The Reluctant Matchmaker

by Shobhan Bantwal

  I was in love with a man who didn’t want me. He was obsessed with finding a woman who was the same size as him. That, coming from a man who claimed appearance was not important in a relationship? And yet, what he wanted was a six-foot woman. If that wasn’t all about physical looks, then what was?

  Drying my eyes, I drove home. Fortunately Dad was engrossed in watching a PBS special on TV and didn’t pay attention to me when I said a breezy good night and went directly upstairs. I figured Mom was out on another emergency. In her profession, it happened practically four times a week. Tonight it was a godsend.

  I found a personal check for twelve hundred dollars in the envelope Prajay had given me. Obviously he didn’t want to use the office account for something so personal. But somehow the money meant nothing now, despite the generous amount. In fact, it felt like a slap in my face, like being hired to do a job and then handed a pink slip. I’d served my purpose. He had no more use for me.

  But money was still money, and I decided to bank it for Christmas presents like I’d originally planned.

  That night, when I said my bedtime prayers, I ranted, “God, why couldn’t you have made me a few inches taller? Why did you have to be so stingy when you made me? Were you saving up the inches for that woman in Maryland? And if you had to make me this puny and insignificant, why did you let me fall in love with one of the tallest guys you created?”

  Chapter 14

  Monday was one of the worst days of my life. When I went in to work, it was hard to go about my duties knowing the man I was in love with was somewhere in the building. His car was in the parking lot, so I knew he was there.

  When Pinky walked into the office a few minutes after my arrival, she studied me for a long moment. “Feeling all right?”

  “Sure.” I tried to be casual while I filled the coffeepot with water.

  “You’re earlier than usual.” Pinky measured the coffee and added it to the filter, then inserted the filter into the machine and switched it on. “You look like you have a cold or something. Your eyes are red.”

  “My ankle was acting up again last night, and I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “In that case you better not walk too much today. If you need any copying or errands done, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Pinky,” I sent her a grateful smile. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Pinky laughed it off, but she looked pleased nonetheless, reminding me that I needed to do something special for her and Paul for Christmas. They had gone out of their way in caring for me.

  I would have loved to do something nice for Prajay, too, but I was mad at him. It didn’t make me blind to his good qualities, but I didn’t feel particularly charitable toward him either. At the moment he was breaking my heart.

  Paul walked in, parked his lunch bag on his desk, and went straight for the coffee that had just about finished dripping. “Oh man, the smell of caffeine.” He poured himself a cup and sniffed with his eyes closed. He looked like a man in heaven. “Thank you, ladies,” he said after his first sip.

  I glanced at Pinky and found her eyes glinting with suppressed amusement. We both knew Jeremy wasn’t aware of Paul’s habit of drinking two or three cups of coffee each day. Jeremy wanted him to drink green tea and chamomile. Paul disliked both.

  The teabags packed in Paul’s lunch bag were quietly stuffed in a plastic freezer bag and left on the counter in the break room. Paul probably kept hoping somebody would take them. But nobody seemed to cast a glance at them. The bag was getting fatter by the day, while Paul filled his belly with coffee.

  After finishing half a cup, Paul gave me the same suspicious look Pinky had cast me earlier. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” To put an end to any more questions about my health, I hurried into my office and started opening the folders waiting for my attention. I made a mental note to go to the refrigerator later and get some ice cubes for my eyes.

  When I did find an opportunity to go to the break room for the ice, I ran into Gargi. It would have looked too obvious if I had turned around and run back to my office, so I sauntered in. In a long, navy skirt and soft, print shirt, and her hair in waves around her shoulders, she looked attractive.

  Gargi was having a soda and an animated conversation with a fellow programmer about the merits of one software package versus another. Since computer code was alien to me, I merely said hello to Gargi and her coworker, a guy I knew by face but not by name, and headed straight for the refrigerator. But I wasn’t so lucky as to escape Gargi’s tongue.

