by Sonya Lalli
“Which one?”
“‘You Need to Calm Down.’”
“Why?”
I laughed. “No, that’s the name of the song. It came out a few years ago.”
“Oh. Well, didn’t anyone notice?”
“Nope! Apparently, people who go to poetry night don’t listen to Taylor Swift.”
“Except you and Ainsley.”
I smiled, zipping up my jeans. “OK, what about this outfit?”
“It says . . . I’m a hipster. I’m super hot and . . .”
“Becket,” I whined, sitting next to him on the bed. “Stop it.”
“Stop telling my girlfriend how attractive she is?”
“I’m not trying to look hot. I’m trying to look . . . friendable.”
“You look very friendable.” He leaned over, kissing me roughly. “Not to mention fu—”
“Oy . . .” I giggled. “Enough. I have to go.”
“No you don’t.” He grabbed me by the waist, pulling me back horizontal with him on the bed. “You have a new friend now, Ainsley. You don’t need to go to this book club anymore.”
I unwrapped myself from him and rolled over to my side, propping my head up on my elbow. Becket was staring at me like a lot of women might want to be stared at by their boyfriend. I brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eye. He was so nice. Fun. And it’s not like I wasn’t attracted to him. But what would it say about me if I canceled plans for a boyfriend? And sure, Ainsley and I were becoming friends, maybe real friends, but who knew how long she was planning to work there and how long this would last. Surely I needed more than one friend in my social circle. I couldn’t put all my eggs in Ainsley’s basket the way I’d done with Natasha.
“Stay,” he murmured, biting his lip. “Please?”
“What’s the verdict, then?” I asked, ignoring him. “The skirt or jeans?”
“What about . . . a pink thong?”
* * *
Half an hour later, I finally managed to get dressed. Becket walked me to the bus stop, and I took the one heading downtown while he hopped on the bus in the opposite direction toward his place.
Unfortunately, reading for pleasure was one of the first things that dropped off in adulthood when work took over my life. I used to live at the local library, devouring everything from historical sagas to sci-fi thrillers to the latest hit contemporary title, which the friendly librarians would always save for me. These days, I was lucky if I read a book every few months, and only when I was on a flight or sick or cooped up at my parents’ over the holidays.
A book club seemed perfect for me. A social group setting and an encouragement to make time for reading in my day-to-day life? Yes, please!
I’d found a club accepting new members that met at a bar close to my office on Dupont Circle. I called Mom on the bus ride into town, and she told me about Natasha’s plans for the gender reveal, which she’d only been hearing about secondhand through Dad. To cheer her up, I asked her to walk me through how to cook aloo gobi, and then I told her about a campaign I was working on. She didn’t have much to say, but she seemed pleased to hear about what I was doing.
Finally, I arrived at my destination. There was a row of TVs behind the bar playing the Capitals game, and I quickly checked the score and then pulled out the book from my purse as I looked for the others. It was a psychological thriller, and it was OK, but I’d predicted the ending by chapter three, and the character motivations were completely off. (Girl, if the power is out and there’s a serial killer in your house, don’t go into the basement. Call the police!)
There was a cluster of women in a booth toward the back, copies of the book and glasses of wine scattered across the table. I smiled, and as I approached them, I didn’t feel that nervous. I guess putting yourself out there was something you could get used to.
“I’m Serena,” I said when I was right behind them. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
They greeted me in a chorus of hellos and welcomes, and all the chairs were taken, so there was a slight commotion as I had to ask a few people at neighboring tables to borrow theirs, but finally, I found one.
“So what have I missed,” I asked, dragging my chair into an opening. “Who else didn’t like the book?”
“Excuse me?” I heard someone say. I froze, looking around. All the women, about ten of them, were looking at me, furiously, for some reason.
But then, I noticed the woman at the head of the table. Her blond bob and warm smile, although she wasn’t exactly smiling now. I recognized her.
Her picture was on the back flap of the book.
Fuck.
“Are you kidding me?” The woman to my left scoffed at me. “How dare you?”
“I didn’t . . . I didn’t know,” I stammered, my eyes flicking toward the author. I gave her my sweetest look. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you would be here.”
“It was on the website!” someone spat. “That was the whole point of tonight; it was to meet the author.”
“Oh . . .” I was sweating profusely through my blouse. Had it really said that? It could have. I’d signed up in a rush, and I hadn’t exactly read the listing in detail.
“It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just thought that the heroine, Josephine . . . Well, she was kind of all over the place, right? She—”
“Serena,” a woman said, cutting me off. “I think you should leave.”
I swallowed hard, my cheeks heating up. I thought I should leave, too. There was no saving this.
I dragged the chair back to its rightful table and tucked the book back into my bag. What an idiot! I’d walked into this bar literally two minutes earlier, and already it was over. Embarrassed, I apologized again two to twenty more times and then walked back through the bar. Before leaving, I paused again to check the score. The Capitals were down one, but there was still a period left.
