Page 1 of Everything She Wanted

Prologue: Nisha 2.0

Here, I can be anyone. I can be her.

The woman I fantasize about. The one who has it all together, a model of pure class and sophistication.

Confident.

Empowered.

Unattached.

Beautiful.

Free.

I carefully apply red lipstick, press my lips together, and stand back to take in my reflection in the ladies’ room mirror while the women around me do the same. We’re all priming and posing for an invisible audience while elevating into a cloud of floral perfume. Elegant chairs and the floor-length mirror make it feel like I’m in a high-end hotel, not a bar.

As I take in my reflection, I almost can’t believe it’s me. My long-sleeved black dress is short and tight, hugging my curves. It hung in the back of my closet for far too long, hidden behind my sarees and lehengas, but I can finally wear it here, where I don’t have to worry about prying eyes judging me. I added some highlights to my long, dark brown hair just a few days ago, and I feel lighter, too. Like a new version of me.

I can be her so effortlessly when my old tethers are gone. When I don’t need to remember my past or my many flaws, and no one is here to remind me of them. Still, my stomach flutters as I step into this new reality in this new city.

I leave the bathroom and make my way back to the bar. Heads turn and I welcome the gazes, though I’m not sure if they’re meant for me or the woman behind me. For a moment, I let myself pretend I’m interesting. I rarely get to be in the spotlight—for most of my life, I’ve tried to stay out of it, but not tonight.

“Nisha, there you are.” Rachel hands me a drink and I take in the soft brown waves that frame her stunning face. She is Japanese American, and striking without even trying. Her emerald eyes light up as we clink glasses, and I take a sip, gin and citrus notes hitting me in equal measure. I hold the cool liquid in my mouth for a moment, savouring the rich taste.

I still can’t believe that Rachel offered to let me move into her swanky condo at a steeply discounted rate, making my relocation so much easier. Even though we’ve only seen each other sporadically since we first met during my semester off in Mexico, we easily picked up where we left off. While I told my family I was doing research for university, what I was really doing was escaping all the drama. It was one of the rare moments I let loose without worrying about the repercussions. This time we aren’t doing tequila shots with strangers, but it’s just as fun being here with her.

“This place is amazing,” I say as I gaze around the room. Yellow, pink, and purple vertical LEDs hang from the ceiling, and candles line the bar creating a cozy, stylish ambiance. The bar is fully stocked and backlit with a dark red glow. The DJ plays an eclectic blend of electronica, accompanied by live trumpet. Everything about the bar screams chic. I love it. Sure, there are great places in Toronto, but everything is fresh here in Vancouver. Intriguing places instead of the same old bars frequented by the same old people.

“It’s great, right?”

“Such a vibe,” I say as I continue to admire the surroundings.

“Let’s take a selfie.” Rachel pulls out her phone and I put on a genuine smile. Something I’m not used to doing. She takes a few photos at different angles, and we swipe through the shots, trying to find the best one.

The bartender comes up to us. “Rachel, we lined up some of our best mocktails for you to try over in that booth.” He points past the end of the bar. “And a meet-and-greet with the chef.”

I had forgotten that while this was a night out for me, for Rachel it was work. She had amassed a huge online following, and clients often hired her to share information about Vancouver bars and restaurants.

“Thanks, I’ll be right over.”

He nods and goes back to serving the other customers.

“Join me?” She gives me an encouraging look.

“Is it okay if I just hang out here for a bit?” I’m still a little nervous about being online too much, always worried someone I know will see me.

“Are you sure?” She hesitates, not wanting to leave me alone on our first night out together as not only good friends but also roommates.

“I’m fine. Go. I’m going to enjoy the ambience.” I sit back on a barstool and shoo her away. She is already doing so much for me. I don’t want her to feel like she has to babysit me, too.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She squeezes my arm and walks over to the booth. She glances back and says, “I may need you later.”

“Got it.” I agreed to pose in a few photos to help her make it look like this was the place to be. Luckily, she’ll let me curate which ones to post.

I breathe in the atmosphere and scan the room. A few girlfriends chat away at a table without a care in the world. There is a couple I presume are on a first date, given the way they look at each other. So many people just stand around and sway to the music, fancy colourful drinks in hand.

Usually, I’m self-conscious sitting alone anywhere and will instinctively reach for my phone, but this time, I relax.