by Sonya Lalli
“You know,” I heard Asher say, “if the light’s off, it means it’s taken.”
“You’re being a nuisance.”
“That’s because you’re not letting me be helpful.” He uncrossed his arms, and then crossed them the other way.
“Fine.” I gestured to the street. “Be my guest.”
Asher pushed himself off the lamppost, and as he walked toward the edge of the sidewalk, a cab pulled up. The door opened, and three girls in stilettos and long parkas filed out. Asher placed his hand on the roof of the car as he helped them out, and then looked at me smugly.
“Lucky bastard.” I got into the cab, and before I realized what was happening, Asher slid in next to me and pulled the door shut.
“Thirty-eighth and Tenth, please—we’re going to the hotel, right?”
“Wait, we?”
“No problem,” said the driver, steering sharply into the traffic.
Asher reclined in his seat and drummed his fingers on his lap and, a moment later, looked over at me. He smiled. “What?”
“What are you—why are you—”
“It’s eleven”—he glanced back at his watch—“twenty-two. In New York City. On New Year’s Eve. I’m not letting you go alone.”
“So you’re being chivalrous, are you?”
“Something like that.”
We made it to the hotel in good time, and Asher waited in the lobby while I ran upstairs and grabbed Draco, who was still sitting on the windowsill where I’d left him. I stuffed him into my purse and then ran back downstairs. Asher was talking to someone at the concierge desk, and as I walked up, he shook the man’s hand and walked briskly toward me.
“They can call us a black car, but it will take a while to get here. Or we can walk over to Eighth Ave. and try and catch a cab there. Apparently, we won’t find one around here.”
I reached for his hand, and rotated his wide wrist until I could see the face of his watch. Eleven thirty-five.
“Subway?”
He shook his head, looking at his wrist where I’d touched him. “It’s out of the way—walking there and then back again—we might as well just walk down.”
“Well, why don’t we?”
“Walk?”
“Yeah. We’ll go fast.” I lifted up my right boot, the flat edges covered in salt. “We might even make midnight.”
We cut toward Ninth Avenue and then turned south. Our strides long and brisk, we walked silently in step, the faint smell of salt and gasoline hanging in the air. We passed delis and tapas restaurants, low-income housing and upscale condos alike; the windows light and dark like a checkerboard. The crowd thickened outside of Penn Station, and we darted through the throngs of pedestrians, delivery boys on bikes, pizza boxes and steaming white paper bags strapped over the back wheels. And after a few blocks, the sidewalks thinned out, and the silence between us once again became palpable.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “Are you still—uh—mad at me?”
“Not really.” He dodged to the right of a couple walking their dog, while I curved around to the left, and when we’d passed them, he said, “Are you still mad at me?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Your apology is officially accepted.”
“I haven’t apologized . . .”
“But you’re about to.”
“Yes, I guess I was.” I laughed, hopping over a crushed beer bottle. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry I misjudged you, Asher. I’m sorry I assumed you were a stoner and an irresponsible drifter. And a nuisance. And—um—implied you were a slut.”
“Ouch.” He raised his eyebrows. “When you say it like that, I’m not sure I have forgiven you yet.”
“Oh, calm down,” I teased. “You’re fine.”
“Raina,” he said after a moment, in a tone I couldn’t quite read. “Did you really think that badly of me? I know I’ve led an unconventional life, but I’m just not as scandalous as some may think.”
“No Thai ladyboys during your travels?”
He laughed.
“Because I hear you can never be quite sure.”
“Nope,” he said grinning. “And no bastard children, either.”
We dashed through another intersection, the streets dirty with melted snow. I looked down at my boots. Mud had caked onto the edges, and with each step, I tried to rub some of it off.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I shook my head.
“Tell me, Raina,” he said softly.
“Really, it’s nothing.” I shrugged, and as his pace slowed even more, so did mine. “But I guess, technically, I am a bastard child.”
“Oh.”
“It happens all the time, doesn’t it? Same story. Different characters. I never knew my dad, and Mom’s kind of all over the place. He had blue eyes and blond hair—and was tall. That’s all she ever told me.” I smiled. “She was too young.”
I felt Asher’s hand on my shoulder.
“My grandmother—my nani—was different back then. Different with my mom. She wasn’t allowed to do anything, not even take swimming lessons, because a swimsuit was too revealing. She rebelled, she had me—and then when I was young, I guess she’d had enough. Mom left, and has barely been back since.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s not your fault. It’s not really hers, either, though.”
“Your nani was tough, sure. But that doesn’t mean your mom is allowed to blame everything on her childhood, forever, don’t you think?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I think.” I glanced at him. “Anyway, Mom is still finding herself. She travels, she switches jobs when she feels like it—kind of like you did. We all find ourselves in different ways . . . although I suppose your way is far more interesting than mine.”