  “Hi there, Meena,” Gargi said cheerily. “Looks like your foot is back to normal? I see the high heels are back.”

  “Yes. Thanks for asking.”

  “I hear you and Deepak are an item lately, yaar.” Gargi’s grin was sly.

  It didn’t escape me that she was using Deepak’s favorite word with some relish. The woman was trying to bait me. I was in no mood for it.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t give back in some small measure. “When Deepak and I become an item, I’ll send you an e-mail, Gargi. Better yet, I’ll place an announcement in the monthly newsletter. That’ll save you the trouble of having to broadcast it,” I added with my most tolerant smile.

  Gargi’s grin didn’t fade. “You have such a great sense of humor, Meena.”

  “Oh well,” I said with a shrug. Throwing some ice cubes into a paper towel, I made a beeline for the door before she could think of something else to further ruin my day.

  Concentrating on work was difficult, knowing Prajay would soon make contact with the lady rated ten on his scale of desirable women. When was he going to meet her? Would they hit it off right away? Would he be proposing marriage to her soon? Would he kiss her like he’d kissed me? Would he ...

  I forced my mind back to the pile of work on my desk. Torturing myself with such thoughts was not healthy. I had a life of my own, separate from Prajay Nayak, and I had to concentrate on that. It wasn’t like I was a loser in the romance department. I got my share of male admiration and invitations for dates.

  Maybe that was the problem—I didn’t accept many dates. If I had, I wouldn’t have fallen so easily for Prajay. He had come into my life during a dry spell. If I’d been actively seeing someone, I wouldn’t have looked in Prajay’s direction at all.

  That was it. I needed a more active social life. I needed to date other guys instead of pining away for a man who didn’t want me.

  I made a resolution: If Mom and Shabari-pachi tried to fix me up with someone, I wouldn’t balk this time. I’d give it a fair chance. Who knew where it would lead? Maybe there was a nice guy out there who thought I was the perfect size and had the right personality for him.

  After that pep talk to myself, I was able to get back to work and get a lot done.

  The new ads I had in mind for Computer Digest and PC Magazine were a real challenge. I was on the phone with the advertising managers for a while, negotiating space, layout, and prices. Then there was that press release about the new acquisition—the one Prajay had been working on in Jersey all these weeks. That was coming to a head according to Paul, so Prajay’s days in Jersey were numbered.

  Soon he’d return to DC and his normal routine. And I’d still be here in Jersey.

  Maybe then I could put him and the whole kissing episode behind me. Hopefully the memory would fade, and I’d be able to get back on my feet. Lots of women got rejected, and they picked themselves up and got on with their lives.

  Later that day, I accepted another dinner invitation from Deepak for Saturday. A twinge of guilt poked me in the ribs because I was using Deepak to soothe my ego, but that was quickly replaced by other, more selfish thoughts. I had to show Prajay that I didn’t care what he did with his life.

  As I drove home from work that evening, my cell phone rang. Excitedly I answered it, despite knowing it was illegal to use a cell phone while driving. Maybe it was Prajay, wanting to tell me he’d made a mistake after all.

 
But I heard Maneel’s voice instead. My brother almost never called me. We saw each other practically every evening at dinner. “Hey, how come you’re calling me?”

  “Where are you right now?” he asked, ignoring my question.

  “Driving home from work.”

  “Good.”

  “I could get a ticket for using my cell, Maneel.”

  “Then why did you answer it?” He couldn’t care less if I got a traffic ticket. “Exactly how far from home are you?”

  “I’m almost at the intersection of Route 1 and Washington Road—coming up to the light. Traffic is horrendous; it’ll be a while before I make it through the light.” I wondered why my brother sounded a little weird.

  “You mind stopping by my place before you head home?”

  “Why?”

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “You’re going to show up for dinner later, anyway. We can talk then.”

  “No. I need to talk to you alone.” His voice sounded urgent.

  “Are you all right?” I’d been hearing that question all morning, and now it was my turn to ask. Something was definitely up with Maneel. When he didn’t answer my question, I prodded. “Come on, Maneel, what’s going on?”

