Chapter Eleven
Chapter
Eleven
“Old people are arseholes.”
—Michelle Mallon, Derry Girls
It had been years since Veer visited the Indian equivalent of the city that never sleeps. The damp, salty smell that always lingered around the city greeted them as they stepped out of Mumbai airport after their ninety-minute-long plane ride, searching for their Uber driver. “I haven’t been here in forever,” Veer said, fanning his collar, as memories of failed auditions washed over him. “It’s so hot.”
“It’s humid, not hot,” Harsha said plainly.
“Same thing,” he grumbled. “It’s still just as terrible as I remembered it.”
Harsha laughed, giving him her suitcase to hold while she flagged down their approaching driver in the distance. “Considering the fact that my entire family lives here…yep, ‘terrible’ about sums it up.”
Veer shoved their suitcases into the trunk, and they got into the Uber, en route to the hotel Harsha had booked for them near the venue of tonight’s party in Bandra, which was also where her uncle and aunt lived.
They hadn’t touched at all during the plane ride, but now that they were in Mumbai, the city hosting their first real test, maybe that should change? Veer cleared his throat, and when Harsha looked away from the window, he asked, “Should we revisit the intimacy practice?”
Harsha’s face flushed, but she nodded. “Good idea. Lunch is only a few hours away.”
He slung an arm around her shoulder, and she sidled closer to him and rested a hand on his thigh as though it were instinctive. Then she went and tugged on her hair elastic, her forehead wrinkling. Old habits die hard, Veer mused. “Do you want to talk about it?” he prodded.
She shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling.”
He smiled softly and nudged her sneaker with his shoe. “Try.”
Harsha leaned her head back into the seat, her gray eyes flitting shut. “All these weeks, I was nervous about whether we’d pull this off, but it was just a what-if in my head. Now? It’s real, and there’s no escaping it.”
“The only way out of this situation is through it,” he reminded her, although his own heart hammered. “I promise it’ll go great.”
“Okay,” she said, swallowing. “Can you turn up the radio?” she asked the Uber driver, who happily obliged. She returned her gaze to the window as contemporary Bollywood music boomed from the speakers, and Veer rubbed a hand along his jaw. He might have been putting on a brave face in front of Harsha, but that was his duty as the more experienced actor between the two of them. In reality, though, he was also shitting his pants thinking about how he was going to make Harsha’s parents, and especially her uncle, like him.
No—it didn’t matter if they liked him. It mattered if they believed him. Veer didn’t want any doubt in their heads to risk this deal, because that would risk Arjun’s education.
He could not afford to let that happen.
Harsha hadn’t spoken a lot about her parents since she admitted they considered him to be poor (which was true, in their defense), but it was all he’d thought about since. And now, when he was mere hours away from meeting the people who would determine the fate of his family’s future, he almost started to consider Mom’s suggestion: Marry someone nice, pool your income, live a good life.
It was a tempting offer.
They sat in silence the rest of the ride as the Uber driver sang along to the radio, and it was only when they wheeled their suitcases into the hotel that Veer’s chest relaxed, and he could breathe again.
The hotel room, thankfully, had twin beds, as stated in the contract. They would be spared the awkwardness of sharing a bed and putting a pillow between them. It was a cozy space with cream-colored walls, a narrow closet with some hangers and a safe, and a mini-fridge that didn’t work underneath the desk and chair.
They were meeting the Godboles in an hour for lunch at a gourmet restaurant that Harsha had picked, knowing it was her mother’s favorite. “At least there’s no risk of a bad meal ruining her mood,” Harsha said as she took out a yellow sundress from her suitcase and held it up against her body in front of the mirror.
“Pretty dress.” Veer tilted his head and smiled. “We’ve got this, okay?”
“Right.” She shut her eyes and nodded, though she didn’t look like she believed him.
While she changed, Veer went to the bathroom and put on a baby blue collared shirt over his jeans, hoping he wouldn’t sweat too much in the heat of not just the city, but Harsha’s family’s expectations. He used a generous amount of cologne and ran shaky fingers through his hair. Harsha knocked, then came inside.
“Love the shirt,” she said, leaning against the bathroom door in her yellow dress that was tight along her chest and flowy below her waist, the spaghetti straps accentuating her sexy, toned shoulders. “I bet your girlfriend picked it out for you.”
Veer tossed his head back and laughed at the teasing tone of her voice. She was adorable. “My girlfriend has good taste,” he agreed. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
Harsha smiled, slowly but surely. “Thank you.” She reached for his hand, and he took it without a moment’s hesitation. “Let’s go.”
As they waited outside the hotel for their Uber, Harsha adjusted her tote bag on her shoulder. Veer had brought some sweets from a Bangalore shop to give to her family, and Harsha fought the urge to snack on them out of anxiety. She wiped sweat off her face and suggested they discuss sections from the relationship history document in case anyone decided to walk down memory lane.
Somehow, Veer remembered every detail, even ones that she didn’t. “You were wearing a dress with birds on it,” he said of their meet-cute at Sunstag. “And you were so confident, handing me your American Sunstag loyalty card.”
