When Dimple Met Rishi

by Sandhya Menon

  She. Looked. Phenomenal.

  Rishi couldn’t form a coherent thought.

  “Wow.” He breathed out and rubbed his jaw, feeling his cheeks heat up when he realized he was staring at her thighs. Eyes up, Patel. “You look, um, just . . .”

  “Yeah.” Her cheeks were staining a dusky purple as she tugged the hem of her dress, as if she could will it longer simply by sheer physical strength. “Celia sort of bullied me into this and I don’t know. It’s really not me, but—”

  “No, no. You look amazing.” He gestured at her, making sure to keep his eyes on her eyes this time. Hard as that was to do. “Good job, Celia.”

  She blushed even deeper, which made Rishi want to gather her in his arms. And then Dimple bit her lower lip and his brain immediately reminded him what it felt like to kiss that mouth, how soft her lips were, how silky her tongue felt that night at the party. Great. Thanks for that, brain.

  With a lurch Rishi realized his brain was also diverting blood flow to other parts of his body. He immediately began to think of Nani, his grandmother with the hairy mole on her neck jowls. Yep. That did it. Whew. Crisis averted.

  “So, are you ready?” Dimple asked, looking back at him.

  “Yeah. Let’s do it.” He closed the dorm door behind him and stepped out into the hall with her.

  Even under the sickening fluorescents of the hallway, she was beautiful. The ugly gray walls did nothing to mar her perfect cinnamon complexion, although it made most people look like walking zombies. How was that possible? Was it lust?

  Rishi had heard once you were attracted to someone, your brain could actually rewire itself and make you think all kinds of sucky things about them were perfect. And then, once you’d been together awhile, bam. The gauzy lust-curtain fell away and you realized you’d married an alligator with bad breath.

  Dimple glanced at him sideways, in that sneaky yet piercing way she had. “What are you thinking?”

  Crap. He could not tell her he’d been engrossed with thoughts of halitosis-suffering marine carnivores. Not on their first date. Non-date. Whatever. “Just, you know. The brain. It’s an amazing organ, don’t you think?”

  Dimple twisted her mouth to one side. “Yeah. Sure. You looked like you’d eaten something really gross though.”

  Okay, time to change the subject. “Speaking of gross, you know who I heard from today? My little brother, Ashish.”

  “Oh yeah? How’s he doing?” They arrived at the elevator, where a group of guys were noisily discussing the merits of wet T-shirt contests. Morons. Dimple, looking uncomfortable, pressed the down button, even though it was already lit.

  Rishi glared at the group, but they were oblivious to anyone else except their own obnoxious opinions. “He’s doing great,” Rishi said loudly, hoping to drown them out. “He got some interest from an SFSU basketball scout, so my parents want him to come up here, maybe check out the campus and meet with some of the team. They’re here for practice, I guess. Ashish was here last summer for a camp, but this would be different, since he might actually go here for school.”

  Dimple looked genuinely impressed. “That’s really great!”

  The elevator doors pinged open, and the group of obnoxious guys stepped in.

  “Wait for the next one?” Rishi murmured, and Dimple nodded gratefully. One of the guys held his hand out so the door wouldn’t close, but Rishi smiled brightly. “Oh no, you go ahead,” he said jovially. “Our brains need a break from all the unchecked, casual misogyny.”

  The guy immediately smiled and waved in response, but as the doors closed, they heard him say, “Wait, what’d he say?”

  Rishi looked at Dimple, and she burst out laughing. He thought he could maybe listen to that music all of his life. “You always surprise me,” she said, shaking her head.

  “In a good way?” he asked, smiling too, not wanting to show her how much he cared.

  “In a really good way,” she said, holding his gaze just a moment longer than she had to before turning to push the down button again. “So, you think Ashish is going to come stay with you?”

  “Probably. To be honest, I think he’s mostly just interested in ogling college girls rather than checking out the merits of the campus.” Rishi rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, like that thought never occurred to you when you were coming here,” Dimple said.

  The doors opened to an empty elevator, and both of them stepped in. Rishi turned to her as the doors closed. “It didn’t,” he said seriously. “I was only thinking of you.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Without thinking, Dimple leaned in closer just as Rishi inclined his head toward hers. Some faint, still coherent voice inside her intoned that this was already feeling a lot like a date and absolutely nothing like a non-date. Before they could kiss, Dimple’s phone began to play “Ride of the Valkyries.” Perfect.

