“Yes.”
“What are they?” Mamma demanded.
Dimple shook her head and straightened. “I can’t tell you.”
“Dimple—”
“Mamma, no. Please don’t ask me.”
Mamma blew out an annoyed breath. “Thik hai, thik hai. Fine.” She sat back and appeared to think about it. “Do you remember last year, when you came home from Insomnia Con? You thought you had to make a choice between your career and Rishi.”
Dimple almost laughed. If only Mamma knew she was faced with a very similar dilemma now. Only it seemed . . . much larger this time. Much more serious. And this time, it wasn’t just her who had doubts. It was Rishi, too. What if he decided he didn’t want anything to do with her? What if his silence was an indication of the fact that he wanted to break up with her? Dimple’s mouth went dry.
“Dimple?” Mamma said, frowning, bringing Dimple’s attention back to the matter at hand.
She cleared her throat and met her mother’s gaze. “Yeah, I remember.”
“You thought you had to pick between one or the other, but it turned out that was a . . .” Mamma paused, scrunching up her nose. “What is that logic thing you always talk about? Oh yes, a false dichotomy.”
Dimple suppressed a smile. So Mamma did listen to some of the things she said. “True.”
“You were able to make progress on your programs with Jenny Lindt and maintain a relationship with Rishi beta.” Mamma patted Dimple on the back, her bangles jangling. “So maybe this choice isn’t as black or white as you think either, hmm?”
Dimple sighed. Through the window, she heard faint little-kid screeching as the neighbor children jumped through the sprinkler. “This feels different, Mamma. And maybe this choice isn’t fully up to me.” Not if Rishi broke up with her anyway. She looked into her mother’s eyes, seeing love and wisdom and no judgment. “Mamma . . . am I a lovable person?”
“Kya?” Mamma said, sitting back, sounding affronted. “Of course you are! Kyon? Why do you ask me this?”
“I’m just curious.” Dimple shrugged, feeling her lower lip wobbling in spite of her best efforts. What was it about your mother’s unconditional acceptance that could get through eight layers of defenses? “What if Rishi thinks I’m too much trouble to put up with?” Crap. Where had that come from?
“Beta,” Mamma said, chuckling.
“It’s not funny,” Dimple said, blinking her eyes to get rid of those obnoxious tears forming without her permission.
“Haan, it actually is,” Mamma said, patting her knee. “You know why?”
Dimple shook her head.
“Because the way Rishi looks at you? Hai Ram, that poor boy. He had no chance from the beginning. The first time he came over here for dinner, I told your Papa, you know. I said, Vijay, that boy looks at Dimple like that Edward looks at Bella.”
Dimple snorted. “Mamma, a Twilight reference? Really?”
“It is a great love story!” Mamma said, looking offended. “Anyway, Dimple, the fact of the matter is, don’t doubt Rishi’s love. He has never once given you any reason to doubt it, has he?” When Dimple didn’t answer right away, Mamma said, “Has he?”
“No,” Dimple answered, honestly. “Not once. If anything, I’m the one who pulls back. Maybe more than I should.”
Mamma smiled, a little smugly. “You know what Papa said on his birthday, when Rishi bought him that Honma golf driver he was lusting after?”
“What?”
“That Rishi is so thoughtful, he’s like the son Papa never had. He bought him that because Papa had dog-eared that page in a catalog, you know. Rishi casually asked about it, and Papa apparently gave him a big lecture. So Rishi went and bought it for him with the money he earned from selling some drawings at an art fair.”
Dimple smiled a little. “Yeah, I went with him that weekend and sat at the booth studying while he did that. People went nuts over his art.”
“That is rare, beta. A boy who loves not just you but your family as well? That is why I call him so much on the phone. He never makes me feel like I’m interrupting him. And he has very good jokes.”
Dimple felt her eyes well with tears again. This was even more painful now than when she’d first sat down here. Whether she liked it or not, whether she acknowledged it or not, Rishi Patel was a part of this family. It wasn’t fair, dragging this out anymore. And not just to her, but to her family.
