“But that’s stupid,” Sweetie blurted out without thinking. “Oops. Sorry.”
Oliver smiled at her. “No, you’re right. It is stupid. This whole thing makes no sense.”
“I wonder …” Sweetie nibbled her lip, afraid again that she was overstepping. But then she decided if she were in Oliver’s situation, losing the love of her life, she’d want someone to be straight with her. “I wonder if you know why you’re having so much trouble trusting him. I mean, it’s obvious to me you guys were happy. And you’ve been together for two years. So why did you believe those Eastman guys?”
Oliver studied his shoelaces so long, Sweetie was afraid he was trying to hold in a really angry outburst. But when he finally met her eyes again, he just looked confused. And hurt. “I don’t know,” he said, almost wonderingly. “That’s a really good question. Why didn’t I trust him?”
“And why didn’t he try to convince you?” Sweetie asked, nodding. “Any ideas?”
Oliver thought about it for a second and then shrugged. “Not a one.”
“Maybe it has something to do with fear,” Sweetie suggested. “Maybe you’re both afraid.”
“Afraid?” Oliver asked. “Afraid of what, though?”
“I’m not sure. But maybe figuring that out is the starting point. The way you find your way back to each other.”
“I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen. But thank you. I’m going to think about that.”
Sweetie smiled. “Sure.”
Oliver swallowed the rest of the espresso and got to his feet. “Well, I should go. I’m gonna hit the gym, try to work off some of this caffeine rush.”
Sweetie nodded and followed suit. “Yeah, I should get going, too. Hey, Oliver. For what it’s worth, I think Elijah’s making a huge mistake. Whether he cheated or not … you deserved more than an insta-breakup.”
Oliver reached down and hugged her. “Thanks, Sweetie. Ashish is right. You’re a good person.”
She smiled shyly up at him. “Ditto.”
Oliver looked at her, his head tilted. “You’ve been good for him, you know. I mean, he’s still totally flat when it comes to basketball and he doesn’t sleep, but I can see a bit of a difference. He’s a little less wilted.”
Sweetie frowned. “I can’t imagine anything worse than not being able to enjoy running. How long has basketball been like that for him?”
“Since the breakup with Celia. Almost four months ago, I’d say. It’s tough.” Oliver’s phone beeped in his pocket, and he slid it out and glanced at the screen. “Well, I gotta go. See you soon, I hope?”
“Yeah, definitely. You should come to Band Night here a week from Thursday. I’m singing and I could really use the support.”
Oliver paused. “Okay,” he said finally. “For you.” Grinning, he held up a hand and loped off.
Still thinking of what he’d said about Ashish losing his fire for basketball, Sweetie went up to the counter to order another double espresso. A plan had begun to form in her mind.
CHAPTER 22
Ashish was almost to Samir’s house when a text popped up on his Jeep’s LCD screen.
Pinky: Yo meeting you at S’s house
Huh. Weird. The system didn’t let Ashish text while he was driving, so he continued on until he got there. And there, in Samir’s sloping drive, was parked Pinky’s lime-green electric car. She was leaned up against the side, texting furiously, her face lit up in the dark by the silver glow of the screen.
“Hey,” Ashish called, hopping out the open side of the Jeep. “What are you doing here?”
She stashed her cell and looked up at him. “I ran into your mom at the aquarium; Saturdays are my day to volunteer at the flamboyant cuttlefish exhibit, and she was there for some board meeting thingy. Anyway, she said Samir’s mom had called and she sounded all worried, so …”
They walked together to the front door. Ashish glanced at her. “Wait. Flamboyant cuttlefish?”
“Yes, it’s a thing.” Pinky sighed. “Just like the assassin bug was really a thing.”
“I mean, come on. Can you blame us? ‘Assassin bug’ sounds totally made up.”
Pinky rolled her eyes as she rang the doorbell. “Samir was the only one who believed me,” she said after a moment. “Remember?”
“Yeah, I do,” Ashish replied, looking at her. “He pulled it up on his phone and told us all to shut up.”
