by Sonya Lalli
“Shay!”
Nani gasps. “Why, beta?”
“We love each other,” says Raina, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know if it’s really . . . over.”
“Oh, it’s over, all right.” Shay shakes her head. “After how he’s treated you? You can’t stay in contact with him. I refuse. It’s masochism.”
“You refuse?”
“Yes, I refuse. This isn’t your call anymore. You have no judgment right now.”
Raina turns to Nani. “She’s being ridiculous. Are you listening to her?”
“Yes,” says Nani. “I am listening, and Shaylee is right. It is time to move on.”
Shay has crouched down in front of Raina. She opens the laptop, and skims the screen. Dramatically, slowly, she presses the delete key. “Absolutely not.”
“Shay!”
“Don’t Shay me.” She tugs on Raina’s ankle. “What’s it going to take to get through to you?”
With birthday cake and tea comes another sermon. How Dev is now a lesson learned. How the years she gave him are not a waste; they will make her stronger. She tunes them out, still thinking of Dev. Minutes pass, and when her mind reenters the room, she realizes that Nani and Shay are discussing arranged marriages—her arranged marriage. They are discussing how Raina is not ready to start dating again, but how—in a few months, maybe a year—she would be.
Raina starts to resist, but Nani is adamant. She says she does not want to see Raina hurt any longer. She wants to find her a match. See her happy and settled. She wants to make an arrangement and help Raina find the right partner.
As much as Raina wants to please her nani, as much as she’s always wanted to, she doesn’t want this. She wants Dev. She will always want Dev.
“A couple years from now, Raina,” says Shay. “If you’re single at—thirty, let’s say. Why not consider it?”
Nani smiles, rubs Raina’s forearm until the fine brown hairs stick upright. Thirty feels infinitely far away, the destination elusive. She cannot imagine not yet being married by then, not having Dev in her life.
Nani and Shay are talking on either side of her about what type of man Raina might like—or rather, should like. Someone who is tall and handsome, says her nani, but will provide a stable home. Shay disagrees, and says that above all else, he must be humorous and kind; that Raina doesn’t need a good match—but someone who can match her.
Raina tunes in and out of the chatter. She doesn’t bother telling them to settle down, stop planning something that, surely, will never come to fruition. Instead, she nods her head and agrees to the plan. She is suddenly famished, and cutting herself another piece of cake, she glances at the computer. Already, she is crafting another e-mail; just the thought of Dev—the mere suggestion that it’s not yet over—has revived her.
NINE
It was well into November already, and I woke up one morning unable to get warm. It hurt to move, to swallow, to think. Still, I was restless, and I almost wished Dev would e-mail me and tell me that he wasn’t coming, and my life—however small it was—could get back to normal. But what did normal even mean these days? Tackling Nani’s new online list, the one with seemingly an infinite number of men? It had been weeks since I discovered her online escapades, and still she hadn’t confessed to taking out an ad on IndianSingles.com. She pretended that the men who were calling me—men who I told her I was simply too busy to see—were potential suitors she’d somehow found through her friends.
I abandoned my suit jacket for a thick wool sweater, and swaddled myself in my heaviest parka for the walk to work; still, the late autumn wind tore right through me. Chilled me to the bone. Most of my colleagues’ offices were empty when I arrived. My brain felt like a block of ice, and I shut my door, rolled my coat into a thick pillow, and put my head down on the desk. Still, with my eyes closed, I felt queasy, and a sickening dread washed over me.
Did I have the flu? I wanted to call Nani, but I felt too weak to reach for the phone. I kept my eyes closed, thinking I would try in a moment, but the next thing I knew, Zoey’s face had appeared in front of me.
She was squatted down next to my desk. A dull sunlight filled the room, and instinctively, I glanced over at the clock.
“Shit!” I tried to lift up my body, but I couldn’t.
Zoey touched my forehead, and I wasn’t sure if it was my skin that was wet—or hers. “Raina, you’re super hot.”
I closed my eyes. “A babe, I know.”
“I’m being serious . . .”
I noted the tone of concern in Zoey’s voice. I felt her tuck my hair behind my ears, and I opened my eyes again. “How was the meeting?”
“Fine . . .” Her eyes hit the floor. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Bill noticed you weren’t there.”
“Liar.”
“Raina, you’re sick.” She cushioned me as I tried to sit up again. “You should go home.”
Once I sat up, the room spun, and I blinked until it stopped. “I’m fine.”
“You look like shit.”
“Really, I’m fine.” I fumbled for the keyboard, for the button to switch on my PC. “So how was the meeting?”
She stood up and sat on the edge of my desk, her legs waving in and out, knocking against each other. She wouldn’t look up from the floor.
“What is it?”
She looked away.
“Zoey, what? Am I fired or something?”
Her eyes darted up and around, out the window, and by the time they finally landed on me, I already knew.
“Boardroom D,” she whispered.
I tried not to sprint, to walk at a normal pace, but I kept stumbling. My shoes refused to keep up with my feet, catching on the carpet. I let my hand drag against the wall for balance. A right. Another sharp right. The hallway seemed longer, endless, a mirage of doors and suits, impractical art and sharp edges.