  She jerked back and pushed her glasses up on her nose, registering the way Rishi’s face fell as he backed away too. Dimple knew how he felt; the ringtone had doused stomach acid on the butterflies fluttering pleasantly in her stomach. “Sorry.” She rummaged in her bag, noting with alarm that she was mostly disappointed, and only a very little bit relieved, that the mood in the elevator now lay shattered in a thousand pieces at her feet. Seriously. She needed to get a grip on this thing, whatever it was, before it got out of control. Sliding the screen to silence the noise, Dimple took a deep breath and said, “Mamma. Can I call you back?”

  “What’s so important that you can’t speak to your own mother? I have to tell you what that Ritu auntie did to Seema. You know she wanted to see that Hrithik Roshan film, na? Vishal was about to take Seema for a date night, and then Ritu decided she was going to go with them! At the last minute! Can you believe it? I told her, Ritu, give the kids some private time—”

  Dimple rolled her eyes. Rishi was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Of course he could hear Mamma, Our Lady of the Voice Like a Dentist’s Drill. “Mein friend keh saath hoon, Mamma. So I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Friend? Who’s this friend?”

  She sighed and looked at Rishi. He raised his eyebrows, like, Well, now you have to say it. Dimple wished she were a better liar under pressure, but she knew if she lied now, with no preparation, Mamma would instantly be able to tell, and then she’d just get even more unbearable. Better to get it out of the way. “Okay, it’s Rishi Patel. But please don’t get any ideas—”

  “Rishi Patel! Kartik aur Sunita ka beta?”

  Dimple flushed, sweat prickling at her hairline. God, she couldn’t even bear to look at Rishi now. “Mamma, please. It’s not a big deal,” she mumbled, squeezing the phone in her sweaty hand. Why had she even answered her phone? Seriously, what had she been thinking?

  “Where are you going? Akele uske kamre mein math jaana, Dimple—”

  “God, Mamma, I have to go. And of course I won’t.” She hung up, feeling a stab of guilt at cutting off Mamma’s well-intentioned advice. But jeez. Don’t go to his room alone? Like she hadn’t embarrassed Dimple enough in front of Rishi already. She was probably on the verge of talking about Dimple’s sacred virginity.

  Slipping her phone back into her bag, Dimple forced herself to meet Rishi’s eye. He was still chewing on the inside of his cheek. “What?” she said, a little more savagely than she’d meant to.

  He raised his hands. “I didn’t say anything.” Then he began humming under his breath.

  Dimple recognized the song just as the elevator doors slid open on the first floor. Hum tum, ek kamre mein bandh ho, aur chaavi kho jaaye. . . . It was a popular old Hindi song, about a couple who’re shut away in a room when the keys go missing. Dimple slapped Rishi on his upper arm as they walked toward the doors. “Very funny.”

  He burst out laughing, and her heart lifted in mirth in spite of her still bubbling irritation. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. She’s just being your mom.”

  “Exactly,” Dimple mumbled as they strode across the
lobby and outside. It was sort of nice that she didn’t need to explain the hovering, how it really came from a place of love. Rishi got that this was just what moms and dads did in their world.

  Dimple took a deep breath, acrid smog and wet mist and herby eucalyptus all mixing together in her lungs. Groups of people and a few couples milled around, all laughing and joking and calling out to each other, some obviously already intoxicated, heading off campus for the weekend.

  Dimple began to climb the steep road off to their right that led off campus, imagining that they were going to a restaurant nearby, but Rishi put a hand on her arm.

  “Wait a sec.” Casually, Rishi grabbed Dimple’s hand and they crossed the road.

  She tried not to show how flustered she felt, or how much she liked the feel of his big, warm, blunt fingers loosely grasping hers. “Um, where are we going?”

  Rishi gestured to a glossy black convertible with the top down. As they got closer, the doors beeped. “Our chariot awaits.”

  Tossing Rishi a dazed look, Dimple climbed in. When Rishi had shut her door and hopped in his side, she asked, “You drive a Beemer?”

  Rishi looked at her innocently. “What?”

  Dimple snorted. “Nothing. It’s just that normal people usually take the bus when they want to go somewhere far.”

