A Holly Jolly Diwali

by Sonya Lalli

  “Niki?” Sam said, prompting me. “Tell me, please? What’s your instrument of choice?”

  I glanced down at the cutlery. “A butter knife.”

  “Niki . . .”

  “The gong, then.”

  “Come on, love.” Sam bit his bottom lip. God, he was sexy. “What’s the harm in talking about it?”

  “Piano,” I said finally. “But I’m not a rock star like you, or anything. I played classical music.”

  “Brilliant. What period?”

  “Um . . .” I shrugged. “A bit of everything. I competed quite a bit. My teacher convinced me to play a lot of baroque pieces, but I loved the romantic composers. Schubert. Chopin. De—”

  “Debussy?”

  I beamed, nodding. “He’s my favorite.”

  “Mine, too. Will you play for me?”

  Sam’s eyes locked onto me, and dear god, he was turning me on. There was no other way to say it.

  “Sure,” I said, averting my gaze. “Right after you play ‘Guess the Star’ . . . ”

  “You looked me up?” he asked a beat later.

  My cheeks burned. “Diya told me—”

  “One. I don’t believe you. Two.” He touched my knee. “Stop changing the subject.”

  I glanced over to where his hand was still touching me.

  “So, will you play for me?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed. His hand was still on me, and my insides felt queasy. “Here?”

  “Yes. We’re at a massive wedding venue. Surely, there’s a piano.”

  “No—”

  “Please?”

  Sam pouted, and damn he looked cute, so cute I was almost tempted to say yes.

  My stomach was flip-flopping all over the place. We weren’t sitting far away from each other, but it felt intimate, like it was just the two of us in the whole universe rather than two of fifteen hundred guests on a crowded lawn. Even though it was nighttime, I was suddenly hot and bothered, but mostly hot, as beads of sweat pooled at my temples.

  “Anyway, the second talking point?” I asked Sam, clearing my throat. “On a first date, I always like to ask about one’s expectations on foreplay.”

  Sam laughed, a bemused look on his face. We both seemed surprised by the forwardness of my joke, but the truth is, I wasn’t feeling like myself.

  Actually, I wasn’t feeling very good at all.

  My insides squeezed again, and as a dull pain coursed through me, I knew it had nothing to do with my attraction for Sam.

  “Sam?” I asked. I could barely hear myself, my voice so faint. “I . . .”

  “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, as my words trailed off. He pressed the back of his hand onto my forehead. It felt like an ice cube.

  “No.” I swallowed hard, my stomach a roller coaster. “I . . .”

  I closed my mouth. I was about to throw up, and as I frantically searched the lawn for a restroom, I realized I was not going to make it.

  A beat later, I keeled over. And as Sam held back my hair and dupatta, I wretched as quietly as I could beneath the table.

  CHAPTER 17

  I hadn’t been that sick since my junior year of college, when Jasmine poisoned me with her first attempt at homemade sushi.

  Back at my hotel, I sat on the floor of the bathroom, my forehead resting on the toilet seat. The porcelain was warm, and I sat up straight opening my eyes, but the movement was too sudden and another wave of nausea rocked me to my core.

  “Sam?” My voice croaked.

  “I’m right behind you, love.”

  I felt his hand on the back of neck, and suddenly, the pressure of it made the world stop spinning the wrong way.

  “Shall we try a bit of water again?”

  I caught a look at myself in the shower reflection as I sipped from a cold bottle of water. My wedding outfit had been discarded at some point, and I was wearing blue pinstripe pajamas, which I’d owned since high school. The cloth clung to my skin, slick with sweat. I wanted to take a shower but didn’t have the energy to stand up.

  “What time is it?” I whispered.

  “Nearly midnight.”

  “You should go. I’m fine.” My stomach growled out in pain, protesting. “You’re missing the wedding. You should—”

  “Abandon Cinderella? Don’t be daft, Niki.”

  “That’s rude,” I mumbled.

