Chapter 29
Chance
“Who’s Chance?” my mom asks after the door thuds closed. Now it’s just Mom, Dadi, and me standing awkwardly in front of the couch.
“Me,” I answer.
Dadi crosses her arms. Mom looks at me crossly. “There’s no such thing as chance.”
“Actually, there is. It’s me. I’m Chance. What are you guys doing here?”
“Your name is Jyotiraditya,” Dadi says.
“No one in America can say that name. My friends in California called me Jay. What are you doing here?” I try again.
“Well, they need to learn,” Dadi says, leaning forward slightly with one finger pointed. “Because that’s your real name.”
“What else haven’t you told us?” Mom brushes back her feathered bangs which are holding up well despite the humidity. Her bohemian shirt and gauchos are appropriate for the heat. Dadi, on the other hand, is pouring sweat from both temples. Her formal, beaded saree is meant for special occasions, which this is not.
She starts poking around my apartment, sticking her head in my bedroom, bathroom, and my kitchen.
“What are you looking for, Dadi?”
“Where is your dog? You have a dog. Is it outside peeing?”
I collapse onto the couch. I shouldn’t have lied. It always comes back to bite. “I don’t have a dog.”
Mom props her hands on her hips and turns to me. “You have a girlfriend, but you don’t have a dog?”
“There’s dust on your mandir!” Dadi hollers from across the room.
I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly.
“Bring me a dust rag,” she demands.
When I don’t budge, Mom prods me with her foot. “Get her a dust rag and then tell us why you don’t have a dog.”
I slap my hands against my knees and push myself up. I don’t have a dust rag but I have baby wipes. I hand a few to Dadi and she looks at me cautiously.
“Why does a bachelor have baby wipes?” she says.
“For cleaning.”
Instead of asking more questions, she gets to work, furiously cleaning the detailed carvings on my mandir. “I’m disappointed that you don’t have a dog. I wanted to pet the dog,” she says while forcefully flossing a crevice with a baby wipe.
“Who was snoring, then?” Mom says.
“Was it that girl in the tank top?” Dadi asks.
I jump to Danni’s defense. “No.”
“Who was it then?” Dadi asks, still flossing. “Some other girl?”
“Yeah. Savannah.”
Mom and Dadi gasp. Dadi stops dusting long enough to look at me disapprovingly, then she flosses harder.
I return to the couch and collapse again. This conversation is more exhausting than pushing a boulder up Mount Everest. “Savannah was just a date gone wrong. She had too much to drink at the restaurant and wasn’t sober enough to tell me where she lived.”
Mom sits next to me. Her vegan-fed body is long and slender, her hands no exception. She folds them and twists her wedding ring round and round. “Is that true?”
Irritation pokes at me. I’m twenty-five years old, living on my own in another country. Why do I have to explain myself? “Why would I lie?”
“You lied about the dog,” Dadi says. She’s still hunched over, wiping down the murtis now.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t understand. It was just a date, that’s all. And it ended poorly.”
“But you wanted her to be safe,” Mom says.
“Of course.”
“Was this before you had a girlfriend or after?” Dadi asks.
“Dadi,” I warn.
“I’m just asking. I don’t know how you do things over here.”
“I wouldn’t date two women at once.”
Dadi has a fistful of dirty baby wipes. I stand to throw them away, but she waves me off and heads into the kitchen without me. She starts opening and closing cabinet doors. “What do you eat ?”
“Food.”
She reappears in the doorway. “We need to get you a proper meal.”
“So who’s the girl?” Mom asks.
“Danni. She’s a woman.”
“Are you two serious?”
I rest my ankle on my knee and pick at my big toe. “Pretty serious.” I am, at least. That counts for something.
Dadi gathers up the front of her saree and walks over to the couch, claiming a spot. She’s still sweating bullets. Frizzy flyaways surround her long braid. She smooths them absent-mindedly as she leans in for another doozy.
“How is that going to work?” she asks.
Focusing on my toe is helping me stay calm. I don’t know why and I’m not going to question it. “We’re going to keep dating.”
“And then what,” Dadi presses. “What happens when you come home? Is she going to come with you?”
I grab my toe and squeeze. “I think I am home.”
More gasps.
I just ripped off the BAND-AID. Plunged in the knife. Dove into cold water headfirst.
“Your father expects you to work for him.”
“I know he does.”
“Have you told him this?”
“No.”
Mom’s taking it well. Dadi is frozen with her hands flat against her thighs.
“Are you going to tell him?” Mom asks.
Guilt bears down hard when I look at her. Her lips are pinched and wrinkled, making her look like a decades-long smoker. She’s forcing herself to stay calm, which I appreciate. This isn’t how I wanted to break the news. But I’m not the one who showed up for a surprise visit.
