathrooms. Mom’sclosethere is bigger than my bedroom in Toronto, and Jason has hisowncloset that’s just as big. It’s wild that Jason lived herealoneuntil Mom moved in three weeks ago. What’s the point of having all this space by yourself? If I ever become this rich, I’m getting a condo in downtown Toronto with spectacular views of the skyline. Something modern, built with a focus on sustainability and multi-use public spaces. I’ll make it colorful with art and photography on every wall, instead of this beige minimalism.
“Let me show you your room,” Mom says. She sounds like she’s trying to be cheerful. “You’ll love it. It even has its own bathroom!”
“I’d rather be back in the city than have my own bathroom,” I say, voice flat. It’s the first thing I’ve said in half an hour.
Mom looks like she’s not sure if she should snap at me or ignore me. And I get it. I’m not fun to be around right now. But why should I be? I don’t want to be here. Mom drops the cheerful tone. “Why don’t you go upstairs and see it alone. At the top of the stairs, turn right. It’s at the end of the hallway.” She turns her face away from me and shuffles to the kitchen.
I exhale. She’s never been a tough mom, so why is she punishing me for something that isn’t my fault? I could easily do my community service in Toronto… Heck, Nanabapa would probably drag me to the site and stand over me every day to make sure I did every second of my sentence. In fact, if Mom really wanted me to stay out of trouble, leaving me with my grandfather would have been the way to do it.
Is this because now she’s married to someone rich? Before she forced me to move here, I actually didn’t mind that shewas dating Jason. He’s a bit of a dork, but he loves Mom. I didn’t expect her to turn into a completely different kind of mother after her wedding, though.
I take my backpack up the dark wood stairs toward what will be my room for the summer. The hallway is painted beige. But when I walk into my room, my breath literally catches from the shock of it.
The room still smells faintly of paint, so I know this was done recently. The walls are a dusty teal color, the exact shade I painted my walls last year in Mom’s condo. But other than the wall color, this room looksnothinglike my old bedroom.
The bed is bigger—and higher, too. The headboard is ornate white wood, and there’s a textured cream bedspread. On top of the bed is a pile of cream-and-pink pillows, and a long white bench sits at the foot of the bed with some boxes stacked on it. There’s a white dresser that matches the bed and the bench, and even a vanity table with a round mirror and a little seat in front of it. On the dark wood floor is a pink-and-cream patterned rug. The room has a huge bay window, and I can see the perfect green grass of the backyard and the bright blue pool through the gauzy pink curtains.
The room seems familiar, but it takes me a moment to realize why.
Last year when Mom said I could redo my room in the condo, I went through all these design magazines and websites and printed out my favorite looks and put them on a big corkboard in my room. This is almost an exact replica of one of those pictures, the one that inspired my color scheme. While I loved the magazine shot, I couldn’t recreate it becauseI’d had to make do with hand-me-down furniture, and it’s really hard to find decent throw cushions in thrift stores. But I wasn’t disappointed about it because in the end, I built a room thatfeltlike me.
This room, this recreation, does not.
I sit on the bench to look at the stacked boxes. There are new purple platform Converse sneakers, fancy noise-canceling earbuds, and the newest iPhone, still sealed in its box. I exhale. I cut out a picture of these exact shoes and stuck it onto my bulletin board a few months ago, but I never thought I would actually own them.
Suddenly the bedspread moves. Or rather…
“Oh! A cat!” I grin widely. It has long cream-colored fur, with a pale-orange-point face and tail. No wonder I didn’t notice it right away. Its fur is the same color as the bedding. “What a cutie!”
