A Holly Jolly Diwali

by Sonya Lalli

  Getting a bit wild like the good old days might just be what she needed, and so when I got to the front of the line, I ordered a tray of shots to take back with me. (Tequila for those of us who drank and Limca for the others, so they could join in on the fun.)

  After, I shuffled to the side to take a selfie for the group chat with our college friends. I was the notorious party pooper among the group, and I knew they’d find it hilarious.

  I angled my phone far away, grinning wide, but I couldn’t capture both my face and the gigantic tray. I looked up. The beardy man standing behind me in line was now ordering his drinks. He was probably close to my parents’ age and had a friendly, familiar uncle vibe to him, and I waited until he’d put in his order to ask him for help.

  “Excuse me?” I said, waving. He glanced in my direction.

  “Hi, Uncle,” I said in my sweetest voice. “I was wondering—”

  “Yes,” he said, cutting me off. “Of course.”

  Yes, of course, what exactly?

  “You want a photo?”

  “Oh.” I nodded, beaming. “Yes, please.”

  I posed for the photograph, expecting him to take it from where he was standing two feet away. But then he closed the gap between us, put his arm around my shoulder, and took a selfie of the both of us.

  “Does that suit you?” he asked afterward, showing it to me.

  I raised my eyebrows. The frame captured both of our faces—Uncle smiling and me looking rather bewildered—the tray of shots nowhere in the frame.

  “Um.”

  “Would you like another?”

  I hesitated. “Is that OK?” I asked, feeling so awkward I’d started sweating through the armpits of the kimono-style beach cover-up. “I was hoping to take a photo of just me and the . . . shots.”

  Uncle’s lips curled up into a smile, the ends hidden beneath the thick fur of his beard. Bemused was the only way to describe his facial expression, which was good. At least I hadn’t inadvertently offended him.

  Uncle took a giant step back, shot the photo, and then set the phone on the bar counter. “There,” he said, smiling with his mouth and his eyes. It made him look rather handsome for an older gentleman. Like, super handsome, actually. “I hope those are not all for you.”

  “These?” I gestured at the shots, suddenly shy. “No, don’t worry. I’m on holiday for my friend’s honeymoon.” I pointed out the group, expecting them to be busy talking among themselves, swimming, and drinking. Weirdly, every single one of them was staring at us.

  The uncle looked over and gave them a wave. “Big honeymoon.”

  “The bride has a big heart.” Without giving too many details, I told him about how Diya needed some cheering up.

  “And what about you, Uncle?” I asked afterward. “Are you vacationing in Goa?”

  “I am here for work.”

  “What do you do?”

  He smirked. “I have a job in the film industry.”

  “Oh really? That’s so cool.” I leaned forward, feeling rather chatty. “My friend—well, he’s not really my friend. Or my boyfriend. Anyway, his mom used to be an actor in Tollywood. Amazing, right?”

  “Absolutely amazing.” He paused, thoughtfully sipping his beer. “So tell me. Why is this ‘friend’ of yours a friend only?”

  “Um.”

  He looked genuinely curious, and I wondered how he’d react if I told him the truth, whether he was an old-school uncle who looked down their noses at “modern” women or was someone who had literally cheered on premarital relations, like Aasha Auntie.

  “We live in different worlds,” I said finally. I wasn’t sure why I answered the way I did—more existential than factual—but Uncle had asked the question, and that’s how my brain chose to have me spit out an answer.

  “How so?”

  Again, I chewed on my words before replying. Sam and I lived in all sorts of different worlds. I was Sikh and he was Hindu. I belonged to a humble, immigrant, traditional family, and Sam grew up with the confidence and the means to live his life on his own terms, to pursue his hopes and his dreams. But most importantly, we lived in different worlds literally.

  Like, geographically.

  “He lives in London,” I told Uncle. “And I’m in Seattle.”

  “That is not so far.”

  “It’s, like, a twelve-hour flight.”

  “OK, that is quite far.” Uncle laughed heartily. “Well, one of you can always move?”

  “No,” I said quickly, instinctively. “Uncle, I barely know the guy.”

  “I believe you do, beti. I think you know this ‘friend’ of yours very well.”

  I thanked him again for the photo and the chat, and then made my way back to the group. What did he mean “I believe you know him very well”? What had this uncle—a total stranger—allegedly seen in my eyes? Lust. That’s what he’d seen. Surely, he’d just mistaken my physical infatuation with Sam for something straight out of a Bollywood movie.

  I carefully maneuvered through the crowd, balancing the tray of shots on both my hands. I looked up just as I arrived at the group, rather shaky as I realized they were all still eerily silent, their arms crossed and wide eyes locked right on me.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Tequila?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what’s up?’ ” Diya exclaimed. “What is up with you?”

  “Nothing?” Carefully, I sat down on the foot of her deck chair, setting the tray down beside me. “I thought we could get a bit wild . . .”

  Diya looked utterly shocked, and I flicked my eyes toward Sam, then Masooma, then Mihir, and each member of the group in turn. Every single one of them looked equally dumbfounded.

  “Should I take that as a no, or . . .”

  “Do you know who you were talking to?” Diya shrieked.

