by Sonya Lalli
It felt rather bittersweet, and Sam and I were quiet during the drive back to the apartment, our hands interlocked in a comfortable silence over the stick shift. As soon we got back to the apartment, I jumped into the shower. We were running late for our reservation at Frank’s Café.
I was pleased that Sam still wanted to go for dinner that evening, even though it wasn’t actually my last night. I suppose he had promised to take me out, just the two of us, and we did have a lot to talk about. As I scrubbed the sand from my body, I practiced what I was going to say to him and how I would say it.
I’ll move to London for you.
I’ll do what it takes for us to be together.
It sounded corny and clichéd, but—hell, I was ready to admit it—I was in love with Sam. I really was, and I knew this so clearly because I had never felt this way before, even with my ex. And everything about being in love suddenly felt kind of corny—the way he made me swoon or held my hand or the way his smile lit up the room as he did something as mundane as cutting fruit.
Then why did I feel so nervous? Quickly, so as not to waste too much water, I shampooed my hair and then added a bit of leave-in conditioner. Our conversation this afternoon had gone well but had left me unsettled, with a chalky taste in my mouth.
After I showered, I wrapped my towel around my head, changed into a pastel blue sundress, and then went to find Sam. He was upstairs in his room, his back flat on the bed, strumming on his acoustic guitar as he stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t noticed me in the doorway just yet, and I smiled, watching him, imagining how the evening might unfold.
Over wine and what he promised me would be the best fish curry I’d ever taste, we’d talk about the future, our plans to be together. He would tell me he loved me, and speaking over him, I’d say it right back, rushing out the words because everything just felt so goddamn right. I blinked, stepping toward him.
Who got to be this lucky? Who literally got to fall in love, like this, in a dream?
“I’m all done with the shower.” I unraveled the towel from my hair, wringing out the damp ends as Sam sat up on the bed. “What time should we leave?”
“Soon.” Gently, Sam set his guitar on the stand beside the bed. There was an odd quality to his voice, like a dull blade pressing up against something. It made my stomach flip.
“Too much sun today?” I asked, keeping my voice light. Sam didn’t answer, and he seemed to be looking at everything in the room but me—the ceiling, the wood flooring. His feet. I swallowed hard, my muscles tensing. “Now you’re the one being dodgy—”
“You left your phone downstairs,” Sam interrupted. “On the dinner table. I didn’t mean to look at it, honest.”
My hands started trembling. Previews to all my texts and e-mails appeared on my home screen. What had he seen? Something from Jasmine? From . . .
“Was it Raj?” I hesitated, as I’d saved him to my contacts as his full name. “Rajandeep Singh Sahota?”
“No.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “Who’s Rajandeep?”
“No one,” I said quickly, feeling stupid for saying anything. We hadn’t been in touch since I was back in Mumbai, and there was no reason he’d suddenly reach out, knowing I was still on vacation. “We went on one date before I left town. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, Niki. I—no. It wasn’t him.” Finally, Sam met my gaze. “Did you cancel one of the job interviews you told me about? You have an e-mail from one of those companies you told me about. From what I read . . .”
He trailed off, waiting for me to interrupt him. I didn’t want to do this here with my wet, tangled hair dripping water all over my neck, but it seemed like this moment wouldn’t wait until our romantic dinner. I sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Sam, and took a deep breath.
“I canceled both interviews, actually.”
“You did?” Sam beamed. “That’s great, Niki. I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
I exclaimed in relief. “You do?”
“Absolutely. You have solid work experience, a good reference, sought-after skills.” Sam tucked one of his legs underneath him. “I agree—you should only apply for companies you’re really keen to work at. Somewhere you can feel passionate in your day-to-day.”
I dug my fingers into the flesh of my thighs, squeezing. He’d missed the point, and my pulse started pounding again, this time in my stomach, as I tried to figure out how to clarify what I meant.
“You should hold out for the right opportunity. It won’t take long. I’m sure of it.” Sam paused, coming up for air. “What kind of company—”
“Sam.” I cleared my throat, his voice ringing in my ear. “That’s not why I canceled them.”
“No?”
“I thought.” I paused. “Well, I thought maybe I could look for a job in . . . London.”
A moment passed, and then another, and Sam’s face didn’t light up the way I’d dreamed it would. He didn’t take me into his arms and whisk me away, metaphorically or physically. He didn’t do anything with his arms, actually. He sat there like a limp noodle, not really looking at me, not saying a goddamn word.
“OK, then,” I said dryly. My face was burning, confusion and hurt exhausting every limb of my body. “I guess I’ll go finish getting ready—”
“Niki,” Sam pleaded, but he didn’t say my name the way he usually said it, his tone loving and sweet, like a gulab jamuun. He said it like I was being a nuisance.
“Yes?” I fired back, looking for a reason not to walk away. I was hurt by his reaction, but maybe my idea had just taken him by surprise. When he still didn’t say anything more a beat later, I tried to stand up.
