Radhika shared some of the projects she was working on, but coding was coding. Both of them were in IT, so at least they spoke the same language. She was soft spoken, and her parents had probably coached her not to appear too excitable or overeager. She’d likely endured the same kind of advice his parents had given to him.
“What do you do?” she asked after explaining her job.
He talked about the app and the goals they longed to achieve with literacy. Her eyebrows lifted and her eyes rounded even more when he spoke. At least she showed some reaction, and her eyes focused more on his as he spoke.
“That is amazing. I hope you accomplish your quest for literacy,” she said when he was done. A fresh shine appeared in her eyes. Excitement? Validation? Was this a hint of the woman beneath the facade?
“Me too.” He leaned toward her, maybe an unconscious gesture showing that he wanted to know more about her. More about her thoughts. “I think the plan is for us to partner with mobile service providers once it’s ready. And NGOs.” At least this woman shared some alignment with his thoughts around the work he was doing.
“That’s great. I volunteer for a local charity here that helps poorer children go to school.”
Rishi was amazed. If ever there was a match for him, maybe this was it.
They talked for a few more minutes, and then Radhika said she had to leave and meet some friends for dinner.
This could work. The idea was growing on him. She was beautiful and smart and nice and caring.
“It was really nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Her smile broadened and her eyes lit up.
Yes, this could work.
He held out his hand. What would happen when they touched? As he took her soft grip in his, he waited for a zap, a surge, a spark—something that would indicate how their bodies would react together. Would they sizzle and smoke like combining ammonia and acid? Let off sparks that flowed into his heart and made it pulse an extra beat? Touch her and feel something, he begged of his hand.
He didn’t even realize that he was holding in his breath until she’d pulled her hand from his.
Nothing.
He’d felt nothing.
He studied her walk as she strolled down the street. She was interested in his work. She seemed to want to keep her job and not just stay at home. She wanted to travel, and she volunteered.
Would she fit well in his family? Would his parents approve? Would they be able to carry out their lives as any normal couple would? Would it be easy? On all counts—yes.
He looked down at his hand and frowned. Why didn’t it know what was best for him? Stupid fucking hand.
CHAPTER 20
Rishi hadn’t seemed like himself the past week. Maybe it was taking too long for his parents to go through the process of getting him married. Maybe because he wanted to get married so badly it was tearing him up on the inside.
He might have seemed like he was holding up a sad-face mask over his gray eyes and thick lips because it was taking so long. But when Emma thought about him married to one of those beautiful, appropriate women, it was like someone had wadded up her soul and chucked it in the shredder. She was probably just jealous. Jealous that he could be close to finding his perfect someone.
She also missed the guy who teased her mercilessly and made her eyes roll at every other word. She sneaked behind the partition and popped up beside his desk like a jack-in-the-box. “Hello, Rishi.”
He tremored in his chair. “You can be terrifying when you want.” But he was smiling. All she wanted was a smile.
“You know, we haven’t embarked on any tours lately for lunch. I was thinking you could help me expand my horizons today. Perhaps take another trip of the palate?”
“Sure. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Something decadent. But wholesome. Rich, but comforting.” Maybe whatever Rishi needed was the equivalent to truffle mac and cheese, her comfort food of choice back home.
“Those are quite the parameters you’ve set.” He squinted at her but then held up his hand. “Actually, I know the perfect place.”
“I knew you would.” She’d already retrieved some of the light in his face. He just needed a little challenge to get his mind off whatever was bothering him.
“Meet me in the garage at noon? I actually have two helmets now.”
She almost said thanks, but then she shook the idea from her head. He must have bought it for his soon-to-be wife, who would need a helmet to ride with him. No more bike rides with Rishi. No more lunch dates. The disappointment slunk inside her, but she swallowed it with a smile. “Perfect. A motorcycle ride and a decadent, wholesome, rich, comforting meal.”
She pivoted on her feet but could hear Rishi doing one of his laugh-sighs that she liked to think he did only for her.
At noon, Emma took the elevator down to the garage and stood near the wall of motorcycles, unsure which was his. The one she stood in front of was sleek and black and curvy, and as she studied it, she had to wonder if there was something seductive about riding this voluptuous chunk of metal.
“It’s that one!” his voice called out behind her, echoing off the cement walls and ceiling.
Coincidence or fate that she’d found it? Maybe she was making her peace with fate more and more these days.
Rishi jogged over to her, and she couldn’t help but notice how the muscles in his arms flexed as he pulled the bike out, his back long as he stretched over the engine, his jeans tight as his thighs straddled the seat. Just the word straddled was putting thoughts in her mind that shouldn’t have been there.
“Hop on,” he said as he started the engine.
The bike puffed and shuddered to life, and she threw her leg over the seat, the vibrations seeming to shake her entire body. Was it the bike, though, or something else?
She clutched onto the bars under the bike seat as they took off, but as they climbed up the ramp out of the garage, the ridges bounced her inches off her seat, and for fear of bouncing right off and down the ramp, she grabbed onto his waist on impulse. He didn’t shudder or throw her hands off him, so she let one hand drift back to the seat and let the other stay gently on his waist.
