The Trouble with Hating You

by Sajni Patel

  “I better not hear you talking about Liya or anyone that way.”

  “Sure…”

  I eyed them for another moment, keeping my glare intense. They seemed both awkward and agitated, glancing away but without apology. “Where’s Mike?”

  “Um…”

  “Um, what?”

  They looked past me at the building across the street. I turned and saw him, the same guy who had been flirting with Liya at the café. He’d emerged from her building with a very stern security officer. Mike spoke to James, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood. Not with those crossed arms and stoic features.

  I stole a few calming breaths as I marched across the street to a near irrational Mike, who claimed, “Come on, man. I have friends in there. You’ve seen me all the time. She’s just mad at something. Nothing happened. This makes me look bad when I didn’t do anything.”

  But James wasn’t having it. He’d been the security officer who cleared me for special access for the next few months while I worked with the company. He was extremely friendly, but also intimidating when the situation called for it.

  “Is there an issue?” I asked James and then eyed Mike.

  “Just making sure this man found his way out,” James replied.

  “Mike, right?” I asked.

  Mike nodded.

  I gave James a thankful glance, and he retreated into the building, behind the glass doors and translucent wall to the lobby. He watched us from behind the security desk.

  “You recognize me?” I asked, my voice stony.

  Mike squinted in the harsh midday light. “Oh, yeah, I guess I’ve seen you around.”

  “I was with Liya at the café when you asked her out. I heard you’ve been spreading rumors about her.”

  He straightened up. “You her brother or something?”

  “Yeah, because there are only a billion Indians in the world and we’re all related.”

  “You all look the same to me.” He sneered.

  “And I wonder why in the world Liya ever agreed to go out with you.”

  “If you heard the rumors, then you know why. She wanted a piece of this and I gave it to her.”

  I ground out carefully, “Don’t lie. I’m not one of your groveling minions you can impress with your BS stories.”

  “You’re some big shot. I get it.”

  “I want you to straighten out the rumors and then leave Liya alone.”

  “Rumors are rumors. Sometimes they’re true, sometimes they’re not. They get passed around and then forgotten about. Who said I started any of them?” he asked defensively.

  “Let’s not play games. I have meetings to get to and work to do.”

  “So who’s stopping you?”

  “Here’s what you’re going to do, Mike.”

  He glared at me.

  “Before the end of the day, you’re going to go up to every person you bragged to and set the story straight. You can start with your two buddies at the restaurant over there who are watching us right now. Then you’re going to go across the street, buy the biggest floral arrangement you can find, and march your useless self to Liya’s office, security-escorted of course, get on your knees, and grovel for her forgiveness in front of anyone present. Then, I don’t want to ever see you in or near this building, or near Liya, again.”

  He laughed. “Are you smoking something?”

  “Do you know why you’re going to do this?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “I know why I’m not doing that.”

  “You’re going to do this out of the kindness of your heart because you realize what you did was wrong.”

  He laughed. “Thanks for the joke.”

  “Legal threats probably don’t work for you.”

  He laughed again. “Get out of my face, man.”

  “Because Liya has every right to press charges, to get a restraining order against you.”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  “It’s not a threat. There are cameras everywhere. Whatever you claim you didn’t do, just remember there’s most likely evidence to the contrary. Our security officer friend on the other side of this wall is probably looking through footage right now. Even if all you did was say something, that’s considered harassment. Actions have consequences. You get me, Mike?”

  “Yes,” he stuttered, his gaze darting between me and the security desk in the lobby.

  “Now what are you going to do?” I asked, my voice low.

  “Straighten out the rumors, get the flowers, and beg Liya.”

  “Are we going to have any issues?”

  “No.” He took a few steps backward, nearly bumping into a passerby.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I swear, man, I swear.”

  I watched him until he crossed the street and disappeared into the restaurant where his friends had been watching our interaction.

  I walked into the building and toward the security desk. “Thanks for handling that, James.”

  “It’s what I’m here for. Is there anything I should know about that guy?” he asked.

  “His name is Mike. There’s a tiny chance he might come by later today with flowers asking for Liya. Can you call me immediately if he does?” I asked as I wrote down my cell phone number for James, although he already had my detailed information in his database.

  “Sure thing.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Liya

  The day could not end fast enough. Between the extra workload and this killer pain in my inflamed ankle, crumpling into my leather chair with an ice pack hugged against my foot was by far the best thing that happened today.

  As I sat in the tranquility of my office, I answered a call from Momma.

  “It was good to see you at mandir,” she said in her sweet, soft voice.

  My heart swelled and broke at the same time. How was that possible, to love someone so much it hurt? “You, too. Is everything…okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Dad isn’t being a giant ass—”

  “Liya!” she hissed.

  “Is he still upset?”

  “A bit. He’s trying very hard, you know? To secure a man for you, and you just walk away?”

  “I don’t want to get married.”

  “Because of your dad?”

