Flirting With Disaster

Chapter 13

13

My phone miraculously comes to life, but the screen is covered in blurry notifications. With all the cracks, I can’t quite make out the text, so I instinctively tap my way over to voicemails, pressing around until they begin to play.

Meena, I can’t find any other flights out, but I have a client with a jet. Don’t start, I can hear you grumbling already, and yes, I know it’s horrible, and it likely contributed to climate change and maybe this very storm, but that doesn’t mean you should have to suffer through this. I’m working on it now and I’ll call if I can get confirmation on the jet.

It’s me, again. No luck so far. No one’s willing to fly to Houston right now. I think it’s too close to the storm landing, but…call me when you can. I’ve talked to your office, and they know what’s going on, so you don’t need to worry about any of that. Just focus on staying safe. I’ll talk to you soon.

Hi, Meena. I don’t even know if you’re getting these. Considering I’ve left about a dozen I’m going to assume your phone isn’t working, like you said before, and it’s not that you’re ignoring me. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you were. I probably shouldn’t be calling like this. I know I’m the one who cut things off, and we talked about giving each other space, but it’s just…I’ve been following the news and watching everything in real time and I can’t help but feel like this is partly my fault. If I hadn’t pushed you, if I hadn’t ended things like that, if I hadn’t given you that ultimatum, maybe you wouldn’t have gone to Houston. I’m about to head over to that meeting with the political advisory team, the one that was supposed to be for the two of us, and…I don’t know. If you’re getting these, call me. Please. I just…I want to make sure you’re okay.

Oh, god . I put my phone down, my hand slightly shaking.

Just last week a voicemail like this would have given me so much hope. I’d wanted Shake back as a teammate. I’d wanted us to run for office together. I’d wanted all of it.

But now?

So much has happened, and I have to tell him about it. I have to.

My finicky phone refuses to let me make calls, so I pick up Nikhil’s and call Shake.

“Shake, it’s me,” I say, knowing he won’t recognize this number. “It’s Meena.”

“Meena!” His voice is bright, eager. “Are you all right? I tried calling you a bunch, but I could never get through. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m okay. And I got your voicemails. Well, some of them. It sounded like you maybe left more, but my phone hasn’t been working properly. That’s why…I’m calling from Nikhil’s.”

“Oh. Okay.” He pauses, the sound of papers rustling traveling through the phone. Shake may be one of the only people under forty in D.C. who orders a physical newspaper, but he insists that he retains information better when he reads that way. I’ve always given him a hard time about it, but now the familiar noise reminds me of another life. The two of us at our usual coffee place, his large newspaper spread out on the table as we update our shared calendar, discuss the latest gossip on the Hill, talk through issues at work. “And uhh, how’s that been? Have you all had time to talk about things? Were you able to wrap everything up?”

“Not exactly. It’s been a little tough with everything going on.” Power outages, windows breaking, canoeing through a hurricane. “We’ve just been in survival mode for a bit.”

“Right,” he says. “That makes sense.” He pauses. “I went to the meeting. I don’t know if you got that voicemail, but I told them about you, about our plan to run together, and they loved it. They have possible endorsements in mind, and they think they can time the announcement with some big media coverage. D.C.’s Desi Power Couple .” He lets out a nervous laugh. “Cheesy, sure, but they think it’s a good idea and…Anyway, once you’re back, maybe we can talk about it more.”

“Shake, I—”

“I just…I’ve missed you. And I have regrets, about the way I handled things. You shouldn’t have had to go down there alone. I should have offered to help you with this. We should have done it together. I’m sorry about that. But in the future, we can do things differently, and—”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I appreciate that, Shake. Really, but you should know that…we slept together. Me and Nikhil.”

Shake doesn’t speak for a long moment. “Okay,” he finally says. “Okay. That…that makes sense. I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I know we’re not together right now, and I know that’s my fault, and you’re in a high-stress situation with the man who used to be the love of your life. It’s fine, Meena.