This was normal, right? To fear for your life on a motorcycle on roads pockmarked with potholes and hold on to a driver who swerved through the traffic like he was playing his own racing game. In fact, she resisted scooting up so her entire chest would be flush with his back. It was simply a matter of physics. The matter of their two bodies would make them stronger as one, rather than two, and this tiny wind tunnel between her chest and his back surely could increase the potential for disaster if they did have an accident. At least for Emma, who had no idea what she was doing on the back of a motorcycle.
Yes, this desire to feel her chest press into his back was all just a matter of physics.
Or maybe just physical.
She slid up, allowing her chest momentary contact with his back, but then abruptly pulled herself a few inches away, shaming herself.
This was Rishi. Whom she’d written a marriage code for. Off limits. Looking for the perfect girl (for which she met none of his requirements). Her coworker. He just happened to be handsome and funny and have a nice, expansive back—perfect for her to cuddle against.
He slowed down as they turned a corner near a huge temple that was unlike any other temple she’d seen on the side of the road. This one was white and bulbous with a gold spire on top. Multiple stairs led to it, and it felt approachable, like it was asking people to come up and have a look.
“Here we are.” He pulled into a parking spot. “The restaurant is just over here.”
She followed him on the side of the road and paused at the tiny, open-air dugout of a restaurant as she examined the small crowd inside. There were flimsy tables and plastic chairs, all filled with people intent on their lunch. A large man with a turban stood behind a series of burners as fire leaped up around his hands while he practically juggled the pans. “I
s this it?”
Rishi cocked his head at her and paused, scrunching up one side of his face. “You know, of course you don’t want to eat here. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He started to walk back toward his bike.
“No, Rishi, wait!” she called after him. “I want to stay.”
“It’s not too local for you?”
She shook her head. What was the point of coming to India if she wasn’t going to experience it fully? “Nope. I set out the parameters, and you picked. You haven’t let me down with a meal so far.”
He nodded, with that sort of downward smile that she now recognized as amused Rishi. “Okay, you will love it. I can already imagine your face while you’re eating.”
What a weird thing to tell someone. She must have looked like quite the glutton in front of him. “I hope that doesn’t mean you think I’m a pig. I’m just a girl who likes a good meal.”
“No, I didn’t mean that at all.” Rishi looked at her, and for the first time, she saw worry in those eyes of his. “I’ve just seen how you like good food. My whole family lives for food, so I appreciate it.” He led her through the small maze of seats and found one remaining table squeezed in the corner. A naked light bulb was suspended over their heads.
“I’ve never seen a place like this before.” She looked around. “Where’s the menu?”
“You just have to ask them what they have. It’s not a menu kind of place; it’s whatever he decides to make.” He nodded toward the man behind the fire, yelling and shouting orders at the other younger men who were flitting about.
“It’s so funny because the only kinds of places we have in the US where the chef dictates the meal are super-fine-dining places where you have to pay like a hundred dollars a person.”
“We have those, too, but honestly, this food is amazing. It may not have five-star ambience or gold-plated silverware, but it is hands down one of my five favorite restaurants in the city.” One of the younger men came over to their table, looking gobsmacked from whatever the chef had just yelled at him. Rishi had a conversation with him in Hindi, and Emma tried to recognize any of the words they were saying. When she heard “paratha,” her stomach dipped into itself and made a squeaky gurgling sound, as if it approved of the order too.
The guy walked away, and Rishi’s eyes lit up. “I think you’re really going to like what they have. Parathas, which I know you like. Butter chicken, a Punjabi special. Dal makhani, another specialty—we have to eat it. And sarson ka saag, for the best vegetable you’ll ever eat.”
“So this is the Punjabi leg of our tour?”
“Yes. I think it’s the most decadent, comforting, whatever else you said, food you can get.”
“Awesome. Have you been there?”
Rishi’s eyebrows rose, and he shook his head slowly. “I’m thinking about it.”
Rishi opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then the guy brought their food over. He set down a stack of two thick parathas with an entire pat of butter melting on top. Another bowl of greens that smelled like cumin and garlic and overall deliciousness. Then another bowl of lentils, more butter melting into the center, and another dish of chicken swimming in a bright-orange sauce that, yet again, had butter on top.
“Wow, Rishi, I don’t think there is enough butter here.” She looked up to the empty space beside her and did her best vocal fry whine. “Excuse me, waiter. We asked for extra butter on these dishes!”
The man came back and Emma muttered, “Oh shit.” She definitely hadn’t meant for anyone to hear her. The laugh Rishi was clearly restraining from his pursed lips came out.
“I think he’s just here to serve us the food.”
“Oh. Good.”
And that he did. After the server was done ladling out the various dishes on her plate, the scents and hues mingled to create a cornucopia of color and spice all around her, and she whipped out her phone.
“I’ve got to get one for Jordana.” She snapped a few pictures of her food, then a few of the restaurant around her. “She’s going to die with envy.”