  A shiver shot down my spine as I looked back toward the bar. Uncle had gone back to his own table, to a small group of other uncles at the other side of the pool. Their heads were close together, talking animatedly over their drinks. I squinted.

  “Do you really not know, Niki?” I heard Sam ask.

  I shook my head, taking a few steps closer to the pool so I could get a better look. Was he someone that I should have recognized? His uncleness had seemed very familiar, and he did say he worked in the film industry. I didn’t watch a ton of Bollywood movies, only the big hits. I wondered if I’d seen him in anything.

  “She will get there,” Mihir said behind me, laughing. “Give it a minute.”

  I set my hands on my hips, studying the uncle, trying to remember his features from when he was standing up close. OK, so he definitely had a movie-star quality now that I thought about it. His dark, brooding eyes. His suave, full beard. Not to mention he was, like, super fit for a man his age—late forties, early fifties maybe?—and he was objectively very handsome.

  I took another step forward, nearing the edge of the pool, and just then, Uncle looked over at me.

  A beat later he winked, and my heart fell into my stomach as it hit me.

  “Oh. My. God.” I clasped my hands over my mouth, and then wheeled around to the group. “OH. MY. GOD!”

  Diya burst out laughing, then Sam, then the rest of them.

  “Oh my god is right, Niki,” Diya squealed. “And usually I am the stupid one.”

  “He doesn’t have a beard, though!” I sputtered. “It can’t be him.”

  “It is,” Masooma giggled. “I heard he was in town filming.”

  “The beard must be for the role,” Diya added.

  I spun back around to gawk, foggy and delirious and extremely humiliated.

  No wonder this random “uncle” had volunteered a selfie. No wonder during our entire conversation he’d looked downright amused at the fact that I had no idea who he was.

  I had been speaking to
the most famous person in Bollywood. The leading man of practically every major movie since the early 1990s.

  The actor. The legend.

  The Shah Rukh fucking Khan.

  CHAPTER 26

  Uncle. Shah Rukh. Mr. Khan. SRK. Whatever you wanted to call him. Well, he’d witnessed my come-to-Jesus moment from across the pool, and a few minutes afterward, he made his way around to reintroduce himself.

  I was mortified and, now that I knew whom I was talking to, speechless. Diya had enough words for the both of us, thank god, and gushed to SRK for a good five minutes before Mihir interrupted her and asked him to take a photo with the group. It was rather surreal, being up close and personal with a celebrity worshiped by not millions but billions of people around the world, Bollywood sewn into the popular culture of every single continent. (Seriously. I’d bet good money that even scientists down in Antarctica download some of his movies for their long hauls.)

  We made such a scene that the other hotel guests started realizing that SRK was here in the flesh. I felt a little bad that I’d blown his cover; up until I saw him at the bar, the beard had allowed him to go unnoticed. But SRK didn’t seem to mind. He and his posse, at least two of which I now realized were bodyguards, slipped out the back exit, waving to us one last time before they left.

  “Wow,” Diya said, totally dumbfounded. She threw back a shot of tequila without so much as a wince, and then chased it with one more. “That was epic . . .”

  As everyone launched into analysis mode on every detail that we’d learned about Shah Rukh Khan, I glanced over at Sam. He was reclining in his deck chair, still shirtless, his arms tucked behind him. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or even where he was looking; his sunglasses were covering his eyes.

  I took one step toward him and gave him a half wave. He saw it. And when he waved back, I went over to him and sat down on the edge of his long chair.

  “Hey.”

  He sat up, making room for me. “Hey.”

  “I think I’m still in shock.”

  “Me, too.” Sam grinned. He gestured at Diya, who was taking a poll on whether SRK looked better as a young buck in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the villain in Don, or in his current state: full-on silver fox.

  “Diya is in good form. Was something bothering her earlier?”

  I smiled. Indeed, we were now experiencing one hundred ten percent Diya and rising. “It must have been the blues,” I said vaguely. “The honeymoon is almost over.”

  “Of course.” He paused, his voice quiet and swoony and making me think and feel things I shouldn’t have been. “I suppose it is.”

  My hair had dried in bits and spurts after many dunks in the pool that day, pieces sticking out every which way. Sam reached for a strand, twirling it with his finger, and then tucked it behind my ear. His thumb grazed my ear, sending a hot shiver down my spine.

  I cleared my throat, instinctively sitting upright. Get it together, Niki.

  Get. It. Together.

  This was not your honeymoon; it was Diya’s. Sam was just a fling.

  “I was thinking I’ll leave when the others do,” I said, rushing my words. “You said I can fly directly from here to Punjab?”

  “Should do, yeah,” he answered quietly. “Although I still haven’t taken you to dinner at Frank’s Café for a proper date.” He paused. “How about Friday, then? It would be your last night in town.”

  Sam scooted closer to me, his hand finding the top of my thigh. I was suddenly very parched.

  “Niki . . .” He trailed off. I’d been fixating on Sam’s knee hairs, the way his fingers were skimming over my skin. Finally, I forced myself to look up. Immediately, I wished I hadn’t. He looked pained, like he was holding something, biting his tongue when he really wanted to—what, exactly?