“Really, it’s probably a good idea to get it all out of your system. Get closure or whatever.”

I pause. Last night didn’t feel like closure. It didn’t feel like the end of something. It felt like…

“I don’t know if that’s what we’re doing,” I tell Shake. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

He goes quiet, and I rush to fill the silence. Because he deserves to know everything. We’d been set on running together in Maryland, and I don’t know if Shake would still want to be with me if that changed.

“And I’m sorry to switch gears like this, but there’s something else you should know. I heard Congresswoman Garcia’s retiring. Not sure if it’s been formally announced and I just didn’t see it since I’ve been down here without power, but—”

“Garcia? From Texas?”

“Yeah. Nikhil’s neighbor mentioned it. She’s actually pretty well connected in local politics. She used to be county judge when I was a kid.”

“Huh. I haven’t seen it announced anywhere.”

“Really? That’s great, actually, because I’ve been thinking about it and this would give me more time to do some research. But maybe when I get back, we could talk about it some more? Maybe even run it by the team and see what they think?”

“Are you…You’re not thinking about this for you, are you? A Texas congressional seat?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s just an idea right now, but I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I don’t…I— Sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. I thought you never wanted to go back to Texas.”

“I didn’t. Not before, but I mean, I’m from here. This is my hometown. I could get a place here and meet residency requirements if I wanted to. And you know how unpredictable these kinds of races can be. I’m not saying it’s not a long shot, but I want to talk about it more. I mean, it’s Congresswoman Garcia ’s seat. You know how much her work has meant to me. The changes she advocated for on immigration and refugee policy alone—”

“I get it,” he says. “I can see the appeal. The seat’s a good fit for you. I bet if we ran your policy platform on top of Garcia’s they’d match up exactly. Not to mention, you’d get to run for Congress instead of a state seat. It’s just…I thought you were set on staying in D.C. I thought that we’d stay in D.C.”

“I could still do that. If I win, I could travel back and forth, but I can spend most of my time there.”

“Is that even something you want anymore? Is this…” He lets out a rush of air.

“Meena, is this about Nikhil? This newfound interest in Texas and running there? I mean, do you even want to run together anymore? Or get back together? Are you still going through with the divorce?”

The back of my neck prickles. “I am,” I say, not entirely confident in my answer. “This has nothing to do with that.”

“Are you sure? Because…Just think about what you would tell me if I announced I was going to get back together with Geeta.”

“I know, but—”

“Actually, I don’t even have to imagine what you’d say. I remember what you said. You said I deserved more. That I deserved better than someone who would treat me that way. Who’d take me for granted. You said I deserved a true partner. A real teammate. Someone who understood me and put me first.”

“Yes,” I say, “but what happened between me and Nikhil—it wasn’t the same. And there are things I didn’t know before. Things about Nikhil that I—” I stop midsentence, unsure what I’m even trying to say.

“You deserve that too, Meena,” Shake continues. “A true partner. That’s what we were, and that’s what we can be again. We’re equals. We can be there for each other. We can help each other. Nikhil couldn’t give you that then, and he can’t give you that now.”

“My wanting to run in Texas has nothing to do with Nikhil,” Isay.

Shake scoffs. “Really?”

My temper flares. “Are you sure this isn’t about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You not wanting me to run in Texas? You sure this isn’t about you? About your ego? About the possibility of me running for the U.S. House while you’re running for a Maryland state seat?”

“Please,” he says with a huff. “You think my ego would take a hit about something like that? That I’d have some weird toxic male reaction to my partner running for…what? A position people might consider more prominent than mine? You should know me better than that. And I never said I didn’t want you to run in Texas. It’s just…running for the U.S. House of Representatives is a whole different ball game. State rep would be a part-time gig. You could keep working at your job. If you do this…you realize you’d probably have to quit, right? To campaign in Texas? I’d hardly see you.”

