Chapter 11
SHAME, SHAME
NAVYA
Ifeel good.
And also…not.
It’s a strange, contradictory space to be in—like walking around with a warm glow in your chest while something cold settles just underneath it.
The sex is good. Great, even.
Evan is attentive, present, and intense in a way that makes me feel seen in the moment.
But moments don’t always add up to something whole.
I’m at my small dining table with Latika, eating pav bhaji*, her favorite that I made.
“So?” she prompts, eyes sharp. “How’s Doctor Dreamy?”
I hesitate. “He takes me to these places.” I pick up a buttered pav and stare at it absently. “Nice enough places. But always…out of the way. Like he’s allergic to being recognized.”
Latika’s mouth tightens. “Out of the way, how?”
“Different neighborhoods. Quiet restaurants. He drives. Picks me up. Drops me off.” I shrug. “Never anywhere near where he lives or close to the hospital…you know, away.”
“And?” she pushes.
“And he never sleeps over…though he warned me he wouldn’t,” I admit. “He hasn’t invited me to his place. Ever.”
Latika doesn’t interrupt or judge. She waits to hear my side of the story, knowing I have to tell it.
“When we’re together,” I continue, “it’s once a week. Dinner. Sex. He comes by sometimes…you know…if I’m free, and he’s free.” I don’t say, and, alas, I’m always free. “When he’s with me, he’s with me. It’s great.”
“But?”
“Sometimes…well”—I gesture vaguely—“we do it in the on-call room.”
Her eyes soften, but her voice doesn’t. “Do you feel okay about that?”
I open my mouth to answer—and stop.
“We work together. There’s gossip. We have to be professional. We need to have boundaries.” I laugh weakly. “He laid out the rules. I agreed to them.”
“But….” It’s not a question.
“But I feel like a dirty secret,” I whisper.
Latika comes to me and gives me a hug. “Hey. You’re in love with him and…that’s why it feels this way.”
I rest my head against her bosom, her arms wrapped tight around me.
“I never thought and have no expectation that he’ll ever fall in love with me…but”—I look up at her—“am I so embarrassing that he can’t…you know acknowledge me just as a date or a fling in public?”
“No!” Latika exclaims. “No, Navya. This is his hangup. Remember what your mother said? The way people treat you tells you more about them than about yourself. This is who he is, and it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Do you think I’m cheap and easy?”
Latika lets out a laugh. “Navya, you’re picky and a pain in everyone’s ass. There’s a reason you, despite not being part of the Desi arranged marriage rat race, didn’t just sleep with anyone. You finally did, and it was because you wanted to, and I think because you…love this man.”
“So…if I have a one-night stand with a rando…how would you feel about me?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Then, madam, I’ll high-five you and ask you to give me all the details.”
The thing about a good friend is that when you spend time with them, you come away feeling better about yourself, and that’s what Latika does for me.
That night, after she’s gone to sleep in my bedroom, I call my brother. We usually talk on Saturday afternoons, but he had to finish a paper, so he delayed our weekly call into late evening.
My baby brother is smiling like a fool when he answers the call.
“What’s good?” I ask him.
“Everything, Navya.”
I cock an eyebrow.
He comes closer to the screen conspiratorially. “I…I had my first kiss.”
“What? Tell me everything.”
And he does. It’s a classmate. She’s from England. Her name is Nancy. And the kiss was initiated by her, and it involved tongue.
Arjun and I have always been close—but after Mummy passed away, we became closer still. I’m like his mother and sister all wrapped into one.
He tells me about her, followed by what’s happening in class, and what he’s learning. I tell him about a couple of the surgeries I was part of.
We talk, we joke, and we talk about the latest books I read and movies we saw.
I don’t tell him about Evan, and that’s when I know that what I have with the handsome doctor is not healthy for me.
I end the call and sit there, phone heavy in my hand. I tell Arjun everything, and yet, I don’t want to tell him about Evan because—the cruel truth sinking in slowly is that I’m ashamed of myself for being with a man who treats me this way.
Later, Evan texts: Dinner ended early. You free tonight?
Just like that. No context. No, how was your day? I’m just a booty call.
For the first time in six months, I don’t answer right away.
My chest tightens. My inner voice—mean and familiar—starts up immediately.
Loser.
Pathetic.
Desperate.
I type, erase, type again.
Finally, I write: Busy tonight.
I mute my phone after I press send and toss it aside to charge.
My heart is pounding.
I am unsure whether I feel relief or loss or something worse, but what I am sure about is that what we have doesn’t feel good anymore.
And for the first time since Evan Vincenzo walked into my bed, I wonder if following the rules is costing me more than breaking them could.
* A popular Indian street food from Mumbai, consisting of a spicy, mashed vegetable curry (bhaji) served with soft, buttered bread rolls (pav)