by Sonya Lalli
Three days after the big talk with Mom and Dad, I’d gotten a friendly, if overly eager, text from one Dr. Rajandeep Singh Sahota. He’d recently moved to Seattle for his residency in internal medicine, and after a weeklong text conversation that straddled the line between dull and mildly amusing, he’d asked me out on a low-pressure lunch date, even offering to come meet me in the lobby of my building on his day off work.
While I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the date, from his social media I’d gleaned that he was rather handsome, so I wasn’t not looking forward to it, either. It was a humdrum, rainy day in late October, and I’d dressed up accordingly. Black boots and tights. A dark corduroy skirt, mock-neck blouse, and my favorite raincoat from Zara. Even though I hadn’t been on a date in over a year, or in a real relationship since my early twenties, I’d slept soundly the night before. Whether Rajandeep Singh Sahota turned out to be my future husband or a hilarious anecdote I told my friends, I was under no pretense that I was about to get swept off my feet. That I’d get bested by true love and romance.
Because it was starting to dawn on me that those romantic fantasies weren’t real. They were something we made up in our heads.
I swiveled in my ergonomic chair, still staring out the window. Romeo and Juliet were flirting hard, and I wondered why neither of them had ever made a move. Did one or both of them have a partner? That was the most realistic explanation, but in my head, they were my Barbies, and I got creative, sometimes going so far as whipping up a narrative that involved war, evil twins, even amnesia.
Juliet laughed at something Romeo said, and I let myself get carried away, down to their conversation. (I frequently daydreamed conversations as I people-watched. Sometimes I even made up silly little songs to go along with them.)
“I thought you might turn up today.” Juliet tossed back her hair, laughing gregariously.
“Would I ever let you down, sweetheart?”
“Sweetheart!” Juliet held their eye contact. “What else do you call me?”
“What else do you want me to call you?”
“Oh, Romeo . . .”
“Hey, Niki.”
Huh? How did they know my name?
“Niki?”
I snapped upright, out of my daydream that had been about to verge on NSFW (Not Safe for Work!). It wasn’t Romeo and Juliet calling out for me to be their throuple but my boss.
I whipped my head around, and came to face-to-face with Oliver’s crotch. Oh god. As quickly as I could, I flicked my eyes upward.
“Hey, Oliver.” My face was still uncomfortably close to his groin region, and he took a giant step backward just as I stood up from my chair. “What’s up?”
“Do you have a minute?”
I glanced at my watch. It was now 12:19 p.m., and I was supposed to meet Rajandeep in the office lobby on the half hour.
“I have eleven,” I said to Oliver. “Is that enough?”
Oliver grunted a nonresponse. He looked like he was in a mood, a real pivot from the jolly dad vibe he usually sent out. “Just follow me.”
“So, how was your daughter’s soccer game last night?” I asked him once we were seated in his office.
“They lost. Ten to four. But who’s counting, right?”
I laughed. “You’re counting.”
“I know I’m not supposed to be, but this whole ‘no one wins’ and ‘it’s all about participation’ ethos really bugs the hell out of me.” He shook his head. “But what do I know? I’m kind of an old fart.”
“You said it, not me.”
Oliver grinned, and momentarily, his body relaxed. But then he seemed to remember he was supposed to be in a grumpy mood, and the smile dropped from his face.
“Anyway.” Oliver cleared his throat. He took the chair directly beside me. “I called you in here because, well, I have some news.”
“Good news?”
He shook his head. “Bad news. The board didn’t approve our budget.”
My eyebrows furrowed. I’d heard rumblings that the company board meeting a few weeks earlier hadn’t gone “well,” but no one with a cup was willing to spill the tea.
“I guess we’ll have to cut costs. Are we switching to single-ply toilet paper?” I joked.
Oliver’s mouth twitched. Usually, he was all about the jokes—especially childish ones—but nothing.
I gulped. “Are there going to be layoffs?”
I said it out loud because I wanted him to jump in and say, “Of course not.” But he didn’t. He sighed, leaned forward on his desk. And I knew what was coming before he said it out loud.
“I am so, so sorry, Niki. If I could keep you, I would.”
If I could keep you.
“We have a mandate to cut ten percent of the staff.”
I choked, and I could feel my whole body start to shake.
“I feel terrible, Niki. You have to know, I really didn’t want this—”
“Who else is being cut from analytics?” I whispered, somehow finding my voice.
“It’s just you.”
My stomach somersaulted, and it took everything to hold myself together. Just me? As in the five analysts who reported to me weren’t being let go, but I was?
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I stammered, refusing to cry. “You promoted me last year, Oliver. Because I was the best. So why me?”
Oliver hesitated. “We’re required to let go of everyone in middle management. You know. The more expensive roles.”
I pressed my hands into my face, and I could feel the floor spinning out from under me as I tried to remain calm.
This couldn’t be happening to me. Because I had done everything . . . right.