  “Yes, I’m very rude.” He gripped the bottle of water around my hand, lifting it up toward my mouth. “A few more sips?”

  I obeyed him, but after another gulp, the pains in my stomach took on a life of their own, and the next thing I knew, I was vomiting again. And again. Until there was nothing left, and I was dry heaving and crying out in pain.

  I don’t know how long I was on the floor like that, but Sam didn’t leave my side. Not once. So I had no idea when he called his mother.

  Aasha Auntie was still dressed up from the wedding, a vision in cream and gold, and when she bent down to cup my face in her palms and kissed me on the forehead, it felt like my own mom was there taking care of me.

  Vaguely, I became aware of her instructing Sam to help me into bed, to have me try liquids again in the morning. I could hear myself mumbling an apology to them both as I climbed under the covers.

  “Don’t feel bad, dear,” she said, sitting next to me. “All my foreign friends fall ill at least once in India. There is a cost to eating such tasty food!”

  I smiled up at her, dazed.

  “Sam, she needs adarak. Go ask reception—”

  “I have some,” I whispered. My eyes were already closed, reality spinning away from me.

  “Hah? Where.”

  “My sister’s plane pack.” I almost laughed thinking about it, but I felt too weak. I gestured at my backpack on the floor, and a little while later, felt Aasha Auntie coax a soft ginger chew into my mouth. She made me stay awake long enough not to choke on it, and as the ginger dissolved in my mouth, it sent me off to sleep in a sweet, soothing wave.

  * * *

  • • •

  It was daylight when I awoke. My stomach didn’t hurt anymore, although my temples were pounding. I blinked, taking in the room. The curtains were drawn back, the city bustling behind the window. I tilted my chin downward.

  Sam was still here. I smiled at the sight of him.

  “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

  I rolled over to get a better view and was surprised by how weak I felt. Sam was on the bed, too, lying head to toe on top of the covers. He’d taken off his fancy wedding kurta and was wearing only the pajamas of the outfit, his bare chest and shoulders covered by a bath towel.

  “I thought I was Cinderella.”

  He sat up, the towel slipping down from his broad shoulders, and I laid my head back down as a wave of dizziness washed over me.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a princess.” I pressed my hands over my eyelids, pressing hard as I remembered how much of a burden I’d been. “I’m so sorry. I ruined your night. Your mom’s, too.”

  “Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I heard Sam say. “The wedding was practically over by the time you—”

  “Vomited in a crowd of fifteen hundred people?”

  He laughed.

  “Did anyone see me like that?”

  “Only a few. But you really needn’t worry, Niki. Everyone just thought you were the drunk American.”

  “Sam,” I groaned, rolling onto my back. “Really?”

  “Not really, no. There was no alcohol served yesterday. Remember?”

  I shrugged, opening my eyes. Sam had moved and was now sitting right next to me, his back against the headboard. He’d brought the towel with him, draping it over his body like a blanket. I chuckled, running my fingers
over the fiber of the towel. He caught my hand with his own and squeezed twice.

  “You’re so modest.”

  “Mom left strict instructions,” Sam said, changing the subject, although I thought I detected the faintest quiver in his voice. “Today you’re only allowed water, mint or ginger tea, and if you’re up for it, kicherdee.”

  I nodded. Although I wasn’t hungry, my stomach definitely felt better than it had the evening before.

  “I’m up for it.”

  Sam let go of my hand and immediately became strictly business as he called down for room service. I slipped away to brush my teeth and shower. I moved slowly, my limbs heavy, and after I was done, wrapped a plush bath towel around my body. I’d forgotten to bring clean clothes into the bathroom.

  “Feel better?” Sam asked, as I came out. He had changed back into his kurta, made the bed, and was now tidying up my room. My pulse quickened in an odd, fluttery way as he took my pajamas from me and started folding them.

  “Like a princess.”

  I thought I would be uncomfortable, self-conscious that I was wearing nothing but a towel in front of a man I’d only met the week before. By the way he was looking at my neck and shoulders. The way he bit his lip as his gaze darted south, along the curves of my waist and hips.