  He looked genuinely uncomfortable as he pulled out of the space. “The bus. Right.”

  Feeling a little sorry for him, Dimple adjusted her tone from mocking to gently teasing. “This is really flashy for a non-date.”

  Rishi grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, accelerating as they climbed a steep hill. “What are you talking about? Yesterday I ordered a stretch limo when I wanted to run to the store to buy a pack of gum. Isn’t that what everyone does?”

  Dimple laughed. “Totally. Sometimes I’ll even order a private jet.”

  They were quiet for a moment, feeling the wind in their hair, and then Dimple said, “So, where are we going?”

  Rishi shook his head. “Still a surprise. I think you’ll like it, though.”

  There wasn’t a single place, Dimple realized, that she didn’t want to go right now. Not because she wasn’t picky, but because she could go pretty much anywhere with Rishi and enjoy herself. The realization was alarming. Concerning. And not altogether unwelcome.

  • • •

  The glitzy car dipped and reached, engine purring as it climbed the ubiquitous San Francisco hills. Rishi had turned on the seat warmers when he saw Dimple shivering lightly in the wind, so she was now perfectly comfortable. Dimple watched the buildings of the campus recede as they wound deeper into what looked like a residential district. Squat houses in pastel colors lined the road like rows of sidewalk chalk. Little potted plants decorated their stone porch stairs. An elderly man walking a little white dog looked curiously at them as they passed.

  They came to a stop at a red light. “I feel like a celebrity.” Dimple smiled and turned—and found Rishi watching her, unabashed. When their gazes locked, he flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. But he didn’t look away. And Dimple didn’t look away. She . . . couldn’t.

  The moment stretched out, soft and gauzy tangling with dark and heavy. Dimple began to notice other things; how close her bare arm was to his. The heat his body was putting out. The way he smelled—like sunshine and something woodsy and boy.

  Rishi rubbed the back of his neck and somehow shifted subtly forward. The only reason she really noticed was that his arm was now rubbing against hers. Something inside her went melty and warm. His eyes were all she could see as he leaned forward. Dimple found her lips parting, involuntarily, even as she thought, This is distinctly not non-date behavior.

  The SUV behind them honked. The light had turned green. Rishi started and turned away, the moment gone.

  CHAPTER 32

  Rishi cleared his throat as they sped down the road. Dimple adjusted her dress awkwardly, wondering if he was just as disappointed as she was. That was twice that a kissable moment had been thwarted.

  A moment later Rishi signaled left and pulled up to the curb. Hopping out of his seat, he ran over to open her door, ever chivalrous. Neither of them said anything. There was a little charge of electricity in the air, that feeling of pressure right before a storm. Dimple’s pulse raced. Did Rishi feel the same? His face was impassive; she couldn’t say.

  Silently, they crossed the little street together, heading toward a bank of narrow storefronts—mostly clothing and record stores—on the other side. Rishi led her toward a greenish-blue storefront. The sign outside read TWO SISTERS BAR AND BOOKS.

  “Bar and books?” Dimple pushed her glasses up on her nose, feeling fingers of curiosity tap their way along her skin. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  Rishi twinkled at her. “You’ll see.”

  • • •

  The place was just as amazing as when Rishi had come here earlier in the week to scope it out. The vintage, Victorian-style red-and-tan wallpaper, the smell of old book glue, the clink of glasses and hum of quiet conversations and occasional laughter . . . it was just quirky and different enough to be worthy of Dimple. It was exactly what he’d wanted for their first non-date. Now that it was dusk outside, the store had turned on the hanging lights, and thanks to them and the pink wallpaper, everything was cast with a pink-gold glow.

  Dimple was staring at the bar and the bookshelves, openmouthed. Rishi suppressed a self-satisfied chuckle. Oh, yes. Dimple’s mind could be considered 100 percent blown. Well done, Patel. “So is this a bar? A restaurant? With books inside it?”

  Rishi grinned. “Yeah. The owners get these really cool editions from all over the world. So you can just sip, eat, and read, I guess.”

  Dimple raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You know we’re not old enough to drink, right?”

  “They can make everything virgin,” Rishi said. “I asked.”

  Dimple got a funny look on her face as her smile faded. “You asked? When?”

