by Sajni Patel
“Yes. Don’t worry.” He struggled to keep his eyes open. I didn’t imagine that he had been able to sneak in naps during the day.
I groaned. “Who told you to stay all this time?”
“I dunno. My conscience? I’m fine, unless you’re going to offer for me to crash at your place.”
My cheeks flared, but he added, “I’ll text you later.”
“How much sleep have you gotten?”
“A few hours this week.”
I rolled my eyes and pointed at the parking lot. “Park.”
“Liya, I said I’m fine to drive home,” he protested, more alert now.
“Just park the car. I’m not getting out until you do.”
“I live less than fifteen minutes away.”
I crossed my arms. “This is me being nice. Park the damn car.”
He groaned and sloppily parked the car. We walked across the sidewalk and took the elevator up to my apartment.
I tossed the keys on the counter as he locked the front door behind us.
I flipped on the lights and said, “Feel free to sleep as long as you want. Eat or drink whatever. The couch is pretty comfortable.”
We slipped off our shoes in the foyer, and I grabbed a prefilled bottle of water from the fridge. Halfway to the bedroom, I untucked my blouse and had it partway unbuttoned before I remembered he was here.
Jay was quiet as he turned away from me. He peeled off his button-down shirt and laid it over the back of the chair. Still in his undershirt, he unbuckled his pants…and I closed my bedroom door.
Chapter Fifteen
Jay
I awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon. I expected to roll onto my side and see my bedroom. Part of my brain wondered who made breakfast before the other part remembered where I was.
Light pushed through the tiny slits between the blinds, and I squinted before fully opening my eyes. I sat up on the plushest couch I’d ever been on. Liya hadn’t lied when she said it was comfortable. I stretched my neck one way, then another, and looked around. Liya’s door was closed, but a pot of coffee brewed in the kitchen.
Snatching my pants off the chair, I put them on but left them unzipped since I was headed to the bathroom anyway. I’d barely pushed the door open when Liya swung it back and jumped.
“Sorry. Thought you were in your room,” I said, my voice miserably hoarse. She wore short pink shorts and a matching tee, her hair pulled back, her face bare. For a passing second, all I wanted to do was back her into the wall and feel her body pressed against mine. I had to stop that thought before it went any further.
“It’s fine. All yours.” She sidestepped the same way I went, and again the other way.
I finally stepped back and said, “As much as I love bumping into you, we can’t keep this up all morning.”
She pushed hard against my stomach, and I sucked in a breath. “Don’t pee in your pants!” She laughed extra hard and walked away while I made a mad dash for the bathroom.
When I emerged, she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. I sat on the barstool and stared at her. She was exceptionally beautiful first thing in the morning.
“Yes, this is for you, too.” She pushed a cup of coffee and creamer toward me.
“What are you making?” I asked, focusing on pouring creamer and prying my eyes off her.
“My usual Saturday fare: crepes with sweet cream cheese filling and strawberries…and bacon. Because…bacon.”
I scrunched my nose as she flipped a crepe onto a plate and spooned filling from one bowl onto it, folded it, and added a syrupy glaze from another bowl.
“What? I know you’re not lactose intolerant or a vegetarian.”
I guess we’d had enough meals together for her to know that. “I’m surprised that you can cook.”
“Because?”
“Uh. Because you’re Liya Thakkar, feminist extraordinaire.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
I smiled. “I thought with all the work and independence, and anti-Indian stuff, that you were also anti-cook.”
“You think I have a maid, too? I can cook and clean and do laundry. I can also change my oil and a tire. Just eat.”
I grinned and took a huge, sweet bite. Oh, man, I was in heaven. “Did you make this from scratch? It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.”
“Yes. And thank you. A borrowed crepe recipe, my own version of sweetened cream cheese, and a strawberry reduction.”
“All made this morning?”
“Takes all of fifteen minutes. Bacon?”