Dimple sat up straighter, everything finally and suddenly coalescing in her mind. She thought about what Rishi had said at the park. Isn’t it better that we figure that out now, before we get in even deeper? Can you imagine having this exact conversation in fifteen years? She thought about everything Mamma had said. No, she couldn’t imagine having this conversation in fifteen years. It needed to be now.
“Mamma,” she said, turning to look her mother right in the eyes, her jaw hard. “I need to call a family meeting with you and Papa. Right now.”
She’d had enough of this torment, of this wishy-washiness, of tossing and turning and not knowing what to do. She was Dimple Shah, for cripes’ sake. She always knew what to do. It was time to end this.
Rishi
“I’ll . . . I’ll . . . make you dinner every night.”
Rishi frowned at his peanut-brained little brother. “You can’t cook. Besides, we have a chef.”
“Okay, I’ll wash your car.”
“No, thanks. I don’t trust you with it.”
“I’ll e-mail Leo Tilden—that’s right, comic artist legend and your childhood hero—every single day pretending to be a different fan of your work, asking him to please check out Rishi Patel’s website.”
Rishi raised his eyebrows. “Points for deviousness.” Then he went back to his book. “But no.”
Ashish crawled to Rishi across the den floor on his knees, his hands clasped in the classic prayer position. “Please, Rishi. Please. You have no idea how much I need your support.”
“So, Ma and Pappa are inviting Sweetie over for a post-dinner chat. What’s the big deal? They already like her, right?” Rishi leaned back in his chair and set his book aside, resisting the urge to check his phone again with every fiber of his being.
It had been ten days now since he and Dimple had last spoken. And in all that time, there had been absolutely nothing from her. He was trying not to be overly sentimental about it—he’d told her to take whatever time she needed—but today . . . today was their official one-year anniversary. The day he’d taken her out on their first “non-date” to the book bar. The day everything had begun.
He’d honestly thought she’d reach out in some small way. He’d sent her a text at midnight that night, just a simple Thinking of you, but she hadn’t responded. Rishi was beginning to reconsider his former position that she’d never ghost him—maybe she already had. He wrenched his mind back to the present when Ashish began to speak.
“Yeah, sure, they like her. But what does that really mean when it comes to Kartik and Sunita? Does it mean they won’t embarrass me? Does it mean they won’t say something completely inappropriate, thus causing Sweetie to run far, far away? And believe me, she’s a track star; the girl can run. Does it mean they’ll behave like two normal parents should behave? No, it doesn’t mean any of those things. Let’s not forget, these are the people who contractually obligated me to date this girl. If anything, they’ll probably just intensify their interrogation tactics now that we’re together and they see a semblance of a future. You have to be there as a buffer. If our heaven-forged brotherly bond means anything at all to you, bhaiyya.”
Rishi snorted. “Okay, okay, jeez. You don’t have to lay it on so thick.” To be honest, he felt obligated to go to this thing anyway. Ashish had been a huge source of comfort these past few days. He’d hung out with Rishi, watching bad action movie after bad action movie, making stupid jokes. It was obvious he wanted to take his mind off Dimple. He’d even skipped a couple of basketball practices, a completely unheard of event in
Ashish Land. Rishi forced a smile. “It would be my pleasure,” he lied, marginally convincingly, he thought.
Ashish gave him a sympathetic smile.
* * *
At just past seven o’clock, Rishi was sitting at the giant architect’s desk in his room, trying in vain to draw something in his sketchbook, which he hadn’t touched in more than a week now. He looked out the window at the sunset, how it stained the hills in the distance, trying to glean some inspiration. A movement caught his eye in the yard below: one of the gardeners, carrying a bunch of string lights and paper lanterns, probably for some charity event his mom was going to be throwing soon. Sighing, Rishi turned back to the blank page.
His phone bleeped with a text, and his heart skipped a beat. Forcing himself to move slowly, he picked his phone up and glanced at the screen. His face fell.
Ashish: Dude, where are you?? Sweetie’s here, and Ma and Pappa are full-on Pateling her!
Crap. He’d totally lost track of time.
Rishi: Coming, sorry!
Grabbing his phone, Rishi pushed his chair back and ran out of his room.
