by Sonya Lalli
“What are you thinking?”
“What am I thinking?” she echoed.
“You’re thinking . . . I told you so.” I laughed. “I should have listened to you. I should never have tried to have a ‘fling.’ ”
“No.” Jasmine’s voice was flat and even. “Honestly, I was thinking that this is good. This is really good, Niki.”
I sat up, confused by her meaning.
“You know what it feels like to really be in love,” she continued. “And to feel loved. For the future, you finally know what you deserve.”
I nodded sadly, remembering the way Gaurav used to treat me. How insecure’d I felt about myself those few years. Yes, Sam had hurt me, but he had made me feel good, too. Around him, I felt like I was worth it. And even though we weren’t going to be together, that feeling lingered. I was worth it.
“You were right, by the way,” Jasmine said a little while later.
“I’m right about a lot of things,” I joked.
She smiled. “You were right not to tell me you weren’t Brian’s biggest fan. Because I realized something recently . . .”
I dug my toes into her side, prompting her.
“I never told you that I didn’t like Gaurav.”
“You didn’t like him?” I laughed. “Why didn’t you at least tell me after he dumped me?”
“I dunno.” She shrugged. “You were already so sad. Mom and Dad were broken up about it, too. And I didn’t want you to think about how much time you wasted over that piece of trash.”
“For the record,” I said, “I don’t think Brian is a piece of trash. I just don’t know if you’re a good fit.”
Jasmine nodded, smiling stiffly as she leaned her head back on the armrest of the couch.
“But I’m not in your relationship. I don’t see everything, and sometimes I think I look for reasons to judge him.” I paused. “I’m happy if you’re happy, OK?”
Jasmine stared up at the ceiling, and the room got quiet, except for the sounds of BBC News coming from upstairs.
“Are you happy?” I asked her after a few minutes had passed.
Wryly, she said, “I haven’t decided yet.”
CHAPTER 34
Jasmine must have said something to my parents, because over the next few weeks, they never asked me about Sam or how I was doing or if I wanted to talk to them about what happened. Because I didn’t. I knew that lying to them about who I was staying with in Goa and “dating” some guy I’d met on vacation was a crushing blow for them, something they didn’t expect from their good daughter. And saying everything out loud all over again would only make me feel worse.
We avoided all talk of Diya, the wedding, and the week I spent in Goa, and when we talked about my time in India, we instead focused on the few dozen more phrases of Punjabi I’d picked up with the family. Mom’s pinni, which was a hit with every host. The warm, familiar tingle I felt spending time with my relatives.
I got over my jet lag pretty quickly, and because my parents worked all day and I was unemployed, I pulled my weight around the house more so than usual—cleaning and cooking dinner for them every night, sometimes Indian, sometimes a cool new recipe I found on Chrissy Teigen’s Instagram. I could only spend so many hours per day watching television, going to the gym, searching for jobs, or doing whatever else I could find around the house to keep myself focused, my mind anywhere but on Sam.
On how much I missed him.
By the second week of December, even though I was as miserable and unemployed as ever, the whole world seemed to be on serotonin-inducing drugs as the city got ready for the holidays. I couldn’t go grocery shopping without hearing Ariana Grande’s “Santa Tell Me” or try out a spin class without the instructor mixing Justin Bieber’s rendition of “Drummer Boy” with an EDM beat to keep us sweating. I tried my best to get into the spirit, but sometimes I just needed to tune out the world, stare at the ceiling, and listen to something angsty from my adolescence, like My Chemical Romance or Simple Plan.
Mom and Dad were out every other night at some work holiday party or community function, and although Jasmine had been coming home often to check on me, she, too, became increasingly busy, balancing her workload with her and Brian’s social calendar. Even without a job, I found myself leaving the house more and more, and wearing clothes that weren’t sweatpants, however much I didn’t feel like it. Having given them the bare bones of what happened with Sam via our group chat, my girlfriends dragged me out of the house for movie nights or wine nights, occasions where I’d let them indulge me for no more than fifteen minutes before making a show of turning over a new leaf and enjoying the rest of the evening.
My old boss Oliver also invited me for drinks with the old work crew, and although I declined his invite to crash the office Christmas party—boy, would that have been weird—I did meet up with my old team in the city at the same pub we’d all been going to for years. It was good to see them and tell the same jokes and talk about the same work politics as ever, but it made me realize that getting let go really was a blessing in disguise. I was content with them, but I wasn’t happy, and unless something had forced me out of my inertia, I may never have left. I may have never figured out that although I cared about them and learned a lot while working there, it was well past the time for me to move on.
When I was still in Punjab, I’d reached out to both companies who’d wanted to interview me to see if I could backtrack on my cancellation. The first told me it was too late; they’d found another candidate. The other one brought me in a few days after I got back to Seattle, but I could tell within the first ten minutes that I wasn’t going to get the job. Despite three espressos and a pep talk in the restroom just before the interview, my performance was entirely lackluster, and I came across as a sad, boring former data analytics manager who couldn’t care one way or another if they offered me the job.