“Interesting—sure.” Asher kicked at a loose rock. “But being away from everything and everyone you’ve ever known—it’s so easy to get lost. You can lose your perspective on life, rather than find it.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Who knows. I’ve been everywhere, tried everything”—he winked at me—“almost. And I don’t regret much. Except that I wasn’t home when I was needed.”
“What did you miss?”
“My sister’s wedding, for one. It’s taken her a long time to forgive me.”
“But she forgave you.”
“Of course, she’s my sister. But she has kids now. I’m an uncle, and a pretty great one, too. And I know that when I have kids, I would need Anna to be around for them. So now, I want to be around for her. It’s a small family.” His voice quieted. “Our parents are dead.”
“Asher. I’m so sorry.”
He smiled. “I was at university—my last semester, actually. Their car slid right off the road.”
“Was that why you quit school?”
“It’s life, you know?”
I felt his hand brush against mine, and I squeezed. “Life doesn’t make living through that any easier.”
His fingers stayed intertwined through mine until the light changed. On the other side, people had started to gather on the sidewalk in front of a yellowing sign with “Punjabi Hut” painted on in dark blue lettering. I’d seen shops like this in New York before: twenty-four-hour Indian eateries with platters of authentic dishes served up on plates for a five-dollar bill. Never more than three rickety tables inside, yet always full, always ready for the next wave dashing in and out for a quick taste of home.
“What’s going on?” asked Asher as we walked toward them. More people were arriving, from the handful of cabs parked halfway up the curb, pouring out from the restaurant, the scent of spices and oil trickling outside as they propp
ed open the door. Someone was setting up a speaker outside the shop, and we gathered at the edge of the growing crowd, watching everyone speaking excitedly in Hindi or Punjabi, buttoning up their coats over saris and kurta pajamas.
The speaker pulsed to a start. Bhangra. Asher smiled at me in recognition, like he’d heard the lively, low-swinging beat before. Soon, everyone around us—old and young—was dancing with their hands clapping or twisting, their hips moving as fluid as a belly dancer’s. A woman who reminded me of Nani, petite and with a kind face, walked by with a Tupperware full of laddoo, popping the sweets into people’s mouths at random. She walked up to Asher and tapped his stomach. He opened his mouth, and she plopped the whole thing in, and part of it crumbled off his lips. He caught it with a smile. “What is this?”
I wiped the crumbs off his chin. “It’s a blessing.”
“It’s good!”
The crowd formed a circle on the sidewalk, and everyone took turns dipping in and out of the middle, bobbing their shoulders with the beat, dancing with such vigor Asher and I couldn’t stop watching. On an impulse, I dragged Asher inside, and laughing, I taught him the lehria step, and he jerked his arms from side to side, a silly, childish grin painted onto his face. We danced and spun, and the saris swished, the smell of masala overflowed, and being there—right there—with Asher, I felt something I hadn’t in such a long time.
Happiness.
The music swelled, and in a chaos of shouts and laughs, the countdown began. I could feel Asher looking at me. Our bodies pressed together. I was sober, but suddenly woozy, drunk on the scent of pepper and his aftershave.
“We’re missing midnight.”
He was inches away, and it was like the crowd was pushing us closer. My ears rang, my neck prickled, and I could feel the heat of his body as he stepped closer.
“No, we’re not.”
As the numbers fell away, reverberated through the street, the mass of people, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My hands were so close to Asher’s, and his fingers brushed against me.
“Five . . . Four . . .”
I could smell him. Pepper, earth, aftershave. Our fingers locked together, and I looked up.
“Three . . . Two . . .”
And I couldn’t look away.
“One.”
Then, in the middle of New York City—as I thought of nothing and no one else—he kissed me.
Asher . . . What just happened!?
SIXTEEN
I woke up alert, ready to hop out of bed and grab my sneakers. I peeled back the covers, then noticed the floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the West Side Highway, the bleach white linen, and remembered where I was. I stretched my arms far above my head, and then let them tumble back onto the pillow. I looked over. Shay’s side of the bed was empty, the evidence of the rest of last night scattered around the room: our boots and coats and dresses in piles on the chairs and dresser; wine and water glasses still half full of champagne. An empty carton of Chinese takeout, its grease dripping onto the bedside table. I sat up and wiped it with a napkin, and then scrambled for my phone. I had a handful of work e-mails—from Bill, mostly, sent just after midnight about a file I hadn’t finished on time. One new voice mail from Nani, and a text from Asher.
Good morning :-)
I smiled until my cheeks hurt, and rolled sideways onto the duvet. Asher. Who would have thought—and what was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking. I still wasn’t. But, for whatever reason, I couldn’t stop smiling. The rest of the night had passed by in a blur, even though I’d barely had a sip to drink. No one had even noticed Asher and I had disappeared, and after taking the photo with Draco, we spent the rest of the night partying with the group, dancing to old-school R&B. Then, after a quick hug at the end of the evening, the bride’s and groom’s parties had gone their separate ways.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what to text back. A simple good morning? A mentioning of last night? But what was last night?