I’d majored in computer science because it was a booming field. I’d taken a job as an analyst at a thriving yet soulless start-up because there was room to grow. And I’d spent years working my ass off to get that promotion so I could save responsibly for my future, so I could move out of my parents’ house unburdened by student debt.
And for what? So I could be let go from a job I’d earned that was now suddenly too expensive? So I could do every little thing right only to be royally fucked over?
“You’re upset,” Oliver said after he gave me a minute to compose myself.
“No shit.” I was on the verge of tears, and I bit down on my lip hard. “Sorry. I know it’s not your fault.”
“I hope you know,” Oliver said, clearing his throat. He sounded emotional, too. “That I’ll write you the best goddamn reference letter you’ll ever read.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly.
“I’m serious, Niki. Shakespeare will roll in his grave. You better believe it.”
I smiled despite myself as I thought of my Romeo and Juliet at the coffee cart. Would they ever get together? Probably not. But now, I’d never know for sure.
* * *
• • •
I had sat at the same desk for more than seven years, and all my personal items fit into two canvas tote bags.
Wasn’t that depressing.
I could almost hear the montage of sad-ass music as I left the office for the very last time. Radiohead. The Cranberries. Iron & Wine. Rationally, I knew I’d been let go, that I’d just said goodbye to my team for the very last time, but it still didn’t feel real. I walked to the bank of elevators on my floor, pushed the button I’d touched thousands of times before.
Was this it? I didn’t want to believe it. I still couldn’t.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket as I stepped into the elevator. I quickly scrolled past several notifications to the most recent alert. Jasmine had just posted on Instagram. I swiped through, and when the app opened, a burst of color filled the screen.
Jasmine worked in animation at a trendy mixed-media company, and she frequently posted graphics from her portfolio
. I liked the post, and after commenting with several fire emojis, I found myself wondering what she was doing this very minute. She’d be working away in her gorgeous open concept office in Pioneer Square, sipping on an oat milk latte. She’d be having a meet and greet with a cool client while wearing her new blue-light glasses and an impossibly cool yet professional BoHo outfit, because being comfortable in her skin came so freaking naturally to her—
“In or out?”
I looked up, my hands trembling. The elevator had stopped at the ground floor, and there were several women waiting to get in. I smiled in apology, slipped my phone back into my pocket, and then brushed past them.
After thinking about Jasmine, the reality of my situation was starting to feel very, very real. The company to which I’d devoted most of my twenties had pushed me out the door, and I had to leave. But where would I go? Tomorrow morning, when my internal clock woke me up at six thirty, what the hell was I supposed to do?
I trudged through the lobby, the heavy totes banging against my hips. I was never coming back. I would never eavesdrop on strangers’ conversations as they raced past me to a meeting or conference call. I would never again shoot the shit with the friendly building staff. Tim the security guard or Jeb at reception or Tess, who sold magazines, coffee, and cigarettes at the kiosk.
Or . . . Dr. Rajandeep Singh Sahota?
I stopped dead in my tracks as the fog cleared and I watched him walk briskly toward me.
I’d totally forgotten. I had a date.
“Niki, hi!”
Stunned, I stood there like an idiot as he closed the gap between us and wrapped me in a hug.
“How are you? I was worried I got the time wrong.”
“Hi . . .” I glanced at the giant clock by the elevator bank. It was now 12:45 p.m., and I was a full fifteen minutes late. “I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be. When duty calls, it yells. So tell me. What do you feel like eating? Sushi? Burritos?” He gave me a quizzical look. “Sushi burritos?”
“I . . .” I trailed off, trying to decide whether to bail or push through. “Rajandeep—”
“Call me Raj.”
“Raj,” I repeated, and for the first time I took a good look at him. There was no doubt about it. He was handsome all right. Tall. With a thick beard and glasses that made him look like a sexy English teacher.
“Is everything all right?” he asked me.
I bit my lip, stalling. Raj looked genuinely concerned, and his feelings were valid. I was entirely frazzled, and while I couldn’t see what expression my facial muscles were up to, I suspected I looked like I was wearing the mask from Scream.
Data analytics was high pressure and demanding, and while the stress of my old job didn’t get to me, the stress of suddenly not having one was coming at me like a hurricane. I shifted my weight between my heels, utterly torn. I was clearly not in the proper headspace for a first date, but what difference would it make if I went home and crawled into bed with a box of Oreos?
I still wouldn’t have a job. And I would still be, in Mom’s words, very single.
“Sushi,” I said finally, because fuck it, right? “Let’s go for sushi.”
* * *
• • •
Luckily, Raj was a chatty guy and took the lead in the conversation as we walked to my favorite sushi bar two blocks over. We talked vaguely about the weather, the latest Seahawks game, and then how he was enjoying Seattle so far. I didn’t volunteer much, and by the time our bento boxes arrived, the conversation had come to a lull. The food here was excellent, but even though I hadn’t eaten since seven in the morning, I wasn’t hungry. I could barely stomach a single bite.
“You’re nervous,” Raj said, watching me pick at my seaweed salad. “Have you ever done this before?”
“Eaten out with a man? Never.”