But wasn’t that true? I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Sam, but every time I scrolled past yet another job I was technically qualified for but not exactly enthused about, I remembered how proud of me he was when he thought I was only going to start applying for companies I really cared about, where I would feel passionate. I remembered how much faith he had in me. And it made me want to one day believe in myself, too.
Halfway through the month, I was a bundle of nerves when I woke up to a DM from Masooma reminding me that she was in town for work and wanted to grab dinner. Although Diya and I had texted frequently since I got back to Seattle, we had both steered clear of He Who Shall Not Be Named, referring to Sam only in passing, or incidentally to Diya asking me if I was holding up OK. He hadn’t tried to reach out to me since I got back to Seattle, and because he hadn’t posted a thing on social media, I had no idea where he was or how he was doing, if he’d ended up telling his family and his friends that he wasn’t going back to London, or if he changed his mind in the end and was there right now. If he just hadn’t wanted me to go with him.
I was tempted to bail, fake the flu or some appointment, but Jasmine encouraged me to go. And she was right. After all, I’d gotten on well with Masooma and wanted to stay friends with her, and she was classy enough not to pry. So I suggested a trendy tapas bar near her hotel and put on waterproof mascara, just in case Sam made it into the conversation. Just in case, yet again, I turned into a total idiot.
Masooma was running late from her meeting, and so I waited for her in the bar area, snagging the last free stool. The place was always busy, very popular with the late twenties and thirties crowd, and it was unusually packed tonight. I ordered a beer and passed the time by people-watching—longtime couples on dates, would-be couples trying to pick each other up, small groups of friends having a laugh.
One month earlier, I would have sat here and imagined what they were saying to one another, created backdrops and stories and even silly little songs, but what was the point of all of tha
t? I didn’t need an outlet for my fantasy. I’d lived through a real one—well, almost.
“The prodigal daughter has returned.”
It was a man’s voice, no more than a foot behind me. I blinked long and hard, and as my whole body trembled, I allowed myself to think for one fleeting moment that it might be Sam.
I swiveled around on the stool, using the bar edge to propel myself, and as the body behind the voice slowly came into view, I realized that of course it wasn’t Sam.
But it was a friendly face.
“Rajandeep. Singh. Sahota,” I said, my lips slowly curling upward. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“You can call me Raj,” he teased, echoing the words he’d said when we first met for lunch.
I smiled, giving him a quick hug as he pecked me on the cheek. “You’re saved in my phone that way, and it’s how I remember you.”
“So you do remember me,” Raj said, clutching his chest. “Because I’ve been waiting by my phone for months.”
“Months?” I laughed.
“Weeks, then.” Raj rested his forearm on the back of my stool. He had his sleeves rolled up, and when his skin made contact with my back, a shiver shot down my spine. I bit my bottom lip as he smiled at me in that knowing way. I’d forgotten how handsome I’d once found him.
Raj stood next to me as I gave him a very brief (and edited) overview of my trip to India, and he told me about his latest rotation, how, as the new resident, he was on back-to-back call shifts throughout Christmas and New Year’s.
Purely because of space limitations, our knees were touching, and the bar was so loud that every time one of us spoke, the other had to crane their neck out to hear the other person. I could smell the cologne on his neck and the whiskey on his breath, and our faces were so very close together that when I noticed Masooma hovering nearby, I felt like I’d been caught red-handed.
“Masooma, hi!” I hugged her, noticing how exhausted she looked. “Busy day? Here, take my seat.”
“Thanks.” She dropped into the stool like she was throwing herself down a set of stairs. “The fucking jet lag, Niki. What was I thinking, arriving one day early only?” She shook out her hair and then looked from me to Raj. Her eyes narrowed.
“Where are my manners,” I said, suddenly nervous. “Masooma, this is Raj. Raj, Masooma. She’s visiting from Mumbai—”
“Oh. Nice to meet you, Masooma.” He shook her hand firmly. “Are you the friend that just got married?”
Masooma threw me a sideways glance, shaking her head. “That’s Diya, another friend of ours.” She gently squeezed my forearm. “Lots of friends, this one. Very popular.”
“Right.” I laughed.
“So how do you two know each other?” Masooma asked.
Before I could think of a reply, Raj answered. “This one here stood me up.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I did not—”
“Don’t listen to her, Masooma,” Raj said, ignoring me. “We had the most wonderful date”—he set his hand on my waist—“and she promised to call me when she was home from India but never did.”
They both turned to me, Raj’s eyes teasing and half-drunk, Masooma’s unreadable. I bit my lip, both flattered by Raj’s attention and worried about what Masooma would think of me if I flirted back. If I acted as if Sam, her and Diya’s friend, was the last thing on my mind.
I reached forward to grab my beer. I didn’t want Raj’s hand on me with Masooma watching, and thankfully, he let me go. I took a big sip.
“Well, Raj,” I said carefully. “You never called me, either.”
Raj grinned, and I could tell he’d had a few drinks. “The cheek on her, Masooma. I’m telling you.”
“I think our table is ready,” I said suddenly. “Masooma, shall we?”
She nodded, and we gathered our things and said our goodbyes to Raj, who took the free stool as we walked away.
“Make sure she calls me,” he called out to Masooma. “I’ll be waiting by the phone!”