Then finally, I was there. And so was he.
Dev. Exactly as I’d left him. The way he still looked in my mind. The same Dev I knew—and now here—not thousands of miles away, but sitting right in front of me. Handsome and angular, a few sprigs of gray feathered into his sideburns. He was so close, only a glass wall between us; thin, angular lines of fog. He was facing away from me, toward Bill and a few other senior bankers lined up on the opposite side of the table. Dev reclined into his chair. Crossed his right ankle over his left knee, and from where I stood, I could only just see him thumbing the silk of his tie. I knew he would turn around before he did, and sure enough, a moment later, my palm resting on the glass between us, his neck craned slowly around. He looked right at me.
It was only a moment—but that one moment dragged on and on, frozen between heartbeats. Then he waved. A small wave. His hand traveling no more than a couple of degrees. A second later, he turned back around.
Was that it?
I turned and ran. My senses boiled up to the point I couldn’t breathe. I felt the weight of it all rising. Tipping. I barely made it to the restroom before it all came retching out.
Dev . . . ?
TEN
Later that week, I saw him through the glass door before he opened it. He hesitated, surveying everyone in the fifty-fourth-floor conference room before slowly pushing through the door. A waiter standing just inside the entrance offered him a mimosa, and Dev, startled, almost dropped it as he picked it up off the tray.
I maneuvered myself farther behind the bar, so he couldn’t see me. Watching him, I felt numb, and I didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. I’d been waiting to see him—waiting for this moment for so long, and now it felt too sudden. Sprung on me before I was ready. I’d been off sick for two days and had kept my BlackBerry off the whole time, unable to face whether a message from Dev awaited me—or didn’t.
“Are you hiding?” I heard Zoey say.
I didn’t answer, my
eyes glued to Dev. Was I ready to face him? Ready to just walk up like our reunion was the most normal thing in the world? The truth is, I wasn’t. I hadn’t even fully recovered from the flu, but it was Bill’s sixtieth birthday, and his assistant had organized a reception for his division. I had to come in.
A woman I didn’t recognize clustered with some of the junior analysts waved Dev over. He smiled, and then walked in their direction.
“Who’s that?”
Zoey looked up from her phone, and followed my eyes across the room. “Bridget,” she said after a moment, and then looked back down. Zoey had been cool with me ever since I’d left her alone at Shay’s engagement party. I’d apologized profusely, and she said she’d forgiven me, but I wasn’t so sure she had.
“Are we okay?” I said after a moment.
“Yes, we’re fine.”
“You’re still mad—”
“I’m not.” Zoey looked up, and sighed. “I’m not mad. It’s just hard to see you pine after him like that.”
I looked back in his direction. He was talking to the group, and I watched Bridget flick her long, shiny black hair. She was very pretty, and young, with a healthy glow like she was vegetarian and never ate junk food.
“Raina, stop staring. She’s just sucking up to him—she’s like that.” Zoey touched my elbow, holding it until I turned to face her. “Let’s go eat.”
“Do you like him?”
“Who—Dev?” Zoey scrunched up her mouth, then took a sip of her drink. “Yeah, I do. We had a training seminar with him yesterday. All the juniors like him.” She nodded again. “Very experienced—”
I nodded, and looked back toward Dev. He was still talking to Bridget, and I wondered if Zoey was right. Was she really just trying to make a good impression? Or was she flirting—trying something with him? I shuddered. I’d looked at him like that once, too.
“What does Shay think?”
“About Dev being back?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Haven’t told her.” I turned back to Zoey. “Don’t look so surprised. She hates him.”
“Raina, she’s your best friend. I understand your nani not knowing . . . but Shay?”
A waiter passed by with a tray of mimosas, and I wished I could reach for one. But Nani had called, again, saying that I needed to drive home after the party and help her move old boxes out of the garage.
“She doesn’t need to know.” I glared back at her. “She’s busy with work. With Julien, and planning her wedding. Plus, she’d probably kill him before I . . .”
Before I what?
I started to walk over to the buffet, ignoring Zoey’s glances as she trailed behind me, knowing she wanted to ask me the same question. What was I doing?
I reached for two plates and handed one to Zoey. We waited in line behind a few bankers I recognized from Chicago. They hovered over the olives, debating the greens and blacks, chili and salty, oiled and preserved.
I felt Zoey’s hand on my wrist. “I think you should tell Shay,” I heard her say. “I can’t help you the way she can, Raina. You’re going crazy in there, I can tell. This isn’t you. You need some perspective.”
“I have perspective,” I said coolly. “It’s been two years, and I”—I lowered my voice—“truthfully, I am still in love with him, Zoey. What am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to tell your best friend—”
“I can’t.” I grabbed the spoon, dished olives onto her plate, and then another spoonful onto mine. “I won’t. I can—but I won’t.”
We inched forward in line, stopping again in front of the salads.
“Your nani. She seems modern—”
“Zoey, please try and understand.” I turned to face her. “I’m not telling anyone he’s back. I need time to figure this out on my own. So either you help me deal with that, or leave me to deal with it my own way.”