She frowned as the car pulled up in front of them. “You remember that?”
He held the door open and got in after her. A beat passed, then he said, shifting in place, “Of course. You were so close to arguing with me, but I suppose my cute smile charmed you.”
“Right.” Harsha cracked out a grin at his attempt to joke, deciding to let it slide. She turned to the window instead, pretending to marvel at the city she had lived in for eighteen years, while Veer texted his friends. She took out her phone to capture the sights.
The beautiful outfits hanging in the window of a clothing store. The cawing of a crow sitting in a tree. Beautiful, she thought as she snapped a pic.
You were wearing a dress with—
She would just have to focus her phone on something else. Ah, there was a chaat stall where a young teenaged couple were downing pani puri after pani puri. She clicked a photo. Perfect, that had absolutely no relation to—
You were wearing a dress with birds on it.
Stop it, Harsha scolded herself, setting her phone back down. So what if Veer remembered what she wore all those months ago? It didn’t mean anything. Maybe he just liked fashion. Cartoon T-shirts counted as fashion! In Veer’s head, at least. It was more important to focus on the lunch, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, as she clung to Veer’s arm in a death grip, the ma?tre d’ led them to a large, empty table in the middle of Maa’s favorite French restaurant. Nobody else was here yet, to her relief. She sat down in the center chairs, Veer beside her, when her phone chimed.
Aunt Pinky:
Almost there! See u soon Harshu
“They’ll be here any minute now,” she told Veer. When he didn’t respond, she looked up to find him in a tug-of-war with his collar, though the top button was open. “There’s no possible way the shirt is choking you.” She quirked a brow. “Are you more anxious than you let on?”
“Yeah, there’s just so much at stake, and…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened as part of her family approached. Neha, Uncle Madhu, and Aunt Pinky walked over to the table. Harsha got up and gave Aunt Pinky a tight hug, then reluctantly air-kissed Neha on either cheek while Veer shook Uncle Madhu’s hand and said hello.
The server filled up their water glasses, and they all took their seats, waiting for Maa and Papa to arrive before ordering lunch. Veer handed two boxes of Dharwad peda to Aunt Pinky and Neha, and while Aunt Pinky thanked him excitedly, Neha simply smiled, her lips tight. “Oh yeah, I’ve been to this shop before. They’ve got decent pedas.”
Harsha gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t Neha just say thank you for the gesture like a normal person?
“So, Veer, are you liking Mumbai?” Neha added, her fingers interlaced on the table.
“Oh yeah,” he said, taking Harsha’s hand in his. “It’s good to be back.”
“Back?” Aunt Pinky smiled. “Have you been here before?”
Harsha’s shoulders tensed. The relationship history document didn’t have a lot of information about Veer’s time in Mumbai, mostly due to his walls being up all the time. “Oh, he…” She coughed. “Veer, why don’t you tell them?” He was an actor. He would hopefully be good with improv.
Veer ran a hand through his hair and chuckled, his eyes going to Uncle Madhu. “This is embarrassing, but I was here a couple of years ago, trying to make it as an actor.”
“Oh?” Neha gave him a once-over, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and his short beard. “I’m surprised that didn’t work out.”
“Same here,” Aunt Pinky said, sipping her water. She nudged her husband. “Madhu, don’t you think he’s got the face for Bollywood?”
Uncle Madhu studied Veer, then gave a sharp jerk of the head. “He sure does. Veer, what kind of acting are you into?”
Harsha wanted to redirect the conversation to something else, perhaps his career at Sunstag, her photography, or where the hell her own parents were, but Veer spoke up first. “Advertisements. Drama. Television.”
Neha raised a thin brow. “Would we have seen you in anything?”
“A few years ago, I did a few stage plays and one radio commercial.” Veer shrugged casually and drank his water. “But now I think I’m ready for something bigger.”
“Hmm.” Uncle Madhu’s lips thinned, and he looked Veer up and down, as though sizing him up. He had just opened his mouth when Harsha’s parents arrived. Finally!
Harsha stood, wondering if they would want a hug, but Maa and Papa only eyed her, tight smiles on their faces. “Nice to see you,” Maa said, and Papa nodded politely. Typical, Harsha thought. They were meeting in person after so long, and yet, why had she expected anything different? She swallowed the lump in her throat, hating that she craved affection from the two people who thought she didn’t deserve any.
Her parents took the last two empty chairs and called the server over. “I’m parched,” Maa said, without so much as a glance at Veer, who had also gotten up to greet them. “Shall we order my favorite wine?”
“And food, please,” Papa barked, signaling to a server. “Get us today’s special appetizers and roast chicken for the main course. And two bottles of Chenin Blanc.”
Once the server had noted the order, and they had the table to themselves, Harsha forced herself to smile. “Maa, Papa,” she said, “this is Veer.”
Veer handed them the box of pedas. Papa took it, staring at the picture of the sweets on the lid, then said, “Thank you, Mr. Veer Kannan. We’ve heard so much about you.”
Harsha didn’t miss the twitch in Veer’s eye as he asked, “You have?”