  But I wasn’t. I wanted him to look. I wanted to close the space between us, let the towel drop to the floor. I wanted . . .

  “You should sit down,” he said sternly. “You’re wavering.”

  “Am I?” I asked, just as a wave of dizziness crashed over me.

  “You’re severely dehydrated. I don’t want you to pass out. Here—” Suddenly, Sam’s arms were around me, and I sighed in relief as he helped me into bed. It felt good to be horizontal again, the sheets warm and soft against my bare skin. “The kicherdee will arrive soon. Rest until then, OK?”

  “OK.” Sleepily, I smiled up at him, worried that he would leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he combed my wet hair with his fingers. I could have lain like that forever.

  “Sam,” I said, a few minutes later. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “For everything. For taking care of me. For calling your mom—”

  “It was nothing, Niki.”

  It wasn’t nothing. Sam’s actions were kinder and sweeter than I—in my limited dating experience—had ever experienced. I was overwhelmed by his presence, how much he seemed to care about me. Was I still unwell? Was it nausea that was making me feel so completely unguarded, so unlike myself?

  A few minutes later, Sam bent down and kissed my forehead. It was gentle, his lips barely grazing my skin, as if a butterfly had landed but for a second. I reached up and caught his chin with my palm, scratched his stubble with my fingers. His face was so close I could feel his breath on my neck, and I trembled as he bent lower and kissed me again, this time on my shoulder.

  “Sam,” I said, trying not to moan at his touch. He sat up, and when I saw the vacant look on his face, I knew in my heart that he felt the same way. That if I wasn’t sick right now, the barrier of bath towels and duvet wouldn’t last for long.

  “Yes?”

  “Dinner last night . . .” I smiled. “It didn’t count.”

  “It didn’t?”

  I shook my head. “I threw it up, remember?”

  Sam grinned, pressing the back of his hand on my cheek. “Of course.”

  “Should we . . .” I hesitated, not used to being so forward. “Should we plan another?”

  “Sure. Shall I call ahead and make us a reservation at the local hospital’s cafeteria?” he asked. “I hear they serve red Jell-O.”

  “Sam.” I laughed.

  “Or how about chicken noodle soup? Bit risqué for a dinner date—”

  I cut him off by pressing my hand over his mouth. I could feel him laughing against my palm.

  “How about we go out when I can eat solid foods again,” I continued, my voice stern. “But I’m buying. After everything you did for me last night, I think I’m the one who owes you dinner.”

  Sam cupped my palm in his, sliding it down to his neck. “You don’t owe me anything, Niki.”

  “I know.” I smiled at him sheepishly. “But what if I want to have dinner with you?”

  Sam beamed down at me, overpowering the sun streaming in through the window. “I have a place in mind. It’s called Frank’s Café. It’s posher than the name suggests.”

  “Sounds perfect.” I snuggled closer to him on the bed.

  “Although the restaurant is a bit of a trek.” He paused. “It’s in Goa.”

  I scanned his face, searching for signs that he was joking. But there were none. And my heart stopped as the fog lifted, and I remembered I was supposed to have left for Punjab early that morning.

  “Shit.” I laughed as I told Sam about missing my flight to Amritsar.

  “I guess this was meant to be.” Color flushed his cheeks. “Goa, I mean. You were meant to come to Goa.”

  “I take it you’re going on the group honeymoon?” I propped my head on my elbow, facing him.

  “Sort of. Well, I’ll hang out with them during the day, but I’m not staying at the resort. My parents have an apartment nearby.”

  “I can’t go,” I replied, fumbling for words. “My family is expecting me. And besides, I didn’t book a hotel room at the resort . . .”

  “You could . . .” Sam trailed off.

  “I could what?”

  “You could delay your trip to Punjab by a few days. And as far as the hotel—well—why don’t you stay at mine?”

  I giggled. “Could I, now? That’s an awfully presumptuous dinner—”

  “Mom’s already back there,” he said quickly. “She left this morning. She lives there half the time, practically. And we have guest rooms. Two guest rooms, and a dog’s bed—but you’ll have to fight Scooby for it.”