He goes quiet for a moment. “I want to be clear about this. I want to get back together. But if we do that, I’d need us to actually be together. I can’t…You know how I was after Geeta, after everything that happened. I can’t go back to that, to wondering what my partner’s doing when they’re not around, or worrying about whether their work trip is actually a work trip. I don’t want to be like that again, and if you’re splitting your time between here and Texas…I don’t know, Meena. I’d need to know this is really just about your career and what’s best for you and not about anything else. I’d need to know things with Nikhil are completely final. And not just on paper.”

I let out a breath, my anger slowly deflating. Shake’s not a bad guy, and he’s not wrong. He’s been hurt before, and I’d never want to see him hurt like that again. I’d certainly never want to be the reason for it. Besides, we had agreed on a plan, and I’m the one trying to change it at the last minute. The seats in Maryland are safe bets. The team Shake met with seems on board. I can see the path ahead for us if we got back together. I can see us both continuing down this road, achieving everything we wanted, doing it side by side.

“I hear you,” I tell him. “I do. I’m not saying I have to do this. I just want to explore it.” I rub my arm, suddenly feeling cold. “Maybe we could talk it through some more. After I get back?”

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do that. And…I really think you need to use this time to work out whatever you need to work out with Nikhil, but you should remember that whatever you’re feeling, however you’re feeling, may not be the whole picture. You’ve been through a lot the last couple days. It’s not a normal situation. But there’s a reason you both separated all those years ago. He wasn’t the person you needed, and one night can’t change any of that. You always told me being with him derailed all of your plans, and I don’t want to see you go back to something that wasn’t good for you before. You deserve more than that, okay?”

The proper response tastes sour, but I say it anyway. “Okay.”

“And be safe, Meena. I’ve been looking at flights back, but nothing’s available yet. As soon as I see something, though, I’ll let you know. I ended up getting permission from that client to borrow his jet, so I can even bring that down and—”

“You don’t need to come here,” I say quickly. “Not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. But I can figure out the flight back on my own. Once things open up again.”

He pauses. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“But, umm, if you do need to reach me, maybe you could email me? I’d rather you not text me on this phone.”

I don’t want Nikhil seeing messages from Shake pop up on his screen. “I can use Nikhil’s computer to check my email. All right?”

He agrees, and after discussing a few more details from the meeting, he hangs up. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a second.

Shake and I really were good partners. We were on the same page about all the important things. We showed up for each other during hard times. We supported each other’s goals. Even when we fought, even when he dumped me, he was honest with me. I never had to guess what he was thinking. Even just now, he was vulnerable with me, sharing his concerns, his worries, how he felt.

Shake is safe. Secure. Predictable. My parents love him. If we get back together, if we one day get engaged, I know they’d be more than excited. They’d be relieved .

I have a feeling my sister wouldn’t feel that way. My parents had pushed her to consider marrying Ritu’s father when she first found out she was pregnant in college—not that he was offering, or offering to be involved as a co-parent in any way—but my parents didn’t give up after that. They’ve tried to matchmake on her behalf a number of times over the years, always insisting that Ritu should have a father.

I know that’s been hard for my sister. Not that she would tell me that herself, but it’s been obvious. At least to me. I can always tell from the way she tenses up when my parents mention it, from how distant she grows.

If Shake and I ever get married, I don’t think she’s going to be excited for me. I doubt she’ll even care. My sister’s never reacted the way I’ve hoped anytime I accomplished anything. Every graduation—from high school, from college, from law school. My first job. Every success I’ve had at work. All of those milestones have been met with dull words, tense smiles, rote congratulatory statements devoid of any emotion.

My parents always made up for it, hugging me warmly, telling me they were proud of me each time I achieved something, but no matter how hard I’ve tried, how hard I’ve worked to be who my parents wanted me to be, who they needed me to be, it hasn’t been enough. None of it helped me bridge the gap between me and my sister.