* * *
Holy crap. His parents had actually set up an entire coffee bar on the side patio. They—and Ashish and Sweetie—sat on the rocking chairs that peppered the space, each of them holding a drink. The sky was a golden pink, a perfect setting to chill outside and watch the world go by. Or to grill your son’s new girlfriend.
Rishi walked to the trestle table that held the various coffee concoctions. A little chalkboard menu told him what he could request, and Myrna stood at the ready to make whatever he chose. Rishi smiled at her, and she nodded solemnly back.
“I’ll just have a decaf iced coffee, please,” Rishi said, knowing fully well that he was only ordering an iced coffee because it was Dimple’s favorite drink and also that doing so made him a completely pathetic fool. He didn’t care. He missed her so much, it was like his soul had a toothache. Just this constant, gnawing, agonizing feeling in the center of his being that told him something was not right. That a part of him was dying.
“I will bring it out to you, Mr. Rishi,” Myrna said.
Rishi nodded morosely. Then, taking a deep breath, he pasted a smile on his face and turned around so he could join his family in this happy gathering.
“You remember my brother, Rishi,” Ashish said, with obvious relief, as Rishi walked closer.
“Hi!” Sweetie was dressed in a pink-and-gold salwar kameez that brought out the rosiness in her cheeks. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and her smile was bright and authentic. “It’s nice to see you again!”
Rishi took her proffered hand before sitting next to Ashish, across from Pappa and Ma in the loose circle they’d created with their chairs. “Likewise. Ashish, as usual, can’t stop talking about you.”
Ashish whacked him on the arm, and Sweetie blushed lightly, which was really freaking charming. Wow. He still couldn’t believe this was the girl Ashish had fallen head over heels for. Rishi had met her once before, when she’d shown up to Ashish’s basketball game, cheering her heart out. They’d all gone out for frozen yogurt afterward. At one point, Sweetie had shyly produced a little scrapbook she’d made for Ashish, featuring a bunch of pictures of him playing basketball and hanging out with his friends. She’d decorated each page beautifully and scattered small handwritten messages throughout, meant only for Ashish’s eyes. Right in the middle of that Froyo store, Ashish had sat down with the book and read each and every page, a small smile on his face, one hand circled firmly around Sweetie’s. It was incredible; Rishi and Dimple had exchanged amazed looks throughout the night.
Ashish’s girlfriends were usually very different from Sweetie. They were the cool party girls who vaped and wore moto jackets, the ones all the dude-bros (like Ash used to be, until very recently) wanted to date. Sweetie, with her guileless smile and heart-on-her-sleeveness, was a complete surprise. Rishi had to admit, it was nice to see how clearly besotted with Ashish she really was. He deserved to experience true love. There was nothing like it; Rishi should know.
“Rishi?”
Rishi blinked and looked at Ma, whose smile was fading in concern. He’d obviously missed something. Oh, right. Myrna was standing off to his side, his iced coffee on a silver tray.
“Thanks, Myrna,” he said, taking the glass from her. She inclined her head seriously, as if she were delivering a last meal to a death row prisoner, and left.
Ma smiled tentatively at him, and Rishi forced a smile back. “We were just telling Sweetie about that time we took you two and Dimple on the Segway tour of Fisherman’s Wharf. Remember that?”
Rishi groaned. “Yeah, vividly. Why was I the only one of the five of us who couldn’t stay on that stupid Segway?”
Ashish laughed. “And we had twenty minutes of training too! Remember the tour guide asking you if you wanted to go back to base and re-train when you nearly ran over that poor pigeon?”
“The pigeon shouldn’t have been so focused on that french fry on the road!” Rishi exclaimed. “It wasn’t all my fault!”
Ashish slapped his knee, breathless with laughter, and Sweetie elbowed him.
“I’m sure it’s a lot harder than it looks,” she said kindly, and Ashish snorted.
“Yeah, if you have no athletic skills whatsoever.”
Rishi took a gulp of his coffee. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the automated low voltage lights around them came on. “Very funny. We can’t all be desi Michael Jordan, though.”
“No, and Rishi has his own skills,” Ma said loyally.
“Dimple was very good at it. Probably because she’s a Stanford girl. They’re very bright, you know,” Pappa said, because he needed any excuse to bring up the fact that his future daughter-in-law went to Stanford.
