by Sonya Lalli
“And what about me?” Kunal’s face was flat, but his eyes were sparkling. “You are not trying to win me over?”
Neil winked at Lakshmi and, laughing, said, “Oh, Uncle, I already know you love me.”
Anu was grinning as she snuck back up the steps toward her room. She pulled on her black pea coat and a scarf she’d nicked from Monica’s closet the week before, and then she grabbed a tube of lip gloss from the bathroom.
It was their six-month anniversary and, officially, only their tenth date. The tenth time Neil had picked her up, made overtures to her parents—who had warmed to him considerably over the past six months, especially her father—and then taken her out to dinner.
But in reality, she saw Neil every day on campus—even on the weekends. They studied together and with friends in the library and at coffee shops constantly. Sometimes, he came along to her favorite yoga class in the strip mall a twenty-minute bike ride from her parents’ house, although with the demanding university classes she needed to take to qualify for nursing school, she didn’t have much time to go anymore. Among the many rules her parents had laid out for her was that if her grades slipped, she and Neil were over.
Anu padded down the stairs and caught the three of them in conversation about Neil’s latest midterm. They all looked up at the same time, and she had a sudden sensation of lightheartedness.
“Hi, Anush.”
“Hey . . .” She blushed as she stepped into her boots and hoped her parents wouldn’t notice the way he was looking at her.
“Doesn’t Anu get chocolates?” she heard Kunal ask.
“Dad, he’s taking me to dinner.”
“But your mother got chocolates!”
“Kunal, really—”
“A man who doesn’t bring his date chocolate?” He winked at Anu. “I cannot allow you to leave with this monster.”
As Lakshmi hugged her goodbye, she whispered, “Be home by ten,” into Anu’s ear. Annoyed, Anu nodded and then followed Neil out to his car. Only when they were several blocks away did he pull the car over and kiss her.
They were by far the youngest customers in the restaurant, and Anu’s eyes bulged at the prices on the menu.
“Thirty dollars for chicken?” she asked Neil. He rubbed her shin with his leg beneath the table and told her not to worry about it; he had saved up from his internship the summer before, and he wanted to treat her.
They ordered dinner and, after each was carded by the waiter, a small carafe of wine to share. Neil made Anu drink most of it, because he was driving, and her head felt light and airy by the time he paid the bill and they left the restaurant.
After, it was only eight thirty p.m., and they were not sure what to do next. They could go back to Anu’s and watch a Hindi movie with her parents, but they wouldn’t even be allowed to sit on the same couch. So they drove around aimlessly, past a movie theater, bars, and restaurants, and then they did another loop around the neighborhood.
Resting her chin in her hands, Anu sulked in the passenger seat, thinking about how if she had just lied about whom she was going out with that night, she wouldn’t have had a curfew. If she had told her parents she was with Monica or another female friend, she could have stayed out with him the whole night.
“We might as well just go home,” she said after a while, staring out the window.
“Is that what you want?”
She shrugged and then grabbed his hand on the stick shift. “Not really.”
Neil cleared his throat and then hung the next right into a parking lot behind a big-box store. It was mostly empty, and Neil pulled into a spot on the far end.
Without saying anything to each other, they both got out of the car and into the backseat. Scooting into the middle, she leaned into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her.
Here, in his mother’s car, was the only time they ever got to be alone. The only time their legs could touch and their fingers intertwine and they could sit together like they were in love, do something more than just say it.
“Do you want to listen to music?” he whispered.
“Your weird punky-funk music?”
“Hey, my music isn’t weird.”
“I hesitate to call it music to begin with.” She leaned forward between the front seats, and he swatted her butt just as she switched on the radio. “Hey!”
“Get back here,” he said, pulling at her jacket.
She laughed, switching between stations. Billy Idol. The twenty-four-hour Punjabi station. The Mandarin channel. Shania Twain. She clicked SEEK one last time, and Rihanna came on. She beamed at him as she shifted backward, leaving no space between them on the seat.
“This isn’t music, either,” he warned her. He sounded hungry.
Emboldened, she went in for the kiss, and their mouths collided, perhaps too hard, but it was funny and so they laughed. His hands were cold on her cheeks, her neck, but they were warm by the time they slipped beneath her shirt. He kissed her harder now, and she slid closer, then pulled herself onto his lap.
She felt him pressing against her hips, and instinctively, she moved against him. As his hands moved from her hips to her stomach, and then higher, she pulled one leg over to straddle him.
This was always where he stopped her, where in a moment, maybe two, he’d stop her again. He sat up straighter, and she slid in closer, a soft moan escaping her lips. She wanted to be closer to him, push herself harder against him. She knew he wanted that, too, as he fumbled with her bra, helped her move her body up and down against him.
She was taller than him sitting like this, and pulling away, she leaned down and kissed his neck.
She loved him so much. She wanted him so much.
She could feel him shiver, and she kissed him in that spot again. He was squirming beneath her now, and she slid her mouth up to his ear, let her tongue dart in and then out.
“Anush.” He pulled at her waist, her jeans, like he wanted them off, but he’d never actually tried. Would she let him if he did? She kissed him, and everything became more hazy, more abstract, as he ground against her, and then suddenly he stopped.