Sometimes, I’m tempted to tell her that I understand. That I’m sorry. That I feel the weight of all of that too. That I know our parents mean well and I love them, but that their expectations have also been hard for me. That sometimes I felt like they approved of me or loved me only because I was achieving these things. That I wasn’t sure what would happen to that love if I failed, if I couldn’t accomplish everything they wanted.

I wonder if my sister would relate. I wonder if we have any of this in common. But we don’t talk like that. We barely talk at all.

I head to the living room and grab the laptop off the coffee table. I check my work email, quickly skimming through it, but pause when I look up.

One of the things I’d liked most about this house was the brick fireplace in this room. It had seemed so classic. So grown-up. But it looks different now. It takes me a couple minutes to figure it out, to realize what’s changed, but suddenly it clicks. The space above the mantel has nothing on it. It’s empty.

When we’d first moved in, Nikhil had made me stand right in front of the fireplace. He’d asked me to wait for a moment, then returned minutes later holding something behind his back.

“I know just what we should put here,” he’d said, nodding toward the wall. He’d let the anticipation grow, then pulled the surprise out dramatically, placing a large picture frame on the mantel with a flourish.

I’d stared at the black-and-white charcoal sketch, processing for a moment, then dissolving into laughter when I’d realized what it was. “You…you framed that? You actually got that framed ?”

His smile had grown wider than I’d ever seen it. “Of course I did.”

The sketch was something between a caricature and an accurate depiction of the two of us. Some features were slightly exaggerated: Nikhil’s large nose, my thick eyebrows, the pointed tilt to my chin. But our expressions were what had been exaggerated the most.

We’d stumbled across this street artist in Vegas after we’d fully recovered from our post-wedding hangover. I can’t remember which one of us had insisted on sitting for the drawing, but the result had made us both snort with amusement. And maybe a bit of embarrassment. The result had been so vulnerable. So raw. The artist had all but drawn literal hearts in our eyes. We’d looked absolutely besotted with each other, our hands clasped, our gazes locked, the swooniest, lovestruck smiles on our faces.

It was an exaggeration of what we really looked like, but it had also felt shockingly real. Like an X-ray of the two of us, showing what lay beneath the surface.

“Are you sure?” I’d asked Nikhil. “Are you sure you want to put it up here?”

His smile had fallen the tiniest degree. “Why? You don’t want to?”

I’d winced. I hadn’t wanted him to think I was embarrassed by the picture. Ashamed of it. But this depiction of the two of us was so intimate. It made me feel so exposed. It seemed strange to display it somewhere so public.

But Nikhil clearly wanted to, and besides, this was our home. Ours . It wouldn’t be that public. No one else would really see this. This was just for us.

“No,” I’d told him. “I do.” I’d reached a hand out, grabbing onto his. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

His smile had returned then, and I hadn’t been able to stop the goofy grin spreading across my face. His mouth had met mine, and his hand had threaded through my hair, his body suddenly flush against my own. Kissing Nikhil had always been electric. Every nerve of my body had sparked to life in a way I had never experienced before. I’d thought that connection between us was love, but…maybe all this chemistry between us is just attraction. Hormones and chemicals tricking our brains. Maybe that’s all the artist had captured in that sketch. Lust and infatuation and the adrenaline high of doing something reckless and impulsive.

Maybe that’s all last night was. Maybe that’s all that’s ever been between us.

I don’t know where that picture is now. I haven’t seen it anywhere. He probably got rid of it years ago, which would make sense. There’s no reason he should have kept a reminder of the two of us hanging in his living room forever, but I am curious why he’s left it like this. Completely bare. Why he hasn’t hung anything in its place.

I go back to my work emails, reviewing a couple things I missed. As I read, I hear Nikhil in the garage, his power tools at full volume, and the sound is just as comforting now as it was back then.

Nikhil’s phone vibrates, and a text from Elizabeth flashes across the screen. I pick it up, slightly pleased to have an excuse to head to the garage. Once there, I knock on the door.