I was about to leave, brushing the hair out of my eyes, when I saw something. Someone sitting just in front of me. And he took my breath away.
“Jesse?”
My heart froze, and time stood still. A beat, and then another, and then he craned his neck slowly toward me.
“Serena?”
In an instant, I noticed everything that was different about him—the wrinkles, the graying hair, his broader frame, his style of clothes—and everything that was exactly the same. I could still trace the shape of his nose in my sleep, draw every speck of amber and chocolate brown in his eyes. Except for that glimpse of him jogging on the street, those two pictures on Facebook, I hadn’t seen him in twelve years.
I hadn’t let myself.
“Hi . . .” My voice cracked, and it broke the spell. Remembering my manners, I smiled at him and the man sitting next to him. Jesse stood up and offered me a short, curt hug and then gestured to the other guy.
“Danny,” Jesse said, pointing at me. “This is Serena.”
“Hi, Danny.”
“Serena, great to meet you.” He shook my hand, smiling as he held my gaze. Jesse didn’t bother explaining who I was, and Danny didn’t ask. I half wondered if Danny knew.
“Wow,” Jesse said, leaning back against the table. “It’s been forever. How are you?”
“Fine. Great.” I nodded. “You?”
“Fine.” He laughed. “Great . . .”
“Sorry, guys,” Danny interrupted, gesturing to his phone. “My Uber is here. I have to run.” He gave Jesse a look I couldn’t read. “You good, man?” Danny asked, and Jesse nodded.
“Yeah. I’m going to finish my beer. You go.”
After Danny left, I took his empty chair, and it felt good to get the weight off my feet. Take a deep breath and relax into something. I didn’t realize I was shaking until Jesse offered to get me a drink, and as I declined, I nearly knocked his beer out of his hand.
“Smooth,
Serena.” I shook my head. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry. I’m pretty shaken up to see you, too.”
I appreciated that he admitted it out loud. It was weird. It was almost too much, being here with him. I ran into ex-boyfriends or flings from time to time—at the movie theater, restaurants, even the grocery store. But Jesse wasn’t just an ex-boyfriend.
He was the only man I’d ever loved. The only one I’d ever, fleetingly, considered marrying.
“Are you here to watch the game?” Jesse asked.
“No, for a book club, actually.”
“Oh. Is it over?”
I shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Wow, you look exactly the same,” he said suddenly. He lifted his hand, reaching toward the tattoo on my neck. “I like it.” He dropped his hand. “It suits you.”
“I’ve had it for nearly a decade.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah. Natasha friended me on Facebook a few years ago. I’ve seen pictures of you together online. How’s your family doing?”
As I gave him a brief recap on the past twelve years, all I could think about was the new knowledge that Natasha and Jesse were Facebook friends. She’d never told me, and I didn’t know whether to feel gratitude for the secrecy, or betrayal.
“It sounds like you finally got your dream job,” Jesse said after I told him about my new role. I hadn’t excluded any of the details because I knew he’d be proud of me.
“I did. I really did.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I beamed. “I’m lucky—”
“No, don’t start that. Don’t downplay it. You’re not lucky.” He looked at me, hard. “You deserved it.”
I didn’t say anything to that and, instead, took a sip of the glass of water next to Jesse’s pint of beer.
“That’s not mine.”
I spewed the water out, half choking.
Laughing, he shook out his hand, which had been caught in the splash zone. “I’m kidding. It’s mine. Help yourself.”
I rolled my eyes, a weird knot twisting in my stomach. I grabbed an unused napkin and wiped my mouth and then the table.
“I knew about your new job already,” he said, after. “I’ll come clean. I Googled you a few months ago. It had been a while since I looked you up . . .”
I nodded. A few months ago, why? I wasn’t really sure what he wanted me to say to that.
“Have you ever looked me up online?” he continued.
He held my gaze, and I knew that he’d be able to tell if I lied. “OK, fine. I looked you up once.”
“Only once?”
I nodded.
BBQ time with the gang!
“And?”
“And . . . I’m very happy you’re happy, Jesse.” My throat constricted as I thought of Anadi, of his two children. “I think we both are where we wanted to be.”
He smiled at me sadly, lifting his pint glass to his lips. “No, I’m not.”
My heart surged, terrified he’d say something nostalgic or just plain stupid.
“I mean, who wants to get divorced?”
Divorced? Jesse was divorced?
“I’m so . . . sorry.” I reached for him, regretting it the moment my palm touched his shoulder. I wasn’t sure if Jesse was trembling or I was. “I had no idea.”
He shrugged, and I took the opportunity to lift my hand back into my lap.
“We’ve been separated for over two years.”
Two years?
“But we finalized the divorce only a few months ago. That’s when I moved downtown. I have an apartment around the corner.”
I nodded. So that’s why I’d seen him around jogging on Dupont Circle. He lived really close to my office.
Jesse ordered another beer and told me everything, even though I didn’t ask him to or necessarily think it was a good idea. He told me how his relationship with Anadi was forward-looking, always defined by a milestone.