“Of course, you two are the talk of the town. Harsha is trying to make it on her own, and she’s fallen for a coffee shop manager? It’s unlike anything any Godbole has done before!” Papa held a hand out, chuckling.
Ouch. If Neha’s words during that first night at the bar had upset Veer, he would probably be extremely offended by what Papa just said. But all Veer did was briskly shake hands with him, then address Maa. “It’s lovely to meet you both.”
Maa’s face morphed into a barely-there smile, thanks to her Botox, no doubt. “So you’re a district manager at Sunstag?”
“Yes,” he said. “And I’m so grateful I have a girlfriend who shares my love for coffee.” He put an arm around Harsha and kissed the top of her head. She beamed, her cheeks flushing without having to force it.
Maa didn’t look impressed, but Aunt Pinky’s smile widened. At least they had one person on their side.
The server reappeared with the wine and a complimentary mini charcuterie platter. Uncle Madhu cleared his throat, readying himself for a toast, but Papa beat him to it. “To family,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “It’s all anyone has in the end.”
Harsha’s stomach nearly turned as she clinked her glasses with the others, all of whom cheered.
Veer pressed his fingers to her wrist, giving her hair elastic a light tug, as if to say, Relax, we’re in this together . She met his gaze and smiled. Aunt Pinky must have noticed the tension in the air too, because she said, “The smoked gouda is delicious! Has everyone tried it yet?”
“Speaking of gouda”—Neha swirled her wine around in her glass—“we’re going to have one of those cheese towers at the wedding. Rohan’s friend from med school recommended this artisanal cheese place in Bangalore, and I was mind-blown by their ideas.”
“Oh, where in Bangalo—” Veer started, but Papa spoke over him. “So how is your career going, Harsha?” He smirked as he dipped a cracker in hummus. “Or is your manager boyfriend footing all your bills?”
Holy shit. “I, um…” Her mouth opened and closed, bile rising in the base of her throat. Maa simply sipped her wine, while Uncle Madhu almost choked on a piece of cured meat, and Aunt Pinky had to hand him a glass of water.
Veer raised his chin, squeezing her knee once to reassure her. “She did an engagement photo shoot just this week, and it went really well. Her career is taking off.”
“Faster than yours, Mr. Manager?” Papa raised his glass of wine like he was saying cheers and drained the last of it. Across from him, Aunt Pinky paled as though insulted herself.
“Exactly,” Veer said, giving her a fond smile that made her heart clench with gratitude. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
Harsha had never been more relieved to have picked Veer as her fake boyfriend. But she had to return the favor and be his hype woman too. “He’s being modest. Veer might get a promotion soon,” she said and popped a grape into her mouth. “We’re just waiting for the formal announcement from the company.” She elbowed him discreetly, and he nodded.
“Yeah, of course.” Then Veer cleared his throat. “I might not take it, though.”
Harsha whipped her head around to subtly glare at him—why was he going off-book? But he went on, addressing Uncle Madhu, “I’m hoping to resume my career in acting now that I have some savings.”
“Really?” Uncle Madhu quirked a brow.
“How much can you have in savings as a twenty-seven-year-old district manager?” Papa countered, shaking his head. “God, I need a smoke break. Madhu, join me?”
Once they had both moved to the outdoor smoking area and out of earshot, Aunt Pinky said, “Harshu, did you have time to pick up those personalized party cupcakes from the bakery near your hotel?” She wiped her hands on the napkin, almost as though she were deciding what to say next. “They close early on the weekends, so I’d leave now, before they lock up.”
Harsha exchanged confused glances with Veer. What cupcakes? Was Aunt Pinky trying to give them an out? We need one, Harsha thought. “We were going to pick them up later, so we wouldn’t have to cut lunch short,” she said, “but if they’re closing soon…”
“Go,” Neha said, rolling her eyes. “This lunch is giving me secondhand anxiety, anyway.”
Harsha looked back at Papa and Uncle Madhu in the outdoor lounge, still chatting over their cigarettes. She turned to Maa. “I’ll see you at the party tonight, then?”
“Sure,” Maa said, blank-faced as ever as she sipped her wine.
As Harsha stood up hesitantly, wondering if this was even the right move, her phone chimed with a text from Aunt Pinky. Go have fun with ur man!! I’ll handle ur father
She gave her aunt a final grateful smile, mumbled a “bye” to Neha and Maa—who had already started talking about something else—and headed out of the restaurant, hand in hand with Veer. Her eyes were burning with tears as she opened the Uber app. “I’m sorry about that. Back to the hotel?” She figured the lunch was enough excitement for one day.
“Actually, I spent a lot of time in South Bombay when I lived in Mumbai.” He made a “hmm” sound. “I haven’t been there in ages. Maybe we could make a stop?”
She blinked slowly, her face scrunching up in confusion as his words sank in. “I thought you hated Mumbai.”
He paused to wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his other fingers cupping her face. “Maybe I like giving second chances.”
Harsha smiled up at him. “All right. But we’re going to commute there like the Mumbaikars do. Ready to brave the local train?”