“Fine,” she said, evenly. “I’ll help.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you need help with?” She reached over me for the bread. “Besides all your work Bill keeps sending me.”
“I need Nani to stop pressuring me to find a husband. That’s what I need.” We reached the end of the line, and I glanced around, looking for a free spot at the tables. “I need her to stop forcing me on so many dates until I figure out everything with Dev.”
“You mean the guy who didn’t bother to tell you when he moved here?”
“Let’s change the subject,” I said, looking at her. “How are you? How’s Alice?”
“She dyed her hair blond. Raina, it’s terrible.”
I laughed, which surprised me, because I wasn’t sure I’d laughed in weeks.
“Do you think I should tell her?” She followed me to a nearby table and, sitting down next to me, said, “I don’t know the protocol.”
“Well, does she like it?”
“She thinks she looks like Beyoncé. I mean, I think my girlfriend is hot, but brown skin and blond hair only works on the queen.”
“Do you have a pic—? What is it?” I followed Zoey’s eyes to the opposite corner of the room, to Dev and Bridget. They were standing near the entrance, away from everyone else. He was leaning against the wall, her hand on his shoulder, and he was laughing.
He was fucking laughing.
And I was the butt of the joke.
I could feel myself shaking, and I pushed my plate toward Zoey.
“Raina, where are you going?”
“Home,” I said, without turning around. I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to keep cool, trying to keep from crying. I had to pass them to leave. I kept my face down as I walked by, but he saw me.
“Raina, hi. How are you? It’s been . . . It’s been so long.”
I had to stop. I forced my feet to slow down, come to a deliberate halt. I looked up, tensed the muscles in my cheeks. “Hello, Dev.” I nodded, and then glanced briefly at Bridget. “Hi, there.”
“Hello.” She had a slight Chinese accent, and perfect teeth.
“I tried ringing you a few times . . . after . . .”
After you turned up to my office without any warning?
“Did you get my messages? How are you feeling? Unwell, still?”
“Oh? I’m just fine.” I tried to sound nonchalant, and I avoided his gaze. “Actually, I’m just heading out.”
“You’re leaving already?” he asked softly.
Why was Bridget staring at me? Why did I feel like I had interrupted something? As if it were Bridget who knew Dev, the one who had the right to stand there speaking with him, and not me? My heart was beating fast, too fast, and I took a deep breath. And then another. “Yes. I have to go. I . . . have a date.”
I pushed through the glass door without replying. My feet sped up, and I maneuvered down the hall, trying not to run. I pressed the elevator button, two, three, four times—praying it would hurry. I pushed again, and finally, it arrived. I could sense him running behind me, and I flung myself into the elevator, and a second later, as the doors were closing, he wedged his leg in and the doors stopped short.
“What was that?”
He was angry, his jaw tense, and I pushed the close button again, and again, but it wouldn’t shut with him there.
“Dev, I’m late. I have to go.”
“Raina, stop it.” He fought his way into the elevator as a bell started to ring. He put his hands on my arms as the doors closed, and we started drifting downward. “What was that all about?”
“What was what, Dev?”
“Please—” He pulled me closer as I tried to move back, as I tried to distance myself for my own good.
“I—”
But then his mouth was on mine; his body, his heat, pressed up against me. My back to the wall, he kissed me—his hands through my hair,
on my neck, my waist. I was burning, my senses on overload; and I wanted to push him away, and bring him closer at the same time.
Another bell chimed, and he pulled himself off me just as the door opened. I was out of breath, and I pushed myself off the wall and forward through the door. I walked slowly through the lobby. I could feel him a few steps behind me, and right before I reached the door, I turned around to face him.
“I don’t know . . .” I breathed out. “I can’t—”
“I didn’t mean to make you jealous,” he said. He inched closer toward me. “She’s on my team. She’s just young and ambitious. That’s it.”
I nodded, looking at my hands, wondering how he managed to make me feel so small and like I was his entire world in the exact same breath. “Why did you move here, Dev?”
“It’s not exactly clear. It’s been decided I’ll go back and forth between here and the New York office for a while—others, too, perhaps.”
“So it’s temporary that you’re here.”
“Maybe. Well, I’m not sure.” He drew closer to me. “But, now that I’m here, Raina. Now that I see you . . .”
“What?”
“I don’t know. But I know I need you in my life. You’ve always been so good for me.”
I was good for him. Before me, he’d go weeks without eating green food. Forget to eat, to sleep, obsessed by a file, a problem he couldn’t figure out. I’d bought him vitamins and baby aspirin, towels that didn’t reek of mildew. Outside, he was tailored suits and the brick walls of a flat he could afford to buy outright, but inside, he was cavernous. Undiscoverable. A boy who played with his power like a small child played house.
“Do you really have a date?”
His voice weak, I knew he still cared. After what we’d shared together, how could he not?
“It’s okay if you do.” Dev crossed his arms, and I could see on his face he was struggling, putting up a fight.
But for what? When, still, after all this time, he couldn’t give in—give in to us?