Rishi stopped short, the glass halfway to his lips. Except she wasn’t his future daughter-in-law. Not anymore. Oh, gods. He needed to tell Ma and Pappa at some point about all of this. Somehow, mired in the unending pit of his own agony, he’d neglected to consider that they’d be just as heartbroken as him. Awesome. This day just kept coming at him.
“Dimple is busy today,” Pappa said. Not a question. He raised his eyebrows at Rishi.
“Ah, she’s, um . . .” Rishi took another sip of his drink, just to deny the inevitable.
“Yep, she’s busy,” Ashish said, and when Rishi looked over at him, he winked from behind his mug of black coffee. “She’s got super important stuff to do.”
“Because she’s a Stanford girl,” Pappa said again, and Rishi stifled a sigh.
“Tell me, Sweetie,” Ma said, sipping elegantly at her latte. She looked like royalty, dressed in a silk kurta with heavy gold edging along its three-quarter sleeves and neckline. Pappa, by contrast, was wearing his usual polo shirt and weekend cargo shorts. Maybe that’s where Rishi got his dress sense from. Ashish clearly took after Ma, in his skinny jeans and a T-shirt with the short sleeves rolled up a bit, something Rishi didn’t even know was a cool thing to do. “Would you like to go to a wedding with us next weekend? It’s a distant relative of ours. We just attended one, but this is wedding season! Everyone’s getting married.” She smiled. “And it would be good for you to begin meeting the extended family.”
Ashish spluttered on his coffee. “Ma!” he said, his eyes almost bugging out of his head. If Rishi didn’t feel so dead inside, he might’ve laughed. “Please! I didn’t bring her here so you could scare her. Save it for Halloween.”
“I just thought it might be nice!” Ma said, looking wounded. “Dimple went to Puja’s and Aniket’s wedding last Saturday!”
“That’s different!” Ashish said.
“Why is it different?” Ma asked. “I don’t see any—”
“Because Dimple and Rishi are very serious,” Pappa said sagely. “Ashish doesn’t want us to make it seem like he’s that serious about Sweetie. It’s not ‘cool,’ you know, Sunita.” He looked around at them all. “I am very hip.”
As
hish groaned, and Sweetie laughed softly. Rishi cleared his throat. Rip off the Band-Aid, Rishi, old chap. This was the perfect time to come clean. And maybe with Sweetie here, his parents would go easy on him. “Um, guys, I should just tell you now, but . . . Dimple and I are not serious. Not anymore.”
His parents whipped their heads around to look at him. The world went still.
Rishi forced himself to speak clearly, in spite of the heat of all their gazes. “We had kind of an intense conversation about a week and a half ago. I told her to think about what she wants from life—specifically, if she wants me. She’s just so anti-marriage. . . . Sometimes I just think Dimple and I . . . Our needs are so different. I don’t want to hold her back, but I also . . . I don’t want to be someone she feels obliged to be with.”
Ma was studying him with clear, steady eyes. “Rishi, do you love her still?”
“Of course I do,” Rishi said. He took a few deep gulps of his coffee for strength (cursing his decision to get decaf) and noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. “Of course I love her. With everything I have. Nothing’s changed for me. But love should be equal, should it not? If Pappa didn’t think he could ever love you as much as you loved him, would you still have married him?”
“But did Dimple say she doesn’t love you? Or that she loves you less than you love her?” Pappa said.
“No, but if she can’t see herself being with me, then there’s obviously something wrong,” Rishi said. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe she doesn’t think I bring enough to the table or maybe she thinks I’m too suffocating.” His heart squeezed with pain as he said the words, as he realized how they might’ve been true for the entire year he and Dimple were dating, but Rishi forced himself to keep going. “Anyway, I told her to think about it, and she hasn’t reached out to me at all. So I guess I have my answer.”
There was silence as he finished, except for a few birds tweeting in the trees around them.
“Beta,” Ma said. “Sometimes we can’t see the answer when we’re so close to the page. But usually things do become clearer with time. Maybe Dimple just needs time.”
As Kismet Would Have It Page 3