Dadi wads up her saree in her fist. “It’s all making sense now,” she says like she just solved a riddle. “You haven’t been doing your daily pujas. That’s why you’re so confused. You lack guidance. You need to start up again right away.”
I already plunged in the knife. Guess I’ll go ahead and twist it. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t.”
Dadi gapes at me. “Why can’t you? It’s not difficult. It just takes discipline.”
“I don’t believe in God. I don’t think I do. I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.”
Dadi’s jaw unhinges. Her breathing gets louder, whistling through her nose and picking up speed. She jumps from the couch. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you come to America!” And then she’s out the door, leaving me and Mom with our jaws unhinged.
“She didn’t mean it,” Mom says when she finds her voice. “She’s just upset.”
“This is a lot for her. And for you.”
Mom regards me sadly, adding weight to my guilt, but I’d rather shoulder it than keep pretending. I want to stay here, grow roots, see where this thing with Danni goes.
“You’re not my baby anymore.” Mom lifts her arms and folds me into a hug. When she lets go, she presses her palms to my cheeks, and peers into my soul. “We’ll be fine with whatever you decide. Including Dadi. Just give her time.”
That went surprisingly well considering I didn’t know I wanted to stay here until I said it. The idea was growing before I met Danni, and then she dumped Miracle-Gro all over it. “Thanks, Mom.”
We hug again, and then we address Dadi’s hasty departure. She’s outside in the sweltering heat, enclosed in several layers of fabric. We have to find her before she passes out.
“Where do you think she went?” Mom asks.
“Hopefully not far.”
The oppressive heat swallows us when we exit the apartment. Wherever Dadi is, it’s shaded, I can guarantee that much.
“Let’s try the walking path,” I say.
We cross the parking lot and find respite in the shadows of the oak trees. The path curves around a building and then veers left at the property line, leading us to a park bench overlooking the marsh. Dadi is there, sitting quietly, sweating rivers. We approach tentatively, earning a glance before she refocuses on the picturesque view.
“This place smells bad,” she says.
“It’s worse on hot days.”
“It’s beautiful but it stinks.”
“You get used to it.”
Mom and I approach from both sides in case she decides to run again.
“It’s hot, Dadi. Let’s go back inside.” I sit beside her and offer my hand.
“No, no, no. Leave me be. You two go about your way. I need time to think.”
Rather than leave, I scoot back and take in the view. Mom sits too. The three of us watch a heron part the grass and plunge its beak into the water.
“I’m sorry, Dadi. I know I’m disappointing you.”
She turns toward me, places her blazing hot hand on my cheek. “Adi, I am proud of you. You’re smart and handsome and kind and logical and thoughtful. I’m proud of you for being brave enough to come back to America and build a life here.” She lowers her hand. “I want you to be happy, and if that girl in the tank top makes you happy, then I’m happy.”
“Her name is Danni.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to call her by her name?”
“Maybe.”
A gentle breeze passes through and gives us momentary relief. Dadi shows no sign of moving, and I’m not leaving if she doesn’t. I stretch out my legs to make myself more comfortable.
“An AI bot matched Danni and me together.”
Dadi’s brow wrinkles up. “An AI bot ?”
“Yeah. Cupid from MatchAI.com. Our first date was horrible. I didn’t expect to see her again. But we ran into each other here in the parking lot.” I gesture that way.
“Is she a stalker?” Dadi asks.
“No. We’re neighbors.”
I have Mom’s attention. She pivots to get a better look at me.
“And then we ran into each other at work.”
“You work together too?” Mom asks.
“Yep.”
Mom presses her hand against her mouth, trying not to let her smile stretch too far.
I flick a gnat off my arms. “I thought it was all just coincidence until the boss sat us right next to each other.”
Now I have Dadi’s undivided attention. She leans away from me and gives me Sponge Bob Square Pants eyes.
“And then…”
Mom sucks in a breath. “There’s more?”
“My boss put us on the same project. That’s what we were working on when you came in.”
“The universe is sending you a message,” Mom says with absolute certainty.
“Everywhere I went it was Danni, Danni, Danni, like a skipping record.”
Dadi looks impressed by my list of coincidences that are starting to seem a lot less like chance, I’ll admit. She smooths the front of her saree. “I’m sure I will like her when I get to know her.”
“I think you will,” I say, unable to suppress my grin.
“But what will we do about Navya?” Dadi says, suddenly worried. “She came here to see you.”
Oh yeah. Navya. What will we do about her? “How long were you planning to stay?”
“Just today and tomorrow,” Mom says.
“Why don’t you stay through the weekend? Get a rental on Folly Beach? We’ll hang out. It’ll be fun.”
“I’m not going near the sand,” Dadi says.