The host led us to a table at the back of the restaurant, and we spent the next hour eating tapas and catching up.
It was nice to get to know Masooma and dive into subjects that we didn’t necessarily want to talk about in a big group setting and around a bunch of other people, like our families and the struggles each of them had faced settling into new cities and countries. But we talked about lighter things, too, like Shah Rukh Khan, and our weird, nerdy love for pandas software documentation.
But eventually, as we worked our way through small plates of calamari, patatas bravas, and garlic prawns, it was inevitable that we talk about our trip to Goa. It was inevitable that we talk about Sam.
“I was sorry to hear that it didn’t work out,” Masooma said after she mentioned having brunch with him back in Mumbai.
“Thanks.” I shrugged, my stomach twisting into knots. “It’s OK. I do live in another country.”
She smiled, her friendly mouth stretching wide. It wasn’t a look of pity, which I appreciated; it was one of understanding.
“There are enough eligible men in your own town, I suppose.” With her eyes, Masooma gestured to the bar area, where she’d seen me with Raj. My cheeks heated up. “He was cute. What’s his name again?”
I sipped my water. “Raj.”
“Raj,” she repeated. I couldn’t get a read on what she was thinking. “Do you think you’ll see him again?”
“Maybe.” I laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe if he calls me . . .”
Masooma grinned. “Good idea. Guys like that need to make the first move.”
I didn’t know what she meant by that, but before I could ask, she continued.
“Diya will be happy you are doing so well. She sent me as her emissary to check on you.”
“Really?” I teased. “And what will you report back?”
She raised one eyebrow. “That you’re doing much better than Sam.”
My lip started to tremble. There were two croquettes left on the table, and so I skewered one of them with my fork and popped it into my mouth. I was doing better than him? If Masooma had seen me on literally any other day in the past few weeks, I was sure she’d have formed a different conclusion.
Chewing, I tried to decide whether to press further on the subject. It was strange to have confirmation that Sam was struggling, too. Comforting. But maybe that had nothing to do with me.
“Is he still in Mumbai?” I asked, after I’d swallowed the croquette.
She nodded. “He finally told us. The age of Perihelion is over.”
My body tensed. “Has he told his—you know what? Never mind. Sorry. It’s not my business.”
“It’s OK, Niki. Chill.” Masooma smiled at me. “And, yes. He did tell Pradeep Uncle.”
“Did he react as badly as Sam expected?”
“That, I’m not sure. But Sam and Aasha Auntie have left Goa and have shifted back to Mumbai.” She smiled limply. “With the three of them in one apartment, I suspect that time will either solve their problems, or very soon I’ll be reading about a murder in the Indian Express.”
I giggled, shaking my head. I was happy to hear that Sam was trying to move forward with his life, even though it would never include me.
“I am not aware of what happened between you and Sam,” Masooma said. She paused, considering me. “But he is feeling really bad. If he hurt you. He didn’t mean to—”
“You don’t need to apologize for him,” I said, waving him off. “And he didn’t hurt me. It was just a fling.”
“Right,” she answered. “Good. I just wanted you to know, he really is a good guy.”
I smiled brightly as my stomach twisted into a palpable, painful knot. What was I supposed to do with that information? Where was I supposed to store it, inside, where I could keep it safe from my heart? I knew Sam was
a good guy, and he hadn’t meant to shred me to pieces. That, in some alternate reality, he could have been my good guy.
That’s what made this so fucking hard.
CHAPTER 35
How was the big interview?” Brian asked me.
“Yeah, fine.” I shrugged. I’d interviewed that afternoon for a data analyst role at one of the big, impersonal banks in town. It would be a step down in title but paid better than my former job, and I wasn’t sure I would take it even if they offered it, but I needed to at least give it a shot.
“I’ll find out next week.”
“Who knows,” said Brian. “You might get a job offer as your early Christmas present.”
I made a show of beaming at him, and Brian, in turn, gave me an awkward thumbs-up. Jasmine, Brian, and I were squished around their dinner table, which was only meant to seat two people. We were packed in so tightly our plates touched, and I couldn’t help but kick both of them when I crossed my legs. I’d suggested we eat on their sectional, as the living room of their condo was much more spacious, but Jasmine had set the table just for me and wanted us to all eat here.
“This is really good,” I said, watching the analog wall clock. No one had said anything in thirty, now thirty-one seconds. I looked back at Jasmine and Brian when they didn’t respond. They were poking at their salmon. “Teriyaki?”
“Yep,” Jasmine said flatly. “Brian cooked.”
“Nice.” I smiled at him again as hard as I could. “Thanks, Brian.”
“Anytime,” he answered, spinach and salmon still in his mouth. “This sauce is unreal. You can whack it on chicken, too. Takes like two minutes.”
Jasmine stiffly set down her fork and glanced over at Brian. It was so quiet all of a sudden I could hear my heart beating. Hell, I thought I could hear Jasmine’s heart beating. Although she hadn’t given me a lot of details, I knew she and Brian were having problems. That she was thinking things over, and he was making more of an effort in their relationship. I wondered if cooking dinner for his girlfriend’s little sister was part of that effort.