  What wasn’t he saying? What wasn’t I saying?

  “Pool?” I squeaked, desperate for a change in direction. The suggestion seemed to have distracted him, because he grinned.

  “Do you trust me around a pool?”

  “Do you trust me?” I fired back.

  I shed my kimono cover-up and went to stand by the edge. Sam was next to me a beat later, stretching side to side with his arms overhead, as if he were preparing to dive in.

  I wanted to get him back for dropping me in the pool on Diwali, so on an impulse, I lunged forward to push him, but Sam saw it coming and caught me in his arms.

  “The lifeguard almost saw you,” Sam whispered, laughing as he wrestled down my arms. His breath tickled my ear, his chest and arms hot and dry against my skin. “He’ll kick you out if there’s any roughhousing.”

  I bit my lip, shivering even though it was sweltering outside. Indeed, there were several large signs that threatened ejection for “roughhousing,” and two couples earlier that day had been asked to leave for getting too combative during what started out as a harmless chicken fight.

  I leaned back, but Sam kept his arms around me, dropping them from my shoulders to the small of my waist. I was wearing a mint green one-piece with a scoop back. His fingers found the edge of the material.

  “Sam,” I said, breathing heavily. “There’s something really important I need to tell you.”

  I could feel him tense, his jaw locking as he looked me dead in the eye. I sighed theatrically.

  “What is it, Niki?”

  My heart was racing. I blinked at him, making big puppy dog eyes. I licked my lips, delaying, waiting for my moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the lifeguard standing behind Sam’s right shoulder, and the second he turned around, as hard as I could, I shoved Sam into the pool.

  The momentum threw us both over the edge, and we surfaced gasping for air. I backed myself against the edge, coughing, my nostrils burning from the water that had gone up my nose. When I opened my eyes, Sam was right in front of me.

  “You all right, love?”

  I nodded, panting as I caught my breath.

  “Good.” He splashed me playfully. “Serves you right!”

  I splashed him back, but then he held his hand out, warning me to stop. “No roughhousing, Niki.”

  “None at all?”

  Sam caught the suggestion in the tone of my voice. He came even closer, pressing his hands against the pool’s edge, trapping me between them. Pushing my back against the wall, I walked my feet up his shins and then to the tops of his thighs, my toes dangerously close to the edges of his swim shorts.

  “Niki.” He said my name like a grunt, flicking his eyes upward behind me to where the rest of the group was sitting.

  “Are they watching us?” I whispered.

  “No.”

  “Then kiss me—”

  Sam didn’t hesitate. He pressed his lips against mine, cupping my face in his hands as I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. It lasted only a moment—one dizzying, aching moment—and then he released me from his grip and it was over.

  “Oh boy,” I said, better words failing me. I cleared my throat, unable to look Sam in the eye.

  “Oh boy?”

  “Do you want . . .”

  I shut my mouth. I was hungry for Sam, for this to finally happen, but I wasn’t good at propositioning someone. I’d never done anything like this before. My sexual adventures had been confined to the relationship with my ex—quietly, and only ever in his parents’ basement.

  “Did you know . . .” Sam ran his hand up my side. “Mom will be out tonight.”

  My heart raced.

  “She actually made a point of telling me this morning that we’d have the apartment to ourselves.”

  I laughed, exhilarated at the idea. A little weirded out, too.

  “Should we . . .” Sam bit his lip, and I was tempted to throw myself at him again. But not here. Not yet.

  “We should,” I whispered.

  �
�Wouldn’t you prefer to stay with Diya this evening?”

  “I’m feeling a bit tired.” I faked a yawn into my palm. “I think you should take me home.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We spent one more hour by the pool, until it was dusk and about the time Sam guessed Aasha Auntie would be leaving for her dinner party. He told everyone we were “knackered”—another one of his Britishisms I found utterly adorable—but Diya and Masooma saw right through the charade. I think the whole group might have.

  Back at the apartment complex, Sam held my hand as we made our way to the flat. I was on edge. On fire. And at the bottom of the staircase leading us to the inevitable, he pushed me up against the bannister.

  My heart raced. “Yes?”

  Under the cover of darkness, the coconut trees hanging over us, Sam kissed me like he’d never kissed me before, like it was the only one we’d ever get. I was breathless, trembling as I wound my hands through his hair, tugging him closer to me.

  Sam’s hands were all over me, my breasts, my hips, and a sweet, gentle ache flushed through me, starting at my heart and fluttering down below.

  Minutes later, he pulled away, his eyes in a daze. “Well, then.”

  I laughed, rubbing my fingers against my chin. Sam hadn’t shaved in a few days, and I loved the tingling graze of his stubble against my skin.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Without answering, I raced him up the stairs two at a time. I reached the door first, but he had the key, and I teasingly used my body to block the entrance.

  “You’ve got to pay the toll,” I said, using my most serious voice. He kissed me on the tip of my nose, and I let him pass, hugging him from behind as he fished out his keys and pushed open the door.

  “Niki, I—”

  Sam stopped short in the doorway. The light was on, and when he stepped to the side, I saw that we were not alone.