I offered my plate, and she dropped four pieces of perfectly cooked bacon onto it. I knew I was about to step into dangerous territory, but I had to ask, “You might throw that pan at me, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“What is it?” She poured herself a cup of coffee, a splash of cream, a heaping spoonful of sugar.
“Why are you so against marriage?”
“Seriously? The idea of being tied to one man, for one thing. I don’t need anyone telling me what to do, how to do it, or when to do it. I don’t need to ask permission for anything.”
I laughed. Although a part of me still didn’t believe I deserved a happy ending, another part saw imperfections in Liya that matched my own. She was an emotional hot mess and so was I. Maybe…we would make a match.
“What’s so funny?” She placed a hand on her hip and leaned against the counter as she ate a piece of bacon.
“Marriage doesn’t have to be that. Not that it matters now, but I wouldn’t want a subservient wife. I want…a queen. Authoritative, independent, decisive, but able to confide in me and consult with me, a team player.”
She waved off my words. “That’s all talk.”
“Is it?”
“Guys will say that to get the girl. They’ll say anything.”
“Except I’m not trying to get you,” I lied.
“Whatever idealism you have now doesn’t necessarily work out that way post-wedding. I’ve seen all sorts of marriages start, and they end up with bickering and fighting for control, one dominates the other. There’s no way out. There’s no room to breathe and think. I love coming home to the quiet. I love not having to jump right on dinner or battle over the remote or argue about which party to go to.”
“Maybe one day you’ll change your mind and see how good things can be.”
“You’re one to talk,” she said flatly, making me pause. Did she know? Did she know about my past? It wasn’t a secret, but my family hadn’t discussed it with anyone here. Did she know how it warped my hopes for my own future? She couldn’t possibly.
“Explain.”
She sighed. “We fight. Even if you do something nice, or I’m feeling relaxed and happy…the calm never stays with us. There’s something in me that doesn’t want marriage. But there’s something in you, too.”
Before I could ask what she meant by that, Liya went on, “But anyway, things are good now. Clearly, neither one of us will ever consider the other one for marriage again.”
“Clearly…” And yet, here I was kind of wanting to date her. The real her. This her. The intelligent, funny, talented, free, laid-back woman who didn’t try to put up a hard exterior to keep everyone out.
Liya ate while standing across the counter from me. As the conversation died I noticed she had strawberry cream cheese on the corner of her mouth.
“What?” she asked, catching my stare.
I sighed, leaned across the counter, and gently swiped my thumb across the corner of her lips.
She paused. “You could’ve just said I had something on my face.”
“And miss a chance to touch your lips? Have you lost your mind?”
She laughed my comment off like it was a joke. But it wasn’t. With how I was feeling right now, she was lucky I didn’t walk around the counter and lick the strawberry right off her. I’d better stop thinking about licking anything anywhere on her.
I glanced around her once immaculate apartm
ent. Shoes piled up by the door. Clothes were strung over chairs. The coffee table vanished beneath several empty glasses. The sink was full. She probably had two hampers of laundry waiting.
The crystal clock on the wall showed it was already ten, and Shilpa’s shower started at one. I was supposed to get the sparkling apple cider and sparkling pomegranate juice, the kind in fancy champagne bottles, plus flowers and a fruit tray.
“You don’t have to help clean,” Liya said when I stood with plate and mug in hand. “It’s fine. You have to go home and get ready for the shower, and a few more dishes aren’t going to hurt. This place is a mess.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Thanks for breakfast and letting me crash. Could I offer you a ride to the baby shower?”
“No problem. Actually, I’m going with the girls, and we’ll swing by my car on the way. Thanks, though.”
I tugged my dress shirt over my wrinkled tee and turned to face a shelf of little multicolored, pointed bottles. “What are these? Miniature stakes?”
“No.” She walked around me to get the glasses from the coffee table. “Those are nail polishes.”
“Fancy.” I eyed the black one with red in the middle and encrusted with crystals all the way up.
“Christian Louboutin.”
I put on my shoes. “You mean unnecessarily expensive nail polishes. Those are tiny bottles. They last for what? One, maybe two uses?”