Would there be time to talk about it in New York? We were flying home that afternoon and likely wouldn’t have a moment alone together until we were back in Toronto. I wondered where Asher lived, whether he’d want to see me again.
I swung my feet over the bed and pulled on a bathrobe hanging in the closet. Shay was sprawled across the futon in the main room, her morning-after hair tied in a bun at the top of her head. She had an ice pack on her forehead, her cell phone on her stomach, and Nikki and Niti were limp on the other couch, half dressed, their eyes half closed. Serena was in the kitchen pouring coffee, and she pushed a full cup toward me as I sat down at the counter.
“Coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.” I took a sip, and then glanced back at Shay. She was glaring at me now, and I wondered if she’d figured out what had happened with Asher.
“How was everyone’s night?” I asked to no one in particular. I took another sip, and then glanced over at the twins. “Nikki, you seemed to be having fun.”
She groaned, lifting her head slightly before letting it flop back down on the pillow. “I made out with Justin Bieber.”
“You made out with a guy who told you he was Justin Bieber,” Niti said, “and you believed him.”
“But his name was Justin, right?” Nikki sighed. “I hope I didn’t post any pictures.”
I heard Serena laugh behind me, and when I turned to look at Shay, I saw that she was still staring at me.
“Shay, you feeling okay?”
She didn’t blink. “I talked to Ma this morning.”
I crossed my arms. “How was her New Year’s party?”
“It seems she had a nice little chat with your nani.” Shay sat up slowly, curled her fingers around the edge of the futon. “Want to guess what it was about?”
I laughed. “Did your dad get drunk and sing again . . .” I caught her eye, her icy glare, and when seconds passed and still she didn’t say anything, I knew. And my stomach dropped. “I—”
“Is this all some kind of elaborate joke from you?”
“Shay—” I stopped. I glanced at Serena, coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth, a blank expression on her face.
“Look,” I said, turning to face Shay. “I can explain. Can we go talk in private for a second?”
“In private?”
“Shay, come on—”
“What the fuck is going on, Raina?”
I hopped off the stool, walked past the twins, and started to pull her up by her wrist. “Please, let’s just talk—”
“No—”
“—in private. Shay, please—”
“Get off me!”
“Shaylee? What’s—”
“Stay out of this, Serena,” Shay growled. The air in the room had gone flat. Nobody spoke, and I could hear my heart beating furiously.
“So,” she continued after a moment. “You have an audience now. Always begging to be the center of attention—well, here you are, Raina. We all want to hear your joke now. Since when does your nani think you’re a lesbian?”
I heard a shuffle behind me, and turned around. Nikki and Niti were off the couch, one behind the other, walking toward the door. Serena was already gone. A moment later, the door clicked shut, and all I could hear was the hum of the fridge, its door still slightly ajar.
“Well?”
I looked back at Shay. She was standing there, staring at me with an anger I’d never seen from her before.
“What’s going on with you?”
I sat down on the couch. I couldn’t breathe, and I wished that I could open the window. Everything felt trapped inside me, and I didn’t know how to—I couldn’t—let it out.
“Unbelievable.” She threw her hands in the air. “You’re going to sit there, and not even look at me? After everything we’ve been through—you’re going to keep lying to me?”
I concentrated on my toes as I tried to steady my breath. But what was the truth? That I wasn’t as strong as her? That I hated myself; that I hated the way Dev treated me, yet I couldn’t stop it? That I was ashamed, and alone?
“Fine,” I heard her say. “Lie. Let’s go with that. Let’s go with you being a fucking lesbian.”
My mouth dry, I swallowed, tried to find words—any words.
“You—coming out to your nani.” Shay’s voice cracked. “You—a lesbian—the same girl who became a doormat for the first guy to really look at you, some guy who didn’t give two shits—”
“Shut. Up.”
“And now—you’re telling people you’ve given up on men? Want to try the ladies for a while?” She laughed cruelly. “Good fucking luck.”
I looked up at her. “I said. Shut. Up.”
“You know what.” She shook out her hair. “I’m not going to ‘shut up,’ not like I did when Dev turned you into a puddle and I had to deal with that mess—”
“Shay—”
“It was pathetic—and this”—she threw out her hand—“whatever you’re doing now, is really pathetic.”
“You know, I always thought that I was the judgmental one. Not you.” I scratched my chin, and I heard my voice grow cold. “I wonder if Julien would still marry you if he knew what a slut you used to be.”
Her mouth dropped.
“Who knows, maybe you still are.”
“You know I would never cheat on Julien,” whispered Shay.
I stood up. “How would I know that, Shaylee? Maybe I don’t know you at all. After all, you didn’t know I was gay.”
“Raina, you’re not gay.”
“How the hell would you know?” I screamed. “You haven’t been around. You’ve been off with the man of your dreams, lecturing me about my problems whenever—”
“I’m not around? You’re the one that keeps disappearing, keeps shutting me out—”
“If one day, you and Julien were just over—over—would you want me to tell you to ‘get over it’? Tell you to grow a pair, and be strong?”