  “Just get over here and I’ll tell you, okay?” He paused. “Please, Meena, I need your help.”

  “Gosh, you sound terrible. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I ended the call. My heart was beating faster. It wasn’t like my brother to seek my help. We were close, but it was the kind of closeness that involved sibling rivalry, bickering, teasing, and even helping each other out when necessary. But this was different.

  Maneel hadn’t asked me for help in years—not since he’d made me do his English homework for ten bucks when he was a senior in high school and I was a sophomore.

  If he wanted to talk to me in private, it had to be something serious. Was Maneel ill? Had he invested Dad and Mom’s money in something risky and lost it all? Was it something illegal? Insider trading ... maybe?

  Oh dear, what if Maneel ended up getting arrested? Every kind of horrible scenario played itself out in my mind while I drove as fast as I possibly could in rush-hour traffic.

  After I found a parking spot, I rushed upstairs to Maneel’s condo. He opened the door even before I could ring the doorbell. I went right in and dropped my purse on the coffee table.

  “What’s up with you, Maneel?” I didn’t mean to sound abrupt, but I tended to do that when I was upset. He had a day’s stubble on his face, and he was wearing khaki shorts and a faded T-shirt. He clearly hadn’t gone to work. Something was seriously wrong here. He loved his job and didn’t miss a day unless he was ill.

  “Sit down,” he said. “Do you want anything to drink?”

  “Now you’re really beginning to scare me.” I sat down on the couch. “You’re never polite to me.”

  All I got from Maneel was a long sigh.

  “When was the last time you asked me over to your house and offered me a drink?”

  “I’ve got a problem, Mini.” He ran all ten fingers through his hair.

  He hadn’t called me by that silly nickname in a while. My instincts were right. Maneel was in trouble. And it was something big. My brother didn’t scare easily. “Are you sick? Or looking at a conviction for something illegal?”

  “No ... yes ... no.”

  “Which is it? Yes or no?”

  “Which is it? Yes or no?”

  “I’m not sick, and I didn’t do anything illegal—at least in the traditional sense.” He gave a sardonic laugh, frightening me even more.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I ... um ... I’m in love.”

  I stared at him. “Love? As in romantic love?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what you wanted to tell me?” The initial shock was instantly replaced by irritation. I rose from the couch and pointed a finger at him. “You scared me to death, you idiot. When you made it sound so mysterious on the phone, I thought maybe you’d found out you had terminal cancer or that you’d lost all of Dad and Mom’s savings or something.”

  “I can handle those things on my own, thank you,” he said, giving me an annoyed frown that matched my own.

  “Then why did you call me?”

  “Because I need your help.”

  Oh, great. First Prajay, now my brother. I must have Love Guru written across my forehead. And unlike Prajay, Maneel wasn’t about to offer me money for consulting, either. I couldn’t even handle my own love life. In fact, I’d made a fine mess of it, and all of a sudden I was the Matchmaking and Marriage Bureau of New Jersey.

  “Why do you think I can help?” I demanded.

  “Because you have a clever mind and a slick tongue. You always argue with people, and you know how to get around them.”

  “Thanks a lot for the left-handed compliment.” This was déjà vu. Hadn’t Prajay hired me because I was good with words, because I knew how to put together effective press releases and marketing campaigns? I sank back onto the couch, watched Maneel pace the length of the living room. “You’re scared to talk to Mom and Dad?”

  He stopped pacing and came to sit beside me. “Mom and Dad are going to be a problem, but they’re not the main issue.”

  I sent him a suspicious scowl. “Is she ... an older woman?

  “No.”

  “A much older woman?” Perhaps with sagging breasts and grandchildren?

  “I’m not that desperate, thank you.” He looked thoroughly irked. “For your information, it’s someone younger than me by a few years.”

  “Is she a divorcée, then? With kids?”

  “None of those things.”