“Who’s Jordana?” he asked, diving into his paratha.
Emma paused while she watched Rishi lick his fingers. Maybe she was a little envious of those fingers.
“She’s my best friend, comrade, and confidante. We also eat out a lot together, and she even has a blog of all her favorite Seattle restaurants, so this trip is just killing her. I’ll send it to you if you want to check it out. She’s an interior designer, so somehow all her pictures are three times as good as mine.”
“I’m sure she won’t have any with quite the character this dhaba has, though.”
“Nope.” Emma looked around as she ate, feeling like she was melting just like the butter. The walls were concrete blocks, the chairs uncomfortable, but everyone around her seemed to be smiling with this joyous feeling from the rich, comforting, decadent food Rishi had completely delivered on. “I can’t imagine eating like this every day. I wonder what all this butter does to people’s arteries.”
“I think the food is so rich because Punjab is a big agriculture area, so the farmers need a lot of energy to work in the fields.”
“So we’re just gluttons then,” Emma said as she took a bite of the mustard greens, which were ten times as delicious from the butter. “I should probably go farm something before I go back to my desk and just sit there typing away.”
“Or just do some really vigorous typing.”
Emma coughed out a laugh. “So you said you were thinking about going to the state of Punjab?”
He sighed and looked off toward the outside, the light making his pupils almost iridescent. “I have some family up there, but I haven’t decided if I want to see them or not.”
A deep sigh resonated through Emma’s chest. “If I can ever offer you any advice, here is what I would say. Don’t take your family for granted. If you have family, and you think you should see them, then you should.”
Rishi looked down at the table. “I don’t know if it’s as simple as that.”
“Why not? You have family; you should cherish them. You know, of course, unless they’re like an ax murderer or something.” She shook her head.
“What?” He looked around and huffed a laugh, but she was pretty sure it was because she’d just said “murderer” not quietly.
“I just mean . . . what is so bad that you wouldn’t talk to someone in your family?” Because honestly, Emma couldn’t imagine not talking to someone over a petty disagreement or some kind of trivial annoyance. It was family. She knew what those relationships meant, solely because she didn’t have them. There was nothing like having someone on your side just because you shared the same blood, because you were part of their genetic makeup, because there was something of you in them. And no matter what had happened, you should cherish that.
“It’s my brother.”
“Oh.” Emma had heard all about Rishi’s younger sister, but she had no idea he had a brother. “He lives there?”
“Yep. Well, maybe I should say he has family there.”
“So now I’m confused. Is he adopted or something?”
“No, he married a Punjabi woman. They technically live in Delhi, but her parents are from Punjab, though I guess they are also temporarily living in Delhi with them, taking care of the baby, so maybe I wouldn’t go anyway.” Rishi’s voice had sped up, as if he was reaching a crescendo, but then he just ran his left hand through his hair and looked down at the table. Obviously frustrated, but Emma didn’t know if it was at her for asking or just exasperation over the family drama he was thinking of.
Baby. Punjabi wife. His brother’s family. Delhi. Obvious irritation over it. A lot of new information to add to her Rishi file.
He looked back up at her, his eyelashes seeming to cover half his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” He sighed and scooped up some of the chicken with his paratha.
“Probably because I asked,” she hummed. So her little marri
age code was all making a little more sense, from what she could piece together. “I’m guessing that your brother marrying a woman from somewhere else was a pretty big deal then.”
He huffed. “Uh, you could say that. His is the name you are not allowed to utter in my parents’ house.”
“Jeez.” Maybe she had underestimated Rishi’s family. “So that’s like someone from Texas marrying someone from New York?” She tried to picture how it could be so taboo that there would only be one pair of cowboy boots at the Manhattan wedding.
“Well, sort of, but not really. I told you my parents were super traditional.” He sighed. “It’s complicated. The family he married into also seemed like bad people, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Well, maybe you should reach out. If it’s complicated, then maybe that’s exactly what it is. It’s a lot easier to simplify things and say, ‘he’s good, she’s bad.’ But maybe that’s not the truth. And if you love your brother, you don’t want to lose him. Especially just because of who he married and what your parents think of her. Maybe you just need to get everyone together and talk it out or something.”
Rishi looked at her with a gaze she couldn’t decipher. Maybe he was pissed and ready to blow up at her. He might even flip the table over for dramatic effect. Or possibly he’d just eaten too much butter, and he was feeling a giant butter pat expanding in his stomach, like Emma was. But the words that came out of his mouth were the last she’d ever expect.
“Emma, you’re so right.”
“I am?” She almost choked on the last piece of chicken.
“Yeah. I can’t have my parents poison my relationship with my brother. Maybe this whole thing has just been a giant misunderstanding, because I know they all love each other.” He slapped the table. “I’m going to order a buttermilk. Do you want one too?”
She shook her head and held out her palm as if he were already trying to force-feed it to her. Her jeans seemed to have her waist in a vise grip. “If I consume anything else for the rest of the day, it won’t be good. I will have to go plow a field.”
“Suit yourself.”
The Marriage Code: A Novel Page 17