“Don’t leave.” He tugged on my arm, pulling me back down, closer to him on the bed. “Sorry. I’m just in shock is all. This doesn’t make any sense . . .”
Fear prickled my skin, crawling over me. Of course it made sense. It was the only thing that made sense.
“You can’t move to London for me—”
“Why not?” My voice cracked. Was I crazy? Sam was the one who pursued me, convinced me that this couldn’t just be a fling. “I thought you cared about me . . .”
“Of course I do. Niki, I want to be with you.” He paused. “But this is so drastic, so soon—”
“Is it?” There was a lump in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but this feels . . .”
“Different,” he answered, and I nodded as hope coursed back through my veins. “It is different. This is . . .” Sam groaned, lying back on the bed. “Niki, you know how I feel about you. How I’ve felt since I first laid eyes on you on Diwali.”
My nose was dripping like a faucet, and I wiped my face on my towel and then tossed it on the floor. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Mom gave up on her dreams for my dad, and they resent each other for it—you’ve seen them together. You know what their marriage has become.”
“But it was her choice, Sam. And this is mine—”
“To leave your whole life behind, your family, just for me? I can’t be your dream. I’m not enough.”
“You mean I’m not enough.”
“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” said Sam, but I didn’t believe him. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and the tears had started pooling in the corners of my eyes and threatened to spill out.
“Then what are you saying?” I whispered.
Slowly, Sam sat back up on the bed. His hair was still salty from the beach, and he sighed hard as he ran his hands through it.
“There’s nothing for me in London, either.” He paused, my head spinning with confusion, even anger. “I’m not even sure I should go back.”
“Sam . . .” I sputtered. I couldn’t believe it. He was giving up on his dream? He couldn’t. I couldn’t let him.
“You said Dad will respect m
e if I respect myself, Niki, but guess what? I don’t. He was right, this whole time. I should never have been so frivolous with my life choices.” He smiled at me, but his eyes were far away. “I should have been more like you.”
I laughed despite myself, and a single tear slipped free. Sam reached over and gently wiped it away with his finger.
“And you see how much my mother misses me. I’ve been toying with the idea of coming back to Mumbai, finding some sort of respectable job finally, and then on Diwali, I met you and . . .” Sam trailed off. “Anyways, we’ll figure it out. We—”
“Aasha Auntie wouldn’t want you to move home just to make her happy. She loves you,” I said, finding my voice. “She worships the ground you walk on—”
“She doesn’t expect a goddamn thing from me, Niki.” Sam breathed out heavily. “She’s so cool now, huh? She wasn’t like that with Prem or Leena. She expected a lot from them, and she got what she wanted, and now I’m the throwaway child. Her little Sam who can do no wrong.”
“That’s not true . . .”
“It is. And my siblings resent me the exact same way you . . .”
He trailed off.
The same way I resented Jasmine.
“It’s time for me to grow up,” Sam said. His voice was forced and hollow, and I wondered where the man I loved had disappeared to. At some point, he’d withered away into a shadow of himself.
And where had I gone? Practical Niki. People-pleasing Niki. The good Indian daughter Niki.
“So, what happens now?” My voice was small and weak, and I hated myself for it. I hated Sam, too. I stood up, my arms clutched over my chest, willing him to say something—anything—that put all the pieces back together. That made sense.
But then Sam looked up at me, his gaze narrow and weak, and as the goose bumps prickled up and down my arms, I knew. I knew that we were over.
“I don’t know,” Sam said finally.
I don’t know?
He did know; he just wasn’t ready yet to admit it. It was just dawning on me, but Sam already knew that this was over. And suddenly, for the first time in more than a week, I felt like I was standing on solid ground. I sucked in air, slowly, and as I breathed it all out through my nostrils, suddenly it all made sense.
I picked up my wet towel from the floor, wiping away the last of my tears. “I think we’re done here, Sam.”
Sam had the audacity to laugh at me. He stood up, reaching for me, but I pulled away from his hug.
“Niki,” Sam said, searching my face. “Don’t. We’ll figure this out. Together, with time—”
“No, we won’t,” I said evenly. I backpedaled one more step toward the door. “We can end this now. Or we can end it a year from now, after we’ve put each other through hell. Frankly, I’d rather not waste my time.”
“Love, you’re speaking nonsense. I—”
“I said I’m done.”
Sam pleaded with his eyes, his hands, but I was immune to it now. I barely registered his words as I raced down the stairs and started throwing things into my suitcase as he banged on the bedroom door.
I thought I’d learned my lesson, but yet again, I’d gotten carried away.
I’d forgotten what was real.
CHAPTER 31
Five years earlier
That was a success!” said Gaurav’s father as he put his feet up on the kitchen table.
My boyfriend Gaurav didn’t say anything as his sister Sara elbowed me in the ribs.
“A success for who?” Sara mouthed.
I suppressed a laugh as she handed me freshly washed crockery to dry. Out of all the words that could be employed to describe tonight, “success” was the last one on my list. In fact, the entire evening had been a bit of a disaster.