He chuckled softly.
“No,” I said a beat later. “My family hasn’t set me up before. You?”
“Not until recently. I’m the oldest child, and they’re desperate for me to get married.” He sighed, setting down his chopsticks. “And it’s not that I don’t want to get married; I just wish they didn’t care so much.”
“Bingo,” I said flatly.
“You must have it a bit better than your older sister, right—what’s her name again?”
“Jasmine,” I said, each syllable rolling slowly off my tongue. Over text, Raj and I had gone over the basics of each other’s lives and family, but I was impressed he remembered I’d told him I had a sister.
“Are your parents setting her up, too?”
“God no. She would never agree to that.” I shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter because she has a boyfriend.” I raised my left eyebrow at him. “And they live together.”
He clutched his palm to his lip. “No. A live-in boyfriend?”
“I know, right? She’s ruined the family name.”
He smiled, creases forming in his beard. It was oddly pleasant to look at.
“Anyway, she’ll probably never marry him just to spite my parents. She’s always been more of a rebel.” I scoffed. “Her boyfriend is actually kind of a dick. I think she started dating him in the first place to piss them off.”
Raj nodded. “There’s one in every family—”
“For example,” I said, leaning in. “Jasmine majored in art—which almost killed my parents. But it worked out for her. She has this amazing job and can afford to live downtown.”
“That’s—”
“And she travels. Like, everywhere. She’s been to every continent except Antarctica. Can you believe it? With a freaking art degree? And . . .” I swallowed hard. A wave of emotion came over me so suddenly and with such force I dared not speak. I swallowed hard, but I could feel myself shaking, everything threatening to spill out.
“And . . .”
And it simply wasn’t fair. I did everything right, and she did everything wrong.
Jasmine spent all her money to live that city life and travel the world over, while I dutifully stayed home to save money for the future, to be there for our parents.
Jasmine was gainfully employed by way of an art degree, while I had set music aside for a practical career path that had only left me unemployed.
Jasmine was shacked up with a guy named Brian, who she claimed to be the man of her dreams—a man nobody in our family actually liked very much—while I would inevitably marry whomever my parents wanted for me. A sensible, marriage material man like Dr. Rajandeep Singh Sahota.
I looked up at my date, whose gaze had shifted to the wall beside him. My face heated.
Jasmine was off living her best life, and I was here, acting like a total bitch. I wouldn’t want to look at me right now, either.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my face collapsing into my hands. “Fuck.”
“It’s OK.” I felt Raj’s hand on my shoulder. “Sibling relationships are complicated.”
“Yeah.” I’d started crying, full-on guttural sobs that had no business on a first date. (Or tenth, for that matter.) I grabbed a wad of paper napkins and blew my nose, feeling terrible.
“Our issue isn’t actually that complicated,” I said finally.
“You’re jealous,” Raj said plainly, and I welled up again, hearing someone else say it out loud.
“Niki, it’s natural. And inevitable.” Raj skewered a maki roll, popping it into his mouth. “Everyone feels it. Hell, I feel it right now.”
“Toward?”
Raj gestured to the table next to us, where a server was setting down a giant boat of every sort of sushi roll imaginable.
“Order envy,” he said. “That shit is real.”
I smiled despite myself. The tears stopped again, and I set the napkins down.
“I love Jasmine. A lot. And we’re close, honestly. But after today . . .” I tra
iled off, words escaping me.
Raj chewed thoughtfully on his food, urging me on with his eyes.
“I got let go,” I said finally. “From my job.”
He swallowed, his eyes bulging. “When?”
“Today.” I glanced at my watch. “About twenty minutes before our date was supposed to start.”
Raj extended his hand, and I took it. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s OK—”
“It’s not OK,” he said. “We could have postponed . . .”
Raj’s voice was steady, calming, and so I told him about what happened at work. Like word vomit, I told him about how I’d worked so hard to get promoted only to be in an even less secure position as a middle manager. How I’d based every decision in my life on what was most practical, on how my parents would have wanted both their daughters to behave.
Only to end up let go.
“I’m sure you’ve made the right decisions, Niki,” Raj said afterward. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I’m sure you’ll find another job soon.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling bad for complaining so much. However much time I put into my career, training to be a doctor would have been a million times harder. In his first year of residency, Raj still had years of long hours in front of him to become a full-fledged specialist in internal medicine.
“Do you . . .” I didn’t know where I was going with this, and suddenly remembered that I was on a first date and not in a therapy session with a close friend.
“Do I . . .” Raj prompted, and so I decided to just roll with it.
“Do you ever feel like you missed out?”
“No,” he answered plainly.
“Really.” I crossed my arms in front of me. “You don’t have FOMO after spending your twenties in classrooms or a hospital. And you don’t feel like you missed out on anything.”
“Not at all.” Raj swallowed the edamame he’d been chewing. “I may work hard, but I have a lot of fun, too, Niki. When I have a week off, I travel. When I have the day off . . .” Raj smiled at me. “I go on a hot date.”