He always stopped. Right now she wished he wouldn’t.
Her vision blurred as she crawled off him and then into the front seat. Neil was red in the face as he started the car. The clock came to life. It was nine forty-three p.m.
“Time to go,” he said, his voice catching.
They both knew where they were going—and that they’d be there together forever. But they were only nineteen, and it wasn’t coming fast enough.
chapter seven
KUNAL: Hello, sir or madam, this is Kunal Kapoor, the father of Anusha Desai. If you are reading this, it is because you have kidnapped my daughter and are holding her hostage. I respectfully decline to pay the ransom. However, if you allow Anusha to call back her mother, who has left her 8 messages and will speak to me about nothing else, I will reconsider.
Should I watch Miss Congeniality or Hitch?” Anu pressed her lips together furiously. “Yes, I realize I’ve seen them both before.” She paused. “Fine, more than once before.”
Anu reached for the bag of chips sitting on Ryan’s end table and suddenly noticed it was empty. She’d eaten the whole thing the evening before, sitting here, watching a different romantic comedy she’d seen a dozen times before, waiting for him to come home from work.
“I’m talking to myself, aren’t I?”
A Buddha statute that Ryan said he’d gotten at Urban Barn, staring at Anu from a high bookshelf, didn’t respond.
Anu stood up and, feeling incredibly pathetic, grabbed a pair of yoga pants from her overnight bag. There were too many hours to fill in a day ever since the separation, when she and Neil had agreed on joint custody. She couldn’t even remember what she used to spend her time on before Kanika was born when all of a sudden, Anu’s who
le life evaporated into her daughter’s health and appetite, amusement and emotions.
She had liked reading and going for hikes with her dad or Neil. She had hung out with her friends, although the only two she seemed to have these days were often busy, like tonight. Monica had just left with Tom for her honeymoon, and Jenny was at her sister’s book club.
She sighed as she pulled on her workout pants, stretched the elastic material up her calves and thighs. Anu used to be interesting and fun and passionate. She used to have yoga.
Fifteen minutes later, she found herself outside of Mags’ Studio. The lights were out, and disappointed, she blocked her eyes with her hands and peered through the glass.
“Anusha?”
Anu whipped around toward the voice and spotted Imogen’s signature hair. Instead of yoga clothes, she was wrapped up in a faux-fur coat, and her hair was parted down the center, buns above her ears like Princess Leia. Her boots, matte black leather, stretched high up her thighs.
“Hey . . .”
“Were you here to make Mags an offer?”
“Pardon?”
“On the studio.” Imogen smiled. “Mags says she has a good feeling about you. She’s convinced you’ll be the one to take it over.”
Anu rolled her eyes, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. “As if I can run a studio.” She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t find your schedule online, but I thought I’d try my luck.”
“There are no classes on a Friday night. The last class of the day finished up hours ago. I was upstairs getting ready at Mags’.”
Anu took notice of the bright pink lipstick on Imogen’s lips, her smoky eyes, her contoured cheekbones—a cross between Pippi Longstocking and Kim Kardashian. How did women manage to put on makeup like that? It was art. It was pure, magical art.
“The next class isn’t until eight a.m. tomorrow. . . .”
“Damn,” Anu said. “Oh, well. I’ll come tomorrow. Have a nice evening.”
“You, too . . .” Imogen trailed off, and then shoved Anu lightly on the shoulder. “Actually, you wanna come with?”
“With who?”
“Me?” Imogen laughed. “Out. I’m seeing this guy. It’s his friend’s birthday.” As if noticing the hesitation on Anu’s face, Imogen shook her head. “You won’t be the oldie, I swear. I think the guy is turning like twenty-seven or something.”
“But I won’t know anyone,” Anu said, even though what she was really thinking was that she barely knew Imogen. She didn’t know Imogen.
“I won’t know anyone, either. It’s casual. Some bar downtown. He said anyone’s welcome.”
“I don’t know. . . .” Anu stuffed her hands into her pockets. She couldn’t go out to a bar with perfect strangers, could she? At her age? She hadn’t been capable of summoning that sort of spontaneity even at Imogen’s age.
“Oh, live a little, Anusha. Come drink with me.”
Live a little. It was something Jenny would have said to her—likely had said to her in the past.
Kicking at a loose rock on the pavement, Anu racked her brain for a reason not to go, but the truth was, she didn’t have one. There was no reason why she shouldn’t. No family, boyfriend, or friends to stay home for. She checked her phone. Ryan hadn’t replied to one of her text messages in hours, since he had said he was going into an urgent closed-door meeting for one of his cases.
“Come on,” Imogen said. “Did you have anything better planned?”
“Not really. My boyfriend’s working tonight. I suppose I’ll just watch Netflix and chill. Why are you laughing?”
Imogen keeled over in a fit and then threw her head back, hair falling everywhere. “You’re going to Netflix and chill, alone?”
“What?”
“Do you know what that means?”
Anu shook her head, mildly irritated. “I have no idea what we’re talking about right now.”
