Chapter 5
5
A bright light shines directly in my eyes. I blink, raising my hand to block it.
“Sorry,” Nikhil says, sweeping his phone away. My vision takes a few seconds to adjust, then slowly things come into focus.
The room is still dark, but the light from Nikhil’s phone helps. I can make out the table. The couch in the corner. And Nikhil. He’s standing. Facing away from me, inching toward the backyard.
“Where are you going?” I ask, pushing my chair back, following the source of the light.
“The generator,” Nikhil replies. “It’s in the back, but obviously it’s not working.” He breathes out a sigh. “Last time we had a power outage it turned on for five minutes, then crashed. It’s under warranty, and I had the guys come out, but they swore nothing was wrong with it. That it was just a fluke.” He slides the back door open.
I watch him a second, still confused. “If they couldn’t fix it, why do you think you can?” I call.
“And what would you suggest?” he says. “That we just sit here in the dark? With no AC. Or power. Or light. That we just let all the food in the fridge and freezer go bad? That we just give up? Without even trying to fix things?”
“No, I’m just saying…”
He forges ahead, his phone’s flashlight cutting a path through the drizzly dark.
I watch from the doorway, tempted to follow after him. To continue this conversation. To push back against his not-so-subtle statement about our marriage.
I wasn’t the one who first gave up on us. I wasn’t the one unwilling to fix things.
His shadowed form stops beside a large metal rectangle and he pops some door or latch open. He starts fiddling with something, and the more time I spend out here, standing in the doorframe, exposed to the elements, the more I understand his point. The lack of light is one thing, but this heat. It’s sweltering. Even though the sun is gone, the night is so thick. And heavy. It’s almost hard to breathe.
I’d forgotten how essential AC is down here. We absolutely need to get this thing up and running.
“Anything I can do to help?” I call out.
The tinkering, the scraping of metal against metal, comes to a stop. “No,” he says. “Not with this. But there’s an emergency preparedness box in the pantry. Should have a couple flashlights and maybe some candles. You want to grab those?”
“Sure,” I respond. I start to move in that direction, a little worried about how I’m going to navigate to the pantry in the dark, when the lights miraculously flick back on.
“Success,” Nikhil calls from outside, closing the metal latch with a satisfying click.
I fetch the box, bringing the whole thing to the table. I don’t know what all we’ll end up needing, but it seems like a good idea to keep the emergency preparedness stuff within arm’s reach.
I’m arranging the items, pulling out a couple flashlights, walkie-talkies, and candles, when Nikhil comes back in, slamming the sliding door shut.
He pushes a hand through his rain-slicked hair, and I immediately wish to be plunged back into darkness. Because there is no earth on which it’s fair for Nikhil to emerge from the humid outdoors looking like that .
While the dampness in the air has made my hair frizz and poof to twice its normal size, it’s only managed to make Nikhil’s better, bringing out his slight curls. The waves that swoop perfectly. Almost like those of a cartoon prince.
But he’s not boyish enough to be mistaken for one of those cartoons. At least not anymore. His skin’s gotten a bit more texture over the years, no longer baby smooth. And he wears his stubble longer now. It’s not quite a beard, but it’s almost there. A perfect shadow. My palm itches with the urge to rub my hand across it.
I’d always wanted him to grow a beard, but he never did. He’d said it would be too prickly and uncomfortable. For me. I’d never pushed him, but now I’m desperate to know if he was right. My cheeks burn imagining his mouth moving against mine, his stubble sliding against my skin. Would it be soft? Or scratchy? Would I hate it? Or like it too much?
Nikhil moves subtly, and the light catches his hair, showing the tiniest hints of gray shining through. At his temples. And along his jaw. I imagine he’ll only get more salt and pepper over the next decade, which is entirely unfair. It shouldn’t be possible for this man to continue to get better looking with time.
I push the candles and everything I gathered back into the box, unable to take my frustration out on anything but these poor inanimate objects. “Guess we don’t need these anymore,” I say.
His hand drops on my arm, stopping my movements. The touch burns. I feel it. Everywhere.
His eyes grow wide, as if he’s feeling it too, the electric current coursing between us.
I yank my arm away quickly, and he throws his hands up in front of him.
“Sorry,” he says. “I only wanted to keep the candles out. And the flashlights. Just in case.”
I sink back into my chair, but don’t say anything. Not as he arranges the candles in the center of the table. As he sets the lighter by his place mat. As he returns to his meal, then gets up to microwave his plate. I don’t even respond when he politely asks if he can microwave mine as well. I just nod, using all my energy to hold back a loud exhale of relief when he leaves the room.
I wish I could call my mom and get her advice, but even if my phone somehow started working again, I can’t tell her that I’m here. In Houston. And I can’t tell her about Nikhil. She doesn’t know anything about him. No one in my family does. I couldn’t tell them about our impulsive, whirlwind relationship. Not when so much was riding on me. Not when I’d seen how they’d responded to my sister. Not when I’d silently promised I’d never turn out the same way.