She rolled her eyes. “They also double as eye-gougers. Want to test?”
I laughed and opened the door. “See you in a few hours.”
“Yes. Oh, crap. I didn’t have time to pick up anything. Quick. Tell me what Shilpa needs.”
I raced through mental notes. “I think she has everything.”
She groaned and chewed on her bottom lip, her focus on the floor as she considered gift ideas. It was cute that even a baby shower gift to someone she barely knew was a serious affair. It was nice seeing this softer, incredibly thoughtful side to Liya. Even better? The fact that she was letting down some walls and not realizing it. Maybe she was starting to feel comfortable with me. Maybe I was getting comfortable with her, with the idea that having a happy ending was okay. Dad would’ve liked Liya. I knew that I did.
After picking up my list items, I eased out of my clothes, which still smelled like Liya’s apartment, and smiled. By the time I showered, dressed, and arrived, most of the decorations were up. Ribbons, balloons, paper flowers, candies, diapers, and dolls. An aarti tray was set up by the shrine. A long table was covered in confetti and an assortment of food: little square cakes that resembled building blocks spelling out “Welcome Baby Shah,” cups with veggie dip and long slivers of vegetables, lettuce wraps, and a watermelon carved into a baby stroller filled with fruit balls.
Alongside that were silver platters of warm vegetable samosas and bowls of a dark green chutney with spicy jalapeño, and sweet date and tangy tamarind chutney. Potato and onion pakora came next, fried golden brown with hints of green herbs and creamy raita.
I knew I had to get some dabeli before those went fast and plucked a small bun of what was essentially a spiced potato burger topped with peanuts and pomegranate seeds.
There was, of course, the traditional assortment of sweets, including peda, reminding me of the fateful day I’d met Liya. I smiled at the once frustrating memory. She’d knocked half the sweets onto the ground, and the others went into the trash the moment I’d gotten home. This woman went from infuriating to picking out a baby gift for my family. How did we get here? How did we get from constant fighting to me wanting to touch her lips?
A smaller table to the right held plates, utensils, napkins, plastic champagne flutes, and five kinds of drinks plus a punch bowl with sherbet melting in the middle like an iceberg. Friends and family had gone all out, but of course Ma had orchestrated it all. She was over the moon and blissfully doting on Shilpa.
Speaking of Ma…I asked her, “Did Bhabhi mention that she’d invited Liya?”
She smiled warmly at the new brood of guests walking in. “Shilpa asked if it was okay.”
“Of course, Bhabhi would always ask you first. But are you okay with Liya coming here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Are you okay?” She arched a sharp brow.
“Um. Yes. We don’t hate each other or anything. But I thought, after the dinner gone wrong—”
She waved off my worry. “Liya is a nice girl.”
“Liya Thakkar?” I asked, baffled.
“She apologized nearly right away. She explained the misunderstanding and her behavior. I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
“Ah…okay…” How Liya had been so infuriating with me but kind to my family was beyond me. I already knew that I had her all wrong, but leave it to Liya to constantly remind me of just how wrong I’d been.
Shilpa made her way inside and hugged me as I took the last bite of the mini dabeli. Jahn slapped my back and grinned as more guests arrived. The corner table, once empty, was now piled high with gifts. We mingled and chatted. Music played softly in the background. Incense burned. The back doors opened to a wide patio filled with cushioned seats.
The aunties, with Ma and Shilpa’s mom, huddled at one end or another unless they were fussing over Shilpa.
“Having you men around will keep them from giving out labor and delivery advice,” Shilpa whispered.
“I hope so,” I whispered back.
Jahn elbowed me. “What? You don’t want to hear about mucus plugs and how to tilt a uterus?”
I cringed as Shilpa added, “It’s not even possible to tilt my uterus. I guarantee you, eighty percent of their advice is from old wives’ tales.”
She laughed as a group of women stole her away. They joined a group of aunties while the guys hung around the food.
“This is good baby shower food,” Shilpa’s brother said.
