Page 13 of The Princess and the Nerd

“By the way, have you actually looked at the diversity profile of her business?” my mother asks. “You think you’re some righteous warrior, championing the little guy, and taking down the privileged, rich white woman. But her business partners are actually a gay man from Mexico, and a Black woman. Their profiles are all available online, and it seems like they’ve worked very hard for the opportunity to run this restaurant. Do you actually care to even look behind the curtain and see who else you’re hurting?”

Shit. I guess I didn’t do much research, or even step into the kitchen to talk to the chefs. I usually do, but I was so angry about the terrible service that I didn’t really investigate as much as I normally would.

“You like her, don’t you?” my mother asks with a sigh.

“Who? What? What do you mean?” I respond with confusion.

“Willow. You have a crush on her. And you’re so uncomfortable with feeling any sort of emotion or attraction that you decided to push her away and obliterate her so that you don’t have to actually have a conversation with her and risk experiencing normal human feelings?”

“Wha—” I respond, somewhat speechless. “Why do you think—”

“Or is this your way of actually trying to get her attention? She ignored you in the restaurant, so you’re flexing your influence and power for revenge, attacking her to show that you can casually destroy her on a whim if she doesn’t fall at your feet and bend to your will?”

“N—no,” I respond. “Mum, that’s not—”

“I can’t believe I raised you like this. All the comments on her appearance were totally unnecessary, heartless and vicious. If you want to flirt with a girl, just send flowers! Ganesh, help him. He’s a lost cause.” With that, my mother hangs up the phone.

I sit here for a moment in silence. Thinking. Then I slowly pick myself up and drag my sore body to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I still want to spend some time in the sauna, but I am not sure if it will help.

I feel totally eviscerated. Like I have been pummeled from head to toe by my mother’s words, and my insides are bleeding. I guess it’s a little taste of my own medicine.

Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, right?

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