Nikhil comes back from the kitchen, a plate in each hand. He sets mine down in front of me, and I force myself to take a bite even though I’d lost my appetite a while ago.
Nikhil doesn’t seem to suffer from the same issue. He tears into his meal with a vengeance, coming to a stop only when the lights above us flicker.
I glance up, hesitating for a moment. “Do you think—” I start, but I don’t need to finish my question. The lights go out again, clearly providing an answer.
“Is everyone okay?” a deep voice says, coming out of the box on the table.
I jump as Nikhil turns the flashlight on his phone back on. He reaches into the box, pulling out a lantern-looking thing, then presses a button on the side. “We’re all good here,” he says. “Did everyone else lose power too?”
“We did,” a woman replies, “but we’re good. Generator isn’t kicking on though.”
“Mine isn’t either, Elizabeth,” Nikhil says. He picks up the lighter and lights the two candles between us.
A laugh travels over the radio. “Well, if Nikhil can’t get his to work, I don’t think there’s any hope for the rest of us.”
“We still have power,” a man says. “If anyone needs anything, let us know. We could take in four or five people if we had to.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Elizabeth replies. “Everyone on the low end of the street evacuated, right? So, I think we should all be fine.”
“I didn’t,” a different man says.
The line goes quiet for a beat, and I watch as Nikhil scrubs a hand across his face.
“Alan?” Elizabeth asks. “What are you…You didn’t leave?”
“Nope,” Alan replies cheerfully. “But I think it’ll be fine. But if anyone else needs help, let me know. In fact, Nikhil, I could stop by and try to fix that generator for you?”
“Oh, no,” Nikhil says quickly. “Thanks, but that’s okay. We can manage.”
“Let’s all keep checking in, all right?” Elizabeth says. “We’ll stay on this frequency.”
People sign off, agreeing and saying their goodbyes, and Nikhil flips a switch, placing the lantern back in the box. “So,” I say, “that was…”
Nikhil looks up, the candlelight playing across his face. Light and shadow. In one moment, I can’t see him. And in the next, his skin is warm and golden, almost aglow.
“The neighbors,” he replies. “We’ve been through a couple storms now, so Elizabeth—she has a background in disaster prep—she set up this line for us to keep in touch. Just in case anyone needs anything.”
The skin over my ribs stretches tight. Who is Elizabeth?
I swallow, my throat suddenly itchy. “And the generator? It’s not going to…It’s definitely not working then?”
He takes a sip of his water and shakes his head. “I did a full reset last time. And if that didn’t fix it…I don’t know what will. I could try it again, but I’m not sure how many resets this thing can take without breaking once and for all.” He sounds resigned, but underneath it all I can hear the barely restrained frustration. He’s trying hard to hold it back, but I can tell he’s upset. That he’s mad his fix didn’t work.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, adopting a cheery tone, but it sounds all wrong. Like grape-flavored cough syrup. Artificial and sickly sweet.
“Right,” he says, and his voice rings just as untrue and false as mine.
“How are your parents?” I ask, trying to regain a sense of normalcy. Though Nikhil never really knew my family, I’d gotten to know his. His mother, like my parents, had immigrated to the United States from India. She’d initially moved here for college, and she’d met Nikhil’s father, a white, outdoorsy midwesterner. They were nice, or nice enough. I didn’t get to know them that well.
His parents had finally settled down in one place once Nikhil was in his junior year of high school. His mother had gotten a tenure-track position after years of hopping around to different colleges across the country, but even though they lived in the same city, Nikhil and I hadn’t seen them that often, except for the occasional birthday or holiday.
We’d driven by campus once, back in the early days of dating, and Nikhil hadn’t said anything until later that night, when his head had rested on the pillow beside mine, my fingers running through his hair.
“I dropped out of college, you know?”
I’d turned on my side, watching him. His face had been uncharacteristically tense, his jaw clenched in a way I’d never seen.
“Yeah?” I’d said carefully.
“Yeah,” he’d replied. “It just wasn’t for me, you know? But my parents…my mother…she wasn’t too happy about it.”
“Why?” I’d asked, but he’d fidgeted, barely meeting my gaze.
“Does it bother you?” he’d asked, changing the topic. “That I dropped out?”
“No,” I’d said, a bit puzzled. “Why would it?” I’d known what Nikhil did for work. I’d met him while he was at work. I’d kind of assumed some of this already. But his question…It almost felt like he was asking something else. Something I couldn’t quite figure out.
His brow had furrowed, and I’d pulled my fingers from his hair, running them over that spot instead, trying to undo the tension. And when that hadn’t worked, I’d pressed my lips there, kissing his forehead.
He never answered my question. Never talked much more about school or his family after that, but as I’d lain next to him, holding him to me, his body had begun to relax. Like he’d realized that I’d meant what I’d said.
“My parents? They’re good,” he says, short and to the point. “And yours?”