  “He’s certainly a reason.” Although my dad had never been a leading example of a wonderful Indian husband, I of course saw them around. Rohan would be one. Jahn certainly appeared to be one. There were quite a number who doted on their wives and kids at mandir, those who went all out on romantic nonsense on social media, and those who ran the gossip circuit of having done this simple little gesture or that extraordinary thing.

  Momma went on, “He’s a good man most of the time. And not all men are like him. Jay is much nicer.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “If not now, then when? Men don’t want to marry a woman over thirty.”

  I laughed. “Women these days go to college, sometimes for many, many years. They work and have careers and pursue other interests and then get married, well into their thirties. It’s fine.”

  “Well into their thirties? And when are they going to have children?”

  How could I explain to my mother that I could not commit to one person to save my life? That I abhorred being tied down by someone? That I loathed the idea of answering to a man? That I…was too broken to be wifey material anyway?

  She went on with hope lighting her words, “I saw you speaking with Jay’s mom.”

  “I apologized to her. She needed to know my intention wasn’t to embarrass anyone and it wasn’t anything against her.”

  “And you were speaking to Jay?”

  “Arguing,” I corrected.

  “Liya!”

  I rolled my eyes but somehow ended up grinning at the same time. “Well…he’s easy to argue with.”

  “You say that about all men.”

  “Sounds like their problem, not mine. Don’t get hung up on thi
s idea of marrying me off to anyone, least of all Jay.”

  “He’s handsome, no?”

  “Sure.”

  “And educated, intelligent.”

  I checked my nails before adjusting the ice on my ankle. “Mm-hmm.”

  “What if we revisit the idea next month?”

  I groaned. “No. Besides, with a man so…handsome and educated and intelligent, he won’t be on the market for long.”

  “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “I’m stubborn? Why don’t you leave Dad?”

  She gasped at the thought. “Stop that nonsense talk.”

  “Has he ever hit you? Or does he just verbally assault you?” I gritted, keeping my hands from clenching.

  “He has never hit me. We will not talk about your father this way.”

  “But we can. If you ever need to talk,” I replied carefully.

  She didn’t respond for so long I wondered if the line had been cut.

  “I won’t say a single word if you want to vent,” I added.

  There was another long silence between us before she asked, “How is work?”

  “Busy.”

  “Did you work today? You are still working?”

  “Of course. I’m at work right now, actually.”

  “Oh! You should get back.”

  “It was nice to hear from you.”

  “You should come by the house again.”

  I smiled. The irony of that invitation. “Maybe next time you can come by the apartment? You’ve never seen it.”

  “You know how your dad disapproves of you living alone like that.”

  “You can come without Dad, maybe?”

  “Silly child of mine. Get back to work.”

  “You know that I love you, Momma, right?” I finally said. That phrase, that word was not something we expressed. It felt awkward, but it had to be said.

  “I know,” she replied softly.

  We chatted for another few minutes before saying our goodbyes. The day was over. Most headed out, including Wendy, which explained why someone knocked directly on my opened door. A man. I could tell by the slacks and large hands, but not by his face hidden behind a comically large bouquet of roses.

  “I think you have the wrong office,” I said. “Who’s that for? Maybe I can redirect you.”

  “It’s for you,” he said, sounding a lot like Mike.

  I froze into place, hyperaware of every escape route and every ordinary item that could be turned into a weapon. I hated that his mere presence made me think this way.

  He approached my desk and twisted one way and then another before finally placing the basket on one of the chairs.

  “Not quite sure where you want this.” He looked around, trying to find a spot for the behemoth.

  “How did you get in here?” I asked curtly, noting where sharp things were located throughout my office. I could most definitely use a pencil to gouge his eyes out if he got too close. I sort of hoped he would try something. Let’s see how he’d like feeling scared and threatened and dehumanized, how he’d like to deal with anxiety attacks and fears whenever he heard a creak in the middle of the night or walked too close to someone else or found himself outside alone in the dark.

  “Security gave me ten minutes to bring this gift up.”

  “They just let you waltz in here? Did your friends vouch for you at security again?” I was going to ream those idiots.

  “No. They’re gone for the day. Your friend did.”

  “What friend?”

  “The Indian guy. I don’t know his name. He’s in the hallway.”

  Jay? His shadow fell across the entrance and I knew he stood right outside the door. I kept my sigh of relief to myself. He wasn’t far, then, just in case something happened. “What are you doing here, asshole?”

  “Apologizing.”

  “With flowers? Isn’t that cliché?”

  He walked around the desk and dropped to his knees, glancing only once at the ice around my ankle but not bothering to ask about it. “Will you forgive me for how I acted last night?”

  “No. Are you scared that I might report you? I’d be more terrified of that, Mike. Getting beaten by a woman is bad for the ego, but having a record will follow you wherever you go. To all of your jobs, to all of your relationships. People like to know the truth. And your truth is ugly.”