Samir’s mom answered the door then, looking slightly disheveled in a wrinkled sari and with frizzy hair.
“Hello, auntie,” Ashish said. “We’re here to see Samir.”
“Oh, good, good,” she said, standing to the side. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “He’ll be so happy to see you. I’ve been so worried, you know. Samir doesn’t seem to be … himself. You can go up to his room.”
They walked up the staircase together and knocked on Samir’s bedroom door.
“Come in.” His voice was muffled, almost flat.
Ashish turned the doorknob and walked in, with Pinky following close behind.
The first thing that struck him was that the room looked like a pit of despair. If you thought about the words “gloomy dungeon” in your head, you probably would conceive something very similar to what Ashish was looking at. Ashish had been in Samir’s room many, many times over the years. It was always neatly organized and vacuumed (his mom cleaned it for him every day), with a potpourri bowl on the desk. Seeing it like this was almost … shocking.
There was only one lamp on in the corner of the room. Bedclothes were scattered everywhere, and Samir’s desk was buried under piles of papers and food wrappers. It smelled musty and stale, like the windows and door hadn’t been opened in who knew how long. Ashish glanced at Pinky, who was taking in all the same details with a totally neutral face. But because he knew her so well, he could see the look in her eyes: surprise. And worry. Samir was the nerdiest dresser of them all: His hair was always slightly oiled with coconut oil and brushed to the side, like some dude from the forties. He wore pressed button-down shirts and khaki pants all the time. Dude probably didn’t even own a pair of jeans. He always smelled faintly of lavender lotion. The few times they’d been in his room, everything had been at right angles. Even his bedsheets had had creases.
“Hey, Samir,” Ashish said. Samir was sitting in a beanbag, tossing a ball at the wall and then catching it on the rebound. He turned to look at them and nodded before going back to his ball. “Dude, what’s going on?”
Samir didn’t bother looking at him this time. “What do you mean?”
“Your mom called me, man. She’s really worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Samir said in a tone that suggested he’d said it many, many times these past few days. “So you didn’t need to come over here with a pity party cake, okay?”
Pinky pushed a bundle of old clothes off his bed and sat. “We don’t pity you, dude,” she said. “But you’re not acting like yourself and we’re worried. That’s all.”
Samir smiled mirthlessly and looked over at her. “Really? But I thought no one liked me. So shouldn’t you guys be doing a little victory dance?”
Ashish stepped in. “Look, man. I think we need to talk about that. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. The thing is, you have been a good friend at times. You’ve just … It’s hard to realize that when there are so many times you’ve made fun of us or been—”
“A craphead,” Pinky put in. Samir glared at her, but she went on. “Come on. You can’t deny it. You’ve been really annoying and smug and holier-than-thou, and you just don’t know when to let things go. Like, you drive them into the ground until no one but you is laughing and you still—”
“Uh, Pinky?” Ashish said, forcing a smile. “What are you doing?” He tried to keep his tone light, but he seriously wanted to throw a pillow at her face. She’d completely lost sight of the mission.
“Yeah,” Samir said, narrowing his eyes. “What exactly are you doing?”
Pinky h
eld up her hands. “I wasn’t done. In spite of all those things, you have been a good friend. Like when you stood up for me with that assassin bug thing. Or when you stood in line for Bruins tickets for, like, two hours because they were all sold out online and Ashish was playing at an away game and couldn’t get them himself. And I know Oliver really loves how you remember their freaking anniversary and none of the rest of us do.” She paused. “Although I guess you won’t need to do that anymore. Anyway, my point is, we do appreciate the things you do. And we’re sorry for forgetting them because we got mad at you.”
“She’s right, man,” Ashish added. “And the thing is, your advice about getting my parents to set me up with someone? It worked. Sweetie’s really cool. I don’t think I thanked you for that, but I appreciate it.”
