Page 14 of The Kat Bunglar

As they pulled up to the St. Regis 45 minutes later, a shudder went through her.

The building loomed ahead, all sharp angles and sleek lines—like a giant, well-dressed middle finger. It screamed discreet exclusivity. The people who lived here had clearlymade itin life.

“Kat, it’s boiling in here. Why aren’t we going in?” Christian asked, fanning herself with her hands.

“I got the AC on as high as it goes, lady,” the Uber driver responded, annoyed.

Kat couldn’t breathe. As she stared at the gates of the imposing condominium, she suddenly realized that watchingOcean’s elevenand taking a tiny tub of blush that cost $8 was not the same as waltzing into someone’s home and taking hundreds of thousands of dollars.

She started wheezing heavily.

“Oh my God, Kat! What the hell? What is wrong with you? Are you dying?” Christian was yelling from very far away—or at least, that’s what it felt like to Kat.

She was too busy falling through a deep, dark tunnel. Her chest hurt, sharp jabs of pain tore through her sides. She couldn’t form words.

Her mind, however, kept echoing: she was a total fuck-up. Her parents were right about her. Why had she dropped out of college? She would never amount to anything. She was going to jail. Everything she touched, she fucked up.

And yes, she had lied about using filters on Instagram. Because cameras were imperfect devices, and her nose didnotlook that crooked in real life!

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“FINALLY, SHE IS AWAKE. Such a princess, this one.”

That couldn’t be her mother’s voice. There was no way her mother could be in Chicago.

“I made some samosas for you, Christian. You look like you could use a snack after all the running around.”

Kat’s eyes flew open in terror as she caught sight of her mother pulling out a greasy paper bag filled with samosas and chutney.

“Ammu!” she thought she screamed, but it turned out to be a whispered croak instead.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Malik. That’s so sweet of you. I amstarving,” Christian said, grabbing two and digging in.

“Let me go check on Khatira’s father. He always gets lost in these big hospitals.” Her mother struggled to get to her feet.

Watching her made Kat wince. Her mother’s arthritis was clearly getting worse. She silently watched her grab her cane and shuffle out of the room.

“You called mymom?” Kat hissed at Christian the moment the door shut behind her mother.

“Oh my God! You’re awake. Finally! Thank God that Uber driver knew of a hospital nearby. You wereliterallyfoaming at the mouth,” Christian said around a mouthful of crunchy samosa flakes.

“Why the hell would you call my mother?” Kat asked.

“I didn’t. They’re your emergency contact. I didn’t realize they lived in Indiana. How quaint—you’re a Midwestern girl!”

OfcourseChristian didn’t know her parents lived in Indiana. Indiana was essentially the armpit of the Midwest. Who in their right mind would want to claim it?

Nor did she feel like claiming her ultra-conservative Bengali parents, who disapproved of the way shebreathed.

So, she had pretended to be aborn-again LA girlwhen she moved to the West Coast—no past, just living in the present and hoping to be YouTube famous like everyone else.

“Christian, why am I even in the hospital? What happened?” Kat started pulling on the cords attached to her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I thought you were having some kind of rabies attack, so the driver took you to Stroger Hospital.” Christian went back to dunking her samosas into the chutney.

Before Kat could respond, she broke out into a coughing fit—just as her parents entered the room.

“Aren’t you going to get your daughter some water? Are you going to just stand there like a good-for-nothing?”

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