  “A few days ago, when I came in here to check it out.”

  There was something in Dimple’s eyes he couldn’t read. She looked away, fiddling with the strap of her bag, and Rishi wondered if he’d said something wrong. When she didn’t say anything, he continued, less surely. “So you can look around at the books, pick something up if you like. But ah, I also . . .” He paused, wondering if he should actually tell her. Her face, her expression . . . something was off. Did she think he was overplanning it? Putting too much thought into it? Was this all too much for her?

  Dimple looked back at him, questioning. “You also what?”

  Rishi felt the beginnings of panic. Crap. Here came the waiter, Willie, Rishi had made the arrangement with, smiling his toothy smile. Rishi tried to tell him with his eyes—since Dimple was still looking at him—that they needed to abort the plan. Abort. The. Plan. But Willie just smiled wider and added in a little wave. Double crap.

  “Hello, folks!” Willie said, and Dimple spun around to face him. “You must be the lovely Dimple I’ve heard so much about,” he said, taking her hand and pumping it enthusiastically. Dimple’s eyes widened as she looked from Willie to Rishi. It was not happiness Rishi saw there.

  Oh, no, no, no. Rishi glanced longingly out into the street. If it didn’t mean abandoning Dimple, he might consider running to the car, jumping in, and taking it all the way home to Atherton.

  The oblivious, obnoxiously cheerful Willie continued to talk. Why hadn’t Rishi noticed before how effervescent the dude was? “Why don’t you guys follow me this way? We have a table set up for you already.” He beamed not so subtly at Rishi, totally not getting the vibe that he was trying to put off.

  Dimple and Rishi followed him to the back, where it was quieter and emptier. He gestured to their table, already adorned with the few books Rishi had specifically ordered and requested to be placed there.

  “Thanks,” Rishi mumbled, and pressed a tip into Willie’s palm.

  Finally looking slightly bewildered a
t the lack of enthusiasm, Willie had the good sense to take the tip and leave quietly.

  They took their seats in the heavy dark wood chairs, Rishi barely daring to look at Dimple. She looked down at the books, realization slowly seeping into her expression. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and picked up one of the small, clothbound editions. “A Wrinkle in Time,” she said softly.

  “Yeah, it’s, um, a 2009 special edition. Eight years ago, you know, because—”

  She met his eye. “That’s the year we met at the wedding.”

  Rishi felt a little surge of relief. At least she got it. But he didn’t know, looking at her, whether she was freaked. Or flattered. Or just confused. Dimple touched the two other books on the table.

  “Those are just some of my favorite graphic novels,” Rishi explained. Both of them had first love as their theme, though Rishi didn’t think he’d tell her that right now. “I thought you’d, uh, enjoy them. Maybe. If you wanted to read them.” He rubbed the back of his neck. This was excruciating. Why the heck had he done all this? How had he thought this would be a good idea? She’d gone out of her way to make sure he understood that this was a non-date. Which meant Rishi was now officially a member of Camp Trying Too Hard.

  Uggghhhh.

  “Are you okay?”

  He jumped a little and looked at her. “What? Why?”

  “Why’d you just groan like that?”

  Crap. He’d done that out loud? “Ah . . . no reason.” Rishi exhaled. “Look, if this is too much, if you hate it, we can go somewhere else.”

  But Dimple put a hand on his hand. When he looked up at her, hope blooming painfully in his chest, she was smiling at him, soft and sure. “I definitely don’t hate it. Thanks.”

  Rishi exhaled. “You’re welcome.” At least Dimple didn’t hate it. It still didn’t mean he could check out of Camp Trying Too Hard yet, but she didn’t hate it. So there was that.

  CHAPTER 33

  “ ‘Underneath Mrs. Murry’s chair Fortinbras let out a contented sigh.’ ” Dimple closed the book and sat back to look at Rishi, smiling slightly. It was crazy how words—just black squiggles on a page—could bring memories rushing back. She remembered lying in bed under the covers, long after she was supposed to be asleep, her flashlight shining on these same pages. “I love this book,” she said, stroking the cloth cover that was so much fancier than the $2 paperback she’d had. “I still remember feeling so . . . so cozy, thinking of the giant Murry family. How they all loved each other, how they looked out for each other no matter what. It used to make me wish my parents had popped out a few more.”