Samir was silent for a moment as he looked from Pinky to Ashish. Ashish held still, letting him process or whatever he was doing. Finally he sighed and tossed the ball onto the floor. He turned so his body was facing them completely. “It’s not just you guys. I have been a jerk. I mean, that thing with your hair, Pinky. I should’ve let it go when I saw that it was bothering you. And I didn’t need to go on and on about you and Celia to the girl you were dating, Ashish.” Another sigh. “The thing is, I act like a complete arsehole because … because I’m jealous. And that makes me defensive.”
“Jealous of what?” Ashish asked, taking a seat on the blue mesh chair at Samir’s desk.
“You guys are all so close. You go to school together. I left in fifth grade, and ever since then, things have been different. I’m just not a part of things anymore—how could I be? So I tried harder to fit in. I tried to be … more like you, actually, Ash. Cockier, more confident. I wanted to project this aura of, like, untouchability to cover the fact that I am, in fact, a totally overprotected homeschooled loser.” He looked away and swiped at his jaw. “Whatever. It didn’t work, and when I saw how much it wasn’t working, I just …” He shook his head and was silent for a long moment. Ashish waited. He saw Pinky, sitting completely still in his peripheral vision. “I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s like I have these endless days and nights stretching out in front of me and it all feels so pointless and stupid. You guys were a great distraction.” He smiled. “But I get that you don’t want me to hang out with you anymore. It’s fine; I’m not trying to weasel back in there or anything. I guess I’m just trying to figure out what’s next, and right now that just looks like a big black hole.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Ashish said. “Firstly, I want you to come back and hang with us again. I mean, none of that defensive douchebag stuff, but just … yourself. The real Samir who peeks out sometimes. I think it’s safe to say we all like him way better than the Ashish-clonebot.” He raised his eyebrows at Pinky, who nodded enthusiastically. Samir managed a weak laugh. “And secondly, dude, you should talk to your mom about how you feel. Seriously.”
“I don’t—I can’t.” Samir rubbed his face and then shook his head. “She’s … The cancer could return anytime. And it was so sudden before. She’s scared. She says she isn’t, she puts on this brave face, but I know her. Her mom, my nani, died of breast cancer. If I go back to school and she gets sick again …”
“You could go back to school and she could get sick again,” Pinky said quietly. “But you could go back to school and she could be fine. She could get sick if you’re homeschooled, or she could be fine. The thing is, we can’t control what happens. No matter how much we want to, or how much we try to bargain with the fates or the universe or whatever … sometimes crap happens.” She paused. “One thing I do know? I saw how upset your mom looked downstairs. What she wants more than anything is for you to be happy. And she knows you’re not. So who are you doing this for?”
Ashish stared at Pinky, his longtime best friend/pain in the butt. He’d never heard her speak like that before. There was no hint of sarcasm, no rolling of eyes or sighing in great displeasure. He hazarded a glance at Samir, who looked totally bowled over too.
“I … I didn’t look at it like that,” Samir said. He blew out a breath. “You’re right. There’s nothing I can do to control what happens.” He paused. “Who am I doing this for?”
“Think about it,” Ashish said gently. “Only you can decide what you want to do, but just don’t discount your own happiness, man.”
“Yeah, because it makes you a total douche nozzle, apparently,” Pinky said, rolling her eyes. Okay, she was back.
Samir chuckled, though he still looked somewhat dazed. “I’m definitely going to give it more thought. But right now I’d really like a distraction. So Oliver and Elijah are still broken up?”
“Yep.” Ashish swiveled in Samir’s chair. “Elijah’s being a total dumb-ass.”
“So is Oliver,” Pinky said. “I mean, accusing Elijah of cheating? Does that sound like something he’d even consider doing?”
Ashish felt a flash of pain as he thought of Celia. How he’d trusted her and how he’d been totally wrong. “You never know. People do weird things sometimes.” Saying it out loud just made him feel like a train wreck. Why was he talking to her again? Ugh. He’d spent hours on the phone with her just because she’d cried. “It’s going to be interesting seeing them both together on Band Night at Roast Me,” he added, just to take his mind off Celia.