A romantic engagement. A pakka four-day Punjabi wedding. A trip to Europe.
Children.
“And then?” Jesse asked rhetorically, both palms gripping his glass. “And then there was nothing left to look forward to.”
“That can’t be true . . .” I paused. “The kids—”
“Not that, Serena. There was nothing left to look forward to between us, between me and Anadi.” He swallowed hard. “There was nothing left.”
I glanced away, concentrating on the television above us. Four white men in suits were on a panel, presumably commenting on the game that had now ended. The Capitals had won in the end. I watched them, blinking, unsure if I needed to give Jesse a moment to compose himself. Give myself a moment.
“Sorry.”
I turned back to him. He was sitting up straighter, a sheepish smile on his face.
“Why?”
“I’m still in that phase where I can’t help but bring up the divorce and then won’t shut up about it. My therapist says it’ll pass.” He drained his beer. “And apparently, I’m also in a phase where I can’t help but bring up my therapist.”
“Well, I’m glad you have somebody to talk to.”
“Have you ever seen a therapist?”
I shook my head. “What’s it like?”
He laughed, knocking his knee against mine. “It’s like having a really good, wise friend who lets you talk about yourself the whole time. Kind of like what you’re doing now . . .”
“Except this is free.”
“Sorry . . .”
“I’m kidding.” I looked him in the eye and smiled at him in a way that let him know I really was joking. I had had my turn to share when we first sat down and had told him as much about my family as I was ever going to. And, really, after what felt like hours sitting together, I still didn’t know so much about him. There was still so much ground to cover. Where did he work? Had he lived in the DC area this whole time and we’d just never run in to each other?
What had his life looked like since we last saw each other? I could conjure up a few stereotypes I harbored about domestic bliss, but I still couldn’t really picture it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“I’m starting over, Serena,” I heard him say. “I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’m starting over.”
“Why do you make it sound like such a bad thing?”
He looked at me, and he looked so sad, so pathetic, I was tempted to hug him against my better judgment.
“Jesse, like you said, you’re only thirty-seven. You’re young. Your kids are young. And you’re healthy—” I paused, seeing the look on his face. “You’re jogging, aren’t you? So you’re healthy.”
“How did you know I started jogging?”
“Do you own an obnoxiously neon green jacket?” He smiled, and I continued. “I saw you. At the crosswalk by the Metro station.”
“It’s true. I jog now. Not that you can tell.” He cheerfully slapped his belly, which was just the slightest bit rounder than it used to be. But then again, so was mine.
Jesse opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it.
“What is it?” I asked.
He stretched his hands across the bar counter, tapping his fingers as if on a keyboard. “We should be friends.”
“Friends?”
“Do you live around here, too? We could go jogging together. I don’t know.”
Friends. Jogging. Really?
“No, I’m in Columbia Heights.” I shook my head, a knot forming in my stomach. “But my office is just around the corner from here . . .”
“Well, maybe you can show it to me sometime.” He glanced up at the TV, blinking. “We could go for lunch.”
Lunch. Friends went for lunch. But did exes?
&nbs
p; “I don’t know . . .”
“We were going to stay friends, don’t you remember?”
“Yeah, but two minutes after we broke up, I heard you got together with Anadi—”
“So what? She wouldn’t have cared if we stayed friends.”
“Jesse, you know she would have.”
He didn’t respond for a moment. The talking heads disappeared from the screen, and a commercial flashed on. A dark gray sports car, driving down a flat, open road. How typical. The SUV commercial I’d worked on (no open roads to be seen) had won an award.
“Oh, come on,” I heard him say as the car drove into the sunset. “What’s the harm? It’s been twelve years.”
He was right. It had been twelve years. What felt like a lifetime. Jesse and I were different people, had led different lives, gone down two diametrically opposed paths that now happened to converge. He was divorced, melancholic, and to be honest, a bit of a mess.
And me?
I had my shit together, mostly. A good job. A nice boyfriend.
What I didn’t have enough of was . . . friends.
“Friends,” I said, reaching my hand toward him. Jesse shook it, his large, warm hand enveloping mine.
“Friends.”
15
SANDEEP
Twelve years earlier
Veer,” Sandeep whined. “The neighbors can see.”
“So let them watch.”
“You are being very improper—”
His arms slid down from her waist. “Don’t you like it when I’m being this way?”
Sandeep giggled and then playfully shoved him away. She turned around. Veer had pretended to fall over against the mailbox, and the back of his hand was draped across his forehead.
“You are such a drama queen, my dear husband.” She kissed him very quickly in case the nosy couple across the street really was watching and then fished her keys from her purse.
“Go take a shower. The kids will be here soon.”
Veer went straight to the bathroom, while Sandeep unpacked their picnic basket at the entranceway. Sitting on a blanket outdoors in the sweltering heat wasn’t usually their friends’ idea of fun, but Sandeep had been dying to try out the American tradition and organized the whole thing.