“You can stick to the boardwalks.”
She tugs at her damp collar and looks at me sadly. I wrap my arm around her and pull her close. “I won’t be that far away.”
“Yes, you will. But it will be fine. If I like it here, I’ll come once a year. Maybe more. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I’d like that.”
“Now get your arm off me before I melt.”
I knock on Apartment 240 while nerves munch on my stomach. Navya’s a nice girl. I don’t want to hurt her more than I already have.
Danni answers, looking concerned. She ushers me in.
Navya is lying on the couch with a bag of frozen peas covering half of her face. The eye I can see is closed. “Is she asleep?” I whisper.
Danni shakes her head, her face reflecting the dread that I’m feeling.
I walk over to the couch and kneel beside it. Navya’s eye pops open. She springs up, the bag of peas tumbling into her lap. The young bruise under her eye is more red than purple.
“Hey,” I say.
She straightens, becoming formal like the Navya I’m used to. “Jyotiraditya,” she says stiffly.
“Hey,” I repeat because I’m not sure what else to say yet. I settle onto the couch next to her.
Navya ducks her head and looks up at me. “Hey?”
Danni’s in the kitchen clinking silverware and clanging pots, putting away dishes to pretend she’s not eavesdropping.
I lean over and rub my face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. You guys surprised me today.”
“Your dadi said you knew we were coming.”
“She might have lied a little.” I pinch the air, leaving a sliver to represent Dadi’s lie. “I told her I didn’t want an arranged marriage, but I guess she wasn’t ready to give up on the idea. I’m sorry she misled you.”
“It’s fine,” Navya says, straightening again. “My parents have a backup plan. Aadesh wants to marry me, but you were their first choice. I told them we aren’t a good match, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”
I sit up and plant my hand on my chest. “You think we’re a bad match?” I thought the same, granted, but hearing it from her bruises my ego a little.
“The best conversation we had was when you mansplained how to set up a VPN on my phone.”
Danni cackles.
“I suggested DigiShark because it’s cheaper and more robust.”
“And then you downloaded it without asking and now I can’t figure out how to cancel my subscription.”
“You’re probably looking in the wrong place. Where’s your phone? I’ll do it.”
Danni cackles again.
“I feel like this conversation isn’t private.”
Navya smirks. “It’s not. And I’m the third wheel.” She stands. “Best of luck to both of you. Thank you for the peas, Danni,” she says, raising her voice a notch.
“Anytime,” Danni says.
“I’ll leave you two alone.”
I follow her to the door. Before grabbing the doorknob, she turns to me. “It was nice getting to know you and your family.”
“Same. And thank you for understanding. And I’m sorry this was so awkward. And–”
“Goodbye, Jyotiraditya.”
“You’re going to see me later today,” I holler after her.
I pivot and go find Danni. She’s in the kitchen with a limp dish towel hanging from her hand. We lock eyes and share a relieved laugh.
“Thank you for taking care of her,” I say.
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry you had to meet my family this way.”
She swipes at me with the dish towel. “Stop apologizing. None of this was your fault.”
I grab onto her waist, pull her tight, and dive in for a kiss but she rears back.
“Are you sure about this? I didn’t rank high enough for a callback.”
JustInCase.xlsx. That spreadsheet is going to haunt me. I look up and squeeze my eyes shut. “I really wish you hadn’t seen that.”
“Oh, but I did.” She walks her fingers up my chest. I catch her hand and pull it to my lips.
Her expression becomes serious. She dives for my lips, and I don’t back off. We linger together, stopping for a breath and then greedily going in for more.
She cups my cheeks with her hands, pulls away, and smiles. “One point for ‘Sense of Humor’?”
I groan. “To be fair, you didn’t get my jokes.”
“Because they weren’t funny. You didn’t even laugh at them.”
Danni leans against the counter. I step in closer and bury my face in her hair. “A comedian never laughs at his own jokes.”
“You should stick to coding,” she says, teasingly, before intercepting my lips.
“Hey. I’m taking the next couple of days off work to hang out with my family. Do you want to join?”
She pulls out of my embrace. “The benefits portal. We have to redesign two of the modules.”
“Do we, though?” I can’t believe I’m saying it, but the modules are unit tested and ready to go. “I mean, I’ll do whatever you say, but... Why break what isn’t fixed?”
“Ha ha.” She drums her fingers against the counter while pondering my idea. “Are you suggesting we send two parallel architectures to test?”
I grab her waist again and pull her back to me. “Yes.” My lips find her neck.
“You are scandalous, Jyotiraditya.”
I perk up.
“That’s right. I said it.”
“I like it when you say my name, Danni,” I say, grinning.
She spins around, collapses into my arms, and sighs. “That makes two of us.”