“I want some of that barfi Shilpa’s mom made.”
When I scanned the ever-growing crowd, some of the aunties frowned, their glares glued to the hallway behind us, and I knew Liya had entered. The tension from them immediately thickened. Nonetheless, either immune or not having noticed, Liya cordially greeted Jahn first with Preeti, Sana, and Reema in close tow.
She said, with that starlet smile that started to do some intense things to my gut, “I’m so happy for you guys. And thanks for having me.”
He gave her a side hug, welcoming her. She hardly looked at me or my welcoming expression. Instead, she gave me a nod. Which was good, I supposed, seeing that I had the growing need to hug her.
Jahn introduced her to others nearby. Most greeted her like normal, manner-minding people, but then there were the few who politely nodded and returned to their conversations. Liya didn’t seem fazed until her steady, studious glances turned into a glare when she and Mukesh Uncle made eye contact. Something in him shifted as well.
Did he believe all those nasty things about her? Did she abhor his religious sermon every Sunday? What in the world had transpired between them to create this immediate, malicious environment that everyone noticed?
My need to hug Liya intensified. I went to walk toward her, to defuse the tension, but Liya snapped out of the momentary hostile takeover and placed her giant gift bag on the floor next to the table and headed to her mother. There was a fleeting look of annoyance on her father’s face, but perhaps he was still upset with how things had gone down with that fateful dinner. Despite my having told him not to worry about it, it wouldn’t hurt to remind him that things were fine now, if that meant he would ease off Liya.
Liya ignored him and hugged her mother. I couldn’t tell if the awkwardness stemmed from their height difference, as Liya was about a foot taller than her mother, or if it came from the physical contact in public. Still, they embraced for a few seconds and pulled away to chat. Then Ma walked over and joined in, and suddenly the ladies burst into laughter. Ma had that way about her, putting everyone at ease. It was nice to se
e, and my heart filled. There were lots of aunties here, and many had single daughters, but Ma kept circling back to Liya’s mother. Had they become good friends, despite the epic dinner fail? Or were they secretly plotting to try things again?
Either way, it was a warm sight. And for half a minute, my brain foresaw this sort of thing happening a lot in the future. The women in my life having a good time. Moving on, the way Jahn said Dad would want us to. Finding real happiness in a relationship that was sanctioned by my family. But I dislodged that thought. Getting my hopes up was a dangerous thing.
Then Liya escaped into the backyard.
The air changed the instant she left the room. While we guys seemed unaffected by Liya’s presence, the aunties huddled like witches over a cauldron, snapping their tongues about the unclean girl in their house. I clenched my jaw and took a step forward, but Jahn clamped a hand over my shoulder and subtly shook his head while maintaining his conversation.
At least Preeti, Sana, and Reema had arrived alongside Liya. She wasn’t completely alone, although Shilpa wouldn’t stand for any negativity at her shower. Shilpa was a lot like Liya in many ways, and she’d put everyone in their place, elder or not.
The backyard crowd filed in when the last of the guests arrived. Ma seemed pleasantly surprised when a pretty young woman walked in. She was none other than Kaajal, who walked directly to her parents: Mukesh Uncle and his wife. The way they held themselves, upright and arms in specific positions during conversations; the nice clothes and gold packaged gifts; the classic hairstyles. These people were made of money, or at least acted like they were.
Ma walked the trio toward us as Jahn and I split from the guys to meet them partway. “Kaajal, this is my oldest, Jahnu.”
“Nice to meet you. Congratulations,” Kaajal said.
“Thank you,” Jahn replied.
“And my youngest, Jayesh.”
“Nice to finally meet you, too.” She smiled invitingly, full lips, great teeth, big, brown eyes lined with makeup. The woman was absolutely stunning.
“Kaajal just finished pharmacy school,” Ma added. “She was hired at the drugstore but wants to spend some time relaxing before work begins. I was telling her that maybe she could rent a boat and go to the lake. Maybe you and some of the young ones would like to do that.”