“Netflix. And. Chill.” Imogen stared at her, and still Anu didn’t get it. “It’s code. It’s, like, slang for sex.”
“No, it’s not! I Netflix and chill by myself all the time. Hey, stop laughing at me!”
“Sorry. Sorry,” Imogen said, composing herself. “But you really need to stop saying that. I swear people will make assumptions.”
Her cheeks burning, Anu shrugged. “Noted.”
“Anyway.” Imogen linked arms with Anu and started leading her in the direction from which Anu had come. “Where do you live? You need to change.”
Anu gestured at the next corner, and so they turned. “My boyfriend’s house is just down the block.”
“Perfect,” Imogen said. “And to be clear, we are not going to Netflix and chill. I’m not hitting on you.”
“That didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Really? That’s the first thing that would have crossed my mind.”
“Is it a millennial thing?”
Imogen eyed her playfully. “I think it’s a redhead thing.”
Two hours later, Anu was in a crowded bar she had never noticed or seen before, but was only two blocks away from the office building where both she and Ryan worked. She thought about texting him to see if he’d like to join her after he was done, but she didn’t want to seem needy, so she decided against it.
The bar was dark and dingy, and there was a handful of pool tables by the jukebox and a line of picnic tables stretched along the far wall. Anu didn’t have much clothing at Ryan’s house, but somehow Imogen had convinced her to wear her red lipstick and faux fur. She had felt like an impostor walking out the door, utterly ridiculous, but here suddenly she seemed to fit right in.
“It’s Haruto,” Imogen said, gesturing to her phone as they made their way to the bar. “They’re in the back. But let’s get a shot first.”
“So Haruto is your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re sleeping together. But we also sleep with other people, you know?”
Anu nodded as if she understood, even though she had no idea how dating worked these days—or had ever worked, really.
“I met him at Mags’ a few months ago. He took my class.”
“Aw, that’s cute.”
“Cute? Sure.” Imogen shook her head, laughing as she tried to get the bartender’s attention.
As they waited for their shots, Anu tried to remember herself at Imogen’s age. Sure, she’d gone to bars like this; a few times, she’d drunk one too many vodka 7 Ups with her friends and Neil, but she’d never been stupid about it. Neil would sit with her in a booth, bring her water, and protectively drive her home when a party got too wild. Anything that had even come close to “stupid,” she had shared with Neil.
Their shots arrived, and just as Anu went to pay, a man’s arm pushed in front of her and handed the bartender a twenty.
“Keep the change, toots,” said the voice, and Anu and Imogen both turned to look. He was very ordinary looking, except for the blond porn-star mustache crawling down his face.
“I’m Bob,” he said gruffly. “What are your names?”
Anu glanced at Imogen, and she could tell the young woman, too, was trying her best to suppress a smile. She coughed, covering the giggle.
“Thank you for the drinks, Bob,” Imogen said. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know I didn’t. But I’m in town on business and thought I’d spoil a few good-looking gals.”
“Is that so?”
He grinned, and the porn-star mustache morphed into a butterfly spreading its wings. “What’s your name, sweetie? And what do ya do for a living? Bet you’re a model, aren’t ya?”
Eyes gone wide, Imogen answered, “My name is Fern. And I’m . . . a parade float designer. For the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”
“Really?”
She nodded, and Anu did her best to hold in her laughter as she cau
ght Imogen’s eye.
“That’s very interesting, doll.” He turned to Anu. “And you?”
“My name is Mango.”
“Mango?”
“It’s Indian. Indians eat a lot of mangoes. And I’m an . . . heiress.” Anu swallowed, smiling. “I’m very rich. I don’t need to have a job.”
The man gasped. “Are you one of those Indians in the Patel family?” he continued, oblivious to the unimpressed look on Anu’s face. “The Patels that own half the logging industry in this town?”
“No. The Patels are basically paupers when it comes to my family. You see . . . my grandmother invented . . . yoga.”
“Did she now? I’ve heard of yoga, you know. But I thought it was invented by Gwyneth Paltrow.”
Anu pursed her lips like she was evaluating a fine wine. “Common misconception, Bob. Common misconception.”
* * *
• • •
They fled the scene close to tears, and after meeting up with Haruto and his friends, Imogen disappeared with him outside to smoke a joint. Anu, who had never tried marijuana even after it became legal, stayed behind at the table. Suddenly, the rush of energy she’d felt dwindled when she saw a text from Ryan saying that he wouldn’t be home for a few more hours.
“Do you want a beer?”
Anu looked up to find the guy next to her pushing a plastic glass toward her, reaching for a half-full pitcher of beer with his other hand. He was young, handsome in a nondescript kind of way—brown hair, green eyes. With his denim jacket, he looked a bit like one of Kanika’s Ken dolls.
“Sure. Thanks.”
He poured the beer, and when she reached for her purse, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll buy the next pitcher, then,” she said, and the guy smiled at her. Was it because she’d offered to buy a round, or was it a different sort of smile? Jenny would have known. Leaning away from him, Anu reached for the glass. “So whose birthday is it?”
“My brother’s. Tim.” He pointed to a guy at the far end of the table, one with the same green eyes and dark hair. “And I’m Jake.”