  I laughed and suddenly felt shaky all over. Sam seemed nervous, and I was enjoying it more than I cared to admit out loud. The idea that I might have been driving Sam from the Band as crazy as he’d been making me was . . . exhilarating. Heartwarming. All sorts of words that I didn’t typically use in real life, but only in my silly little fantasies.

  “So, what do you say?” Sam asked me again. “Will you have dinner with me?”

  This time, I didn’t hesitate. I nodded, and then I did something I hadn’t known I was capable of doing. I reached up and I kissed him.

  Sam seized up in surprise. I giggled against his lips, and a beat later, I felt him soften and kiss me back. He was warm and gentle, and I wanted more. I needed more. I pressed my palms against his cheek, scratching down the sides of his neck as I drew him closer. He gasped, our tongues prodding, and I felt weak and winded as he wrapped me in his arms and pushed me down against the bed.

  I loved his weight on top of me. I loved the way he kissed me. The way his fingers danced against my bare skin.

  I couldn’t stop myself, but when my towel started to unravel, Sam grunted and rolled away from me. My chest heaved as I wrapped myself tighter, overwhelmed by the gentleman that Sam was proving to be.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  I grinned, listening to him catch his breath.

  Was I still asleep? Was I living in a dream?

  I didn’t care. And it didn’t matter where or when or in what state I would wake up. I was going to make the most of this dream while it lasted.

  CHAPTER 18

  Goa!” Mom echoed, after I told my family over video chat that I had delayed my trip to Amritsar. She looked over at Dad, lovingly smacking him on the shoulder. “Who is that lovely Goan family who used to live across the hall? Niki can go visit them—”

  “Mom,” Jasmine snapped from off camera. “She’s with friends. She won’t want to visit some random auntie and uncle!”

  “And
how do you know?” Mom clapped back.

  “Ask her.” Jasmine appeared in view, her chin and left cheek only just visible behind Mom and Dad. “Niki, do you want to spend your precious holiday time going to visit people you’ve never met—and whose names Mom can’t even remember?”

  “I can remember their names, if you give me a minute,” Mom grumbled. “If I didn’t have a daughter driving me crazy.”

  I laughed, watching them together. After another good night’s sleep and Aasha Auntie’s strict diet of kicherdee and tea, I felt nearly back to normal. I felt prepared for my trip to Goa with Sam—at least, as prepared as I’d ever be.

  “So tell us everything,” Dad said brightly. He wrapped an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “Where will you be staying?”

  “A hotel,” I mumbled quickly. “I forget the name. I’ll e-mail you—”

  “Be very careful,” Dad said gravely. “There are drinking clubs in India now; do you know this?”

  I pressed my lips together to keep them from curling upward.

  “Clubs, in India?” Jasmine deadpanned. “Really, Dad? I thought the country only had temples.”

  “Chup,” Mom said, although she was smiling, too.

  “Niki, you must not go anywhere alone at night,” Dad continued. He had totally missed the joke and still looked very serious. “Who is your hotel room partner? Do you have buddy?”

  “Buddy,” Jasmine snorted.

  “Do you, Niki?” Mom repeated. “Diya will be on honeymoon. You will not stay alone, you promise us? It can be dangerous.”

  I nodded, promising them I’d be careful. After I’d been harassed in broad daylight here in Mumbai, I had no intention of making myself any more vulnerable.

  “Aacha.” Dad nodded. “Who is your buddy? Do we know her?”

  Blood rushed to my head as I began to panic.

  “She’s one of Diya’s friends,” I said vaguely. When Mom and Dad continued to stare at me expectantly, I sighed. “Her name is Sam.”

  It was strange how easily the lie slipped off my tongue, how I managed to hold it together even when Jasmine threw me one of her knowing looks. I’d told the family small lies before to protect feelings so they wouldn’t worry; I wondered if I could count this as one of them.