“But they’ve been at basketball practice together, right? And that was okay.” Pinky shrugged. “So maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“There’s so much going on during practice, though,” Ashish said thoughtfully. “And as soon as we hit the showers, Oliver jets out of there before he can so much as lay eyes on Elijah. They haven’t really hung out together since the breakup.”
“You know, it’s odd,” Samir said. “I always thought they’d end up going to the same college and then getting married after.”
“We all kinda thought that,” Pinky replied.
They were quiet for a long moment.
“This can’t be it for them,” Samir said suddenly into the silence.
“What are you thinking?” Pinky asked, one skeptical eyebrow raised.
“Something to remind them how good it used to be.” Samir picked up the ball, threw it at his wall, and then caught it again. “Something that reminds them of what they’re missing.”
“Good luck,” Ashish mumbled. Every time he’d so much as tried to bring up Oliver’s name to Elijah, he’d been met with the Death Glare. “You’re gonna need it.”
Close to midnight, Ashish sat on his balcony with a Yoo-hoo, debating the merits of taking a shower then or later. He was pretty tired, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon anyway. He scrolled through his Instagram feed—which was now pretty empty, after he’d deleted all the pictures of him and Celia and hadn’t posted any new ones—and stopped at one that made him smile.
It was his brother, Rishi, with Dimple, the girl he was dating. They were both standing on a hill, with the San Fran skyline behind them. Their arms were wrapped around each other, both of them grinning so hard, their eyes were just little slits. They were practically bursting with sunshine and love. The caption read, Seven-month anniversary of the first date. Think I’ll keep her. Wait, she wants me to tell you guys that SHE’S the one keeping ME. And then there was an eye roll emoji. If they weren’t so ridiculously cute, Ashish would vomit. He liked the post and then wrote a comment: Maybe come home sometime this century so we can all see the happy couple?
His phone beeped almost immediately with a text.
Rishi-o: Done. When’s the big game that all the scouts are coming to?
May 10th.
We’ll be there. Ignore the screaming and cheering.
How are you?
Ashish sighed. Great. Rishi never asked him how he was like that. Ma had obviously blurted out something about his humiliating breakup. But before he could respond, another text came through:
Celia told Dimple you guys broke up
Oh. Ashish felt immediately
guilty for the vote of no confidence he’d given his poor mother. Fine.
Dude. You don’t have to do that with me. This is your bhaiyya
Ashish wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he felt this alarming lump in his throat. The truth was, no matter how much he’d hated Rishi for being the golden child, he was a good big brother. They’d had their ups and downs (okay, so before Rishi left for college, it had been a lot more downs), but in the end Ashish always knew that he could count on Rishi to be there for him. And what else mattered, really?
Not so hot in that case, he typed before he lost his nerve. But I’m dating someone new
His phone rang immediately, and Rishi’s goofy face popped up on the screen. Sighing slightly, Ashish answered. “Yo, bhaiyya.”
“Yo yourself, you gigolo.”
Ashish did roll his eyes then. “No one uses that word.”
“Except me. So tell me more about this new girl!”
“What’s all that noise?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m at IHOP. It’s sort of where everyone goes to pull all-nighters. All-you-can-eat pancakes for twelve dollars. We have a giant project coming up in art history about the cuneiform script that the Sumerians developed.”
Ashish smiled. “Dude, don’t rub your wild college life in my face.” He was happy for bhaiyya. It seemed like college—and SFSU’s art program in particular—really suited him.
“Sorry, sorry. Tell me, though. Who’s this girl?”
“Her name’s Sweetie Nair.” He rushed to add, “Yeah, yeah, she’s desi.”
Rishi let out a theatrical gasp. “You dating an Indian girl?”
“I know, I know. And get this: I even let Ma and Pappa set me up. I figured if it worked for you and Dimple …” Ashish frowned. “I’m surprised they haven’t told you all this yet.” Usually his parents and Rishi were like BFFs. As weird as that might sound to other people—Ashish included—it really worked for them.
There's Something About Sweetie Page 19