Sara was getting married tomorrow, and no one really knew what was happening. The ceremony and reception were to be budget-friendly affairs at the local banquet hall, one of those places where you checked off what you wanted on a clipboard months ahead of time—food, decorations, and even the officiant—and just sort of showed up hoping the wedding would be what you asked for. But with only thirteen hours to go, no one had visited the hall to make sure everything was in order. No one even knew what time the family and wedding party were supposed to show up.
I wasn’t in Gaurav’s family yet, or the wedding party, but it seemed like I was the only one who was stressing out about it. With Sara’s blessing, I’d politely asked her future in-laws to stick around after dinner so everyone could formulate a plan for the big day. They agreed, but after only ten minutes of going over the details, they claimed they were tired and took off with the groom.
“Should we take a break from the dishes and talk about tomorrow?” I asked Sara loudly enough so everyone could hear. “I can take notes.”
“There are too many things to discuss,” Gaurav’s mom said, peering out from the pantry. “I don’t even see the point now.”
I bit my lip. I didn’t want to push the matter—it wasn’t really my place, and Gaurav had told me off before for sticking my nose in it—but tomorrow was destined to be a gong show if I didn’t get involved. This family was lovely most of the time, but they couldn’t even organize a dinner party to save their lives. At Gaurav’s graduation party, nobody had remembered to buy any liquor, and I’d had to go out for it twenty minutes before it started.
“I don’t mind,” I said, trying again. I grabbed a legal pad from the top of the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table. “We might as well . . .”
The next fifteen minutes were painful. It was like pulling teeth trying to get everyone to commit to a schedule, to share the tidbits of information they alone knew, which when combined, would mean the wedding wouldn’t be totally chaotic. Gaurav had remembered to organize the taxis, while his dad had indeed paid the venue and his mom had the seating chart “somewhere around here,” which I volunteered to get printed at Staples first thing in the morning. And luckily, Sara had finally found a photographer, and one of her friends who worked at Sephora had offered to do her hair and makeup.
“Niki,” Gaurav’s mom said after the plans were finalized, and we all stood up from the kitchen table. “You will be in the wedding photos, too. Hah?”
My heart lurched. “Really, Auntie?”
“Of course!”
She returned to her tasks in the pantry, and immediately, Gaurav and his father disappeared from the kitchen. A few details for tomorrow still weren’t finalized, but I felt better. Lighter. Gaurav’s family was a bit messy at times, but one day, they were going to be my family. Sometimes I felt like they already were.
“Your mehndi,” I said, staring at Sara’s hands as she went back to the dishes. “Let’s switch. I’ll wash and you dry.”
“Better yet, Gaurav should wash the dishes.”
“You’re right.” I rolled my eyes, brushing past Sara. “I’ll go get him.”
I found Gaurav in the basement, where he always hid after dinner. Usually, down here he played StarCraft or shot at something on his new PlayStation, but tonight he had the TV on. He was watching a rerun of Arrested Development.
“Wanna come help?” I sat down on the armrest next to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He didn’t answer, his eyes glued to the screen.
“Come on. Please? It’s her wedding tomorrow . . .”
I sighed, studying Gaurav’s face as he ignored me. Even though we were from the same Punjabi Sikh community, lately I’d been noticing how different our families were. Yes, Gaurav and I both grew up in houses with traditional gender roles, but while he and his father didn’t even put their own plates in the dishwasher, Dad at least showed his respect and appreciation for Mom’s domestic labor. Lately, now that his hours were better and he didn’t need to work so hard, he’d even started to contribute.
Would Gaurav be like his dad after we got married?
Would he expect me and our future daughters—but not sons—to do everything around the house even though I worked, too? Did he really think I would be OK if he farted around in the basement while I held the family together?
It was cold down here, and I rolled down my sweater sleeves to keep warm and decided whether or not to press him. It was the night before Sara’s wedding, and I didn’t want to start an argument. On the other hand, I knew I had to stop letting these things slide.
“Can we talk?” I asked him.
Gaurav flicked his eyes toward me. “About?”
“Sara’s henna will get ruined if she does the dishes,” I said. “Can you finish them?”
“Can you?”
My hands trembled at his tone.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew Gaurav wasn’t a good boyfriend. The week before, Diya told me point-blank that he treated his “geezer StarCraft buddies” better than he did me. Ever since we graduated college, all he did was go to work, play video games, and act like hanging out with me, his girlfriend, was some kind of chore.
This was his family. This was his sister’s wedding. Gaurav should be the one upstairs helping out, and he damn well knew it.
“What is up with you tonight?” I asked, my voice shaky. I hated having to ask. I hated when he made me feel like I was in the wrong.
“Nothing—”
“What. Is. Wrong.”
He reached for the remote and turned off the television. The silence was deafening.
“Yeah?” I tried again.
“Mom didn’t ask me about the pictures,” he grumbled.
“She didn’t ask you because you’re the brother. It’s a given you’ll be in the family photos.”
“No. Mom didn’t ask me if I wanted you in the photos.”
I pulled my legs onto the couch, processing what he meant.