  Something came to mind. It was only a vague suspicion, but I thought I just might know the answer. “She’s what, Caucasian, African-American?”

  He shook his head. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  I’d almost run out of guesses. That left only one thing. “You’re in love with a guy.” I’d never imagined either of my brothers could be gay. Why was homosexuality always considered something that occurred in other families, and never one’s own? Paul and Jeremy were the only gay men I’d come to know well so far.

  “Where’d you get that idea?” Maneel growled. “I am not in love with a man. I’m in love with a bona fide girl. She’s ... Muslim.”

  “Oh boy.” If there was one thing Mom and Dad would have a fit about, it was if one of us dated a Muslim. It had been ingrained in my parents. It wasn’t anything personal, since both Mom and Dad had Pakistani and Middle Eastern colleagues whom they liked and respected. But they didn’t have any Muslim friends.

  My parents had grown up in India, where they’d witnessed the effects of the bitter enmity between Pakistan and India, and how the land of Islam and the land of the Hindus clashed again and again. To this day, the fighting occurred frequently, and it escalated with each passing year. The bloody war over the border state of Kashmir continued, with no end in sight.

  Mom and Dad would have a rough time coming to terms with Maneel’s falling in love with a Muslim woman.

  I turned to my brother with a sigh. “You fooled around with so many girls of different colors and cultures—and then you went and fell for the one that Mom and Dad would dislike the most?”

  He shrugged. “It just happened.”

  “What were you thinking, Maneel?”

  “That’s the problem. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t exactly plan to fall in love.”

  I knew that. I was nursing my own heartache. Little did Maneel know that I was in the same boat as him—hopelessly in love. The difference was the object of my adoration was looking for his ideal woman. And she wasn’t me.

  But I knew exactly what Maneel meant: Love crept up on you when you weren’t looking. In a single moment it just struck you over the head, and there was nothing you could do but slip into a conscious coma.

  “So, how long has this been going on?” I asked. “Is she anyone I know?”
r />   “You wouldn’t know her. Her name’s Naseem Rasul. Her parents emigrated to the U.S. from Iraq.”

  “Like Mom and Dad came from India.”

  Maneel nodded. “Her father was apparently a big shot in Iraq, until he had a falling out with Saddam Hussein.”

  “Wouldn’t that have been dangerous?” I speculated.

  “They were forced to leave the country.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “I’m surprised they weren’t ... killed or something.” Saddam Hussein had been notorious for executing anyone who wasn’t totally loyal to him.

  “I don’t think the matter was that serious,” said Maneel. “They were merely ordered to get out of Iraq and never come back.” He let me absorb that. “Naseem and I met eight months ago.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s a lawyer. She was involved in my employer’s merger with another brokerage. She works for the law firm that handled the deal.”

  “So how did you guys meet?”

  “In the office cafeteria.”

  “Over wilted salad and greasy fries. How romantic,” I snickered.

  Maneel smiled, obviously recalling the encounter. “She noticed the fried chicken on my tray and lectured me on the ill effects of eating fried and fatty foods.”

  I looked at him, puzzled. “And you let her get away with it? If I’d said that to you, you’d have barked at me to mind my own damn business.”

  He smiled again. “But you’re my bratty sister. Naseem isn’t. And she’s beautiful. I couldn’t help staring at her all the while she stood on her soapbox and talked down at me.”

  My eyes narrowed on Maneel. “So what are you saying ... that I’m ugly?”

  “Touchy, touchy.” He chuckled. “No, Mini, you’re not ugly. You’re ... special.”

  “People call their mentally or physically challenged relatives special.” I rose from the couch for the second time. “I’m out of here. If you think I’m going to sit here and take your insults ...”

  He grabbed my wrist and forced me back down on the couch. “I’m kidding. Can’t you take a joke? Honestly, I think you’re beautiful, too.” Seeing I was still bristling, he patted my head, a partly affectionate–partly condescending gesture. “You really are pretty. I see how some of the guys look at you. My friends often ask me to introduce you to them.”