  “Please? Don’t report me. I got out of hand. Nothing like that has happened before. I just want your forgiveness. I’m on my knees begging you.”

  “Asking once and saying ‘please’ once does not constitute begging.”

  He proceeded to ramble a dozen pleases, one after the other, until I could no longer stand the word or the insincerity. I groaned, trying to ignite anger to disguise the remnants of trepidation he’d left in me.

  But then I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. I asked, “Mike…are you afraid of something?”

  “No.” He scoffed.

  I took a pair of scissors from the top drawer. The sound of metal sliding against metal cut through the silence. Mike got to his feet real quick then. Yeah. He was afraid.

  “How’s it feel to be scared?”

  “You’re being very cryptic.” He gave a hoarse chuckle.

  “Cryptic is your last image of me calmly holding these scissors and telling you to forever wonder if I’m coming at you. This isn’t over just because you brought flowers and a lame, insincere apology. I may or may not press charges against you. I may or may not have that video from the garage as evidence.”

  His mouth dropped, and his skin paled. A very oh shit look hit him. And it was beyond gratifying.

  I went on, “I may or may not punch you in the throat if I see you again. But rest assured, people will find out. If I see you with another woman, she will hear it from me.” I limped around the desk toward him as he backed away.

  He opened his mouth to spew more nonsense, but thankfully Jay appeared behind him. Jay stood at the door, his arms crossed, his shoulder against the frame. He didn’t even have to say anything. His presence was commanding and all-consuming. One knew when Jayesh Shah stepped into a room. There was something about his presence that made the tiny tremors in my body fade away. My grip on the scissors relaxed, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him as he glanced at my fists.

  Even though he seemed relaxed, the chiseled cut of his jaw was stern. Our eyes locked. He held my gaze with authority and confidence and, strangely enough, it wasn’t the least bit domineering. Men like him hardly ever balanced strength without the sort of cockiness that instantly shut me off. Powerful men? Plus. Arrogant men? Minus a million points.

  Mike eventually stopped babbling, his words drifting off, and looked over his shoulder.

  “Am I interrupting?” Jay asked, his gaze firm on me.

  “No. Mike was just leaving,” I replied and placed the scissors on the desk behind me.

  Jay looked to him pointedly, his tone dropping to something menacing and terse. “Security is right outside waiting to escort you out. Bye.”

  Mike muttered something inaudible and skulked away, leaving Jay room to meander toward the floral arrangement. He rubbed a petal between his fingers. “Are you guys dating?”

  “No.”

  “Nice flowers for someone not dating.”

  “Apology flowers. Did you have anything to do with this?”

  “Me? I only met Mike the other day when he asked you out at the café.”

  “Hmm,” I grunted suspiciously.

  “What was he apologizing for?”

  I shrugged. “For being him.”

  “Does it have anything to do with you showing up at the diner?”

  “I don’t know you well enough to get into that.”

  But Jay knew. He had everything to do with Mike’s groveling. I couldn’t hate Jay for that, because even though Mike apologized for the wrong reason, I was the one who’d scared him. Jay gave me the opportunity to get an upper hand on Mike, handing Mike back some of the fear
that he’d burdened me with.

  My trembling had fully subsided when I asked, “Do you want to take those home?”

  “Why? You don’t want them?”

  “I love flowers, but coming from Mike, I couldn’t be less interested. Besides, there might be a spy camera in there. Please, take them.”

  “A woman with gift standards?” he teased with a playful smile.

  “You don’t want to soften your bachelor pad with a giant basket of flowers?”

  “Not if they’re from Mike.”

  I laughed, tossed out the ice, and slipped on my shoes. “Too bad Wendy left for the day. Oh, I know the perfect place for these.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The children’s center at the hospital.”

  He watched me as if I’d just spoken alienese. “That’s very thoughtful.”

  I wobbled to the arrangement, trying not to show the pain that worsened with every step, and picked up the basket. The thing was huge. I could barely get my arms around it, much less see around it. I struggled to get it to the door before Jay lifted the flowers from my hands.

  “I’ve got it,” I insisted. “I don’t need a man to carry my things.”

  He held it low so he could see over the ferns. “How about me carrying something for an injured person so they don’t injure themselves further because they can’t see where they’re going? Is that acceptable?”

  I twisted my lips. “I suppose so.”

  We walked past the cleaning crew with Jay behind me as I set the pace.

  Inside the elevator, he asked, “Did you drive today?”

  “No. My friend Sana dropped me off,” I said and remembered that I was supposed to call her for a ride home.

  “Is she picking you up?”

  I groaned. “I forgot to tell her what time. I’ll just have to wait a little while for her, I guess.”

  We stepped out of the elevator as he suggested, “I can give you a ride.”

  “That’s not necessary.” I texted while we walked to the lobby.

  “How long will she be?”

  “With traffic, at least an hour.”

  “How about I give you a ride to the hospital to drop these off and then to your place? Sana will have less on her plate for tonight.”