“Mine are fine. They’re happier since they moved up north. I think they miss certain things about living here—the weather and H-E-B, of course—but they’re closer to family and it’s easier for me to visit them now too.”
“And your sister? And Ritu? How are they?”
“They’re close by too, both in Jersey. But Ritu’s actually planning on being even closer after graduation. She’s looking for jobs near D.C., so I’ll get to see her more often. If it all works out.”
He stares at me a moment. “Ritu’s graduating?” he finally says. “From college?”
I laugh at the surprise etched across his face. “I know! I can hardly believe it myself.” In my mind, my niece is still the little baby I’d met all those years ago.
He shakes his head, and the candlelight flickers, showcasing his cheekbones, the shadows along his jaw. “That’s wild. I think the last time I saw her…saw a picture of her, she would have been fourteen? Maybe fifteen?”
“Yeah, she was just starting high school.” Ritu had been so nervous back then. She’d called all the time, asking questions abouthow many AP classes she needed to take, what extracurriculars she should be involved with, and always wondering when I’d make my next visit. The two of us had always been close, the twelve-year age gap erasing some of the distance, making her feel more like a younger sister than a niece, but we weren’t so close that I could tell her the truth back then. That the real reason I was staying in Texas longer than planned was that I’d failed the bar. That I was married. That I had no clue what I was doing with my life anymore.
“She’s changed a lot since then,” I say, thinking of the artsy, creative twenty-one-year-old she is now. “I don’t know if she’ll like living in D.C., and I don’t think she knows what she wants to do yet, but she’s got time. I keep telling her there’s no rush, that she doesn’t have to have it all figured out yet.”
Nikhil snorts, though he attempts to school his features when I glance up at him.
“What?” I ask, unsure what he’s finding so funny.
“Nothing.” He picks his fork back up, rooting around the pasta on his plate, but he’s barely hiding a smile. His teeth glint in the candlelight, completely giving him away.
“What?” I ask again.
He shakes his head. “Are you telling me you didn’t have it all figured out at twenty-one?”
“Well, that was different,” I say, my voice sharp and defensive.
“Why?”
“Because it was. I had to.” I’d formulated my life plan much younger than twenty-one. I’d actually already started law school at twenty-one, but it wasn’t because I’d wanted to. I’d needed a path. A sure thing. Something that would tell my parents that I’d be fine. That they didn’t need to worry about me. That I wouldn’t turn out like…well, like my sister.
I’d shared all of this with him once, confided in him about the root of all my anxiety around the bar. He’d seemed understanding then, but from the way he’s looking at me now, it’s clear he thinks something about this whole thing is funny. He’s smiling. Mocking me. Except the smile on his face is a little too gentle for that. Almost…indulgent.
“I know you did,” he says softly, and I realize he’s wearing that same look again. The one that says he knows me, that he gets me. That even though it’s been years, he knows some true, core version of me that very few people do.
Goosebumps travel up my arms.
“But you were very much the exception,” he continues. “Most of us were floundering around at twenty-one. Some of us were floundering around for a lot longer after that.” He lifts his glass, peering at me over the rim as he takes a sip. “Well, you were there, so I guess you know.”
“Know what?”
“How lost I was. How I was so…directionless.”
I frown. “I never thought of you that way.”
He watches me for a long moment, something flickering in his eyes. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I mean it though. Of the two of us, you were the only one with a real job back then. If anything, I was the lost one.” I look down at my plate and take a bite. “I mean, I’m sure you remember how I was after I found out about the bar.”
He’s quiet for a second. “I remember it was hard. I remember there were some bad days, but mostly I remember the way you got right back up. The way you started prep again the very next week. The way you committed and the hours you put in studying. You never wavered, and I always admired that. The way you didn’t give up. I was…in awe of it, really.”
Our eyes meet over the candlelight.
“Really?” My voice is low, disbelieving, the word escaping on a breath.
He nods, leaning toward me. “Really.”
There’s something so tender in his expression, something tentative. An olive branch. A cracked door.
I’m tempted to push at it, to see what might be behind there, but…this whole idea he has of me? It’s based on a misconception. He’d seen only what I’d wanted him to see back then. He hadn’t seen the truth.
I shake my head. “It’s only because I was scared,” I say. “The way I worked so hard. The way I was studying for my next attempt. It’s only because I felt like I had no other choice.”
His expression shutters, and it’s like the sun has set. The room grows darker. I feel as though I’ve made an error. A multiple-choice question, and I picked the wrong one.
“You all done?” he asks a few moments later. He barely waits for my reply before taking the plates into the kitchen. We put all the leftovers away, and to my relief the fridge is still cold. I know it won’t be that way for long with the power out, but it’ll preserve what we have for at least a couple hours. Maybe even through the night.
We finish tidying up, and I try to keep myself busy, try to keep myself distracted, but I can’t stop the dread settling in the pit of my stomach, growing with each task we complete. I wipe down the counter, take a deep breath, then turn around to face Nikhil. There’s nothing more I can do to put off the inevitable.
I have to figure out where to sleep tonight.