Something buzzy and electric sounds in response. I knock harder, and the noise stops.

“Nikhil?” I call. “Can I come in?”

A few seconds later, the door swings open, and Nikhil stands there with plastic safety glasses perched on top of his head.

I smirk. “Those are cute.”

“They’re not supposed to be,” he says with a grin. “They’re for safety.”

“You always were a bit of a nerd about safety.”

“And you always were a bit of a nerd about everything.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s certainly true.”

“I liked it,” he says. “Just to be clear. I’ve always liked that about you.”

We watch each other, and slowly the light, teasing note in the air begins to shift. His smile fades, and his throat flexes as he swallows. “Meena, we should probably talk—”

The phone in my hand buzzes, and I quickly thrust it in his direction. “Elizabeth texted,” I say. “That’s why I came to find you.”

He takes it from me, barely glancing at the screen before putting it in his back pocket. “Oh,” he says. “Thanks.” He takes a step back, hesitates, then asks, “You want to see what I’m working on?”

“I…Yeah. Sure.”

I follow after him, and as he opens and roots around in one of the drawers, I take in how much the workshop has changed since I last saw it. Even though I’d been in the garage earlier, when we’d grabbed the canoe for our rescue mission, I hadn’t really been paying attention to my surroundings. I’d been a ball of energy and adrenaline and fear, and everything had been a blur.

Now I take my time, inventorying everything. He’s added a few new pieces of equipment. I’m not sure of their purpose, but I know to stay far away from them. I rarely spent time in here while he was working, but Nikhil had still insisted on showing me all of the machinery. He’d walked me through each piece, explaining its function, and giving me a basic safety lesson. I’d told him I never planned on using them, but he said I still needed to know so I could be careful. He didn’t want to see me get hurt.

There’s a stack of textbooks on the side table in the corner, brightly colored tabs and index cards sticking out of them in various directions.

My heart squeezes. He’s using the study techniques I used for the bar, the ones we did together.

Nikhil finally finds what he’d been looking for and comes over to me.

“You’ll need to put these on,” he says, showing me a matching pair of glasses.

I scrunch my nose. “Is this because I made fun of yours?”

“No,” he says, a corner of his mouth rising. He steps closer, gently pushing the glasses onto my face. I go still as he adjusts them, making sure they’re secure. His fingers brush against my temple, and his golden brown eyes meet mine. His expression is so open, care and tenderness floating right at the surface. It makes my chest ache.

“No,” he says again, still smiling. “They’re to keep you safe. Just in case you want to take a stab at this.” He gestures to his worktable, and I walk over, my curiosity piqued.

“It’s a sign,” he tells me. “A welcome sign for the inn. I’m hoping to hang it on the porch, or maybe in the lobby. I’m not sure what it’ll say yet exactly. I haven’t decided on a name for the inn, but I thought I could carve the ‘welcome’ part at least.” He lifts a shoulder. “I had this spare piece of wood lying around and I didn’t want to waste it.”

Something within me warms. That’s just like Nikhil. Turning scraps into something meaningful. Taking pieces others would discard and transforming them into something new.

“I’ll just watch,” I say, as he reaches for the saw. I cover my ears as the electric buzzing starts up, and he rounds the edges of this square slab of wood.

After, he grabs a pencil, sketching out the letters, and the way he’s freehanding this font, the way his hand moves in precise, deliberate movements—I can’t look away. He’s an artist and it’s mesmerizing. I’m tempted to trace the veins on the back of his hand, the muscles in his arm that bunch and flex.

“What did Elizabeth say?” I ask, needing something else to focuson.

He glances at me. “Nothing, really. She’s been getting a lot of reports of homes that’ll need complete rebuilding, and she’s trying to triage and figure out a schedule for after everything clears up. She wanted to talk through it, but I can call her back in a bit.”

“This is for the volunteering you do? With her organization?”

He nods but doesn’t add anything else.

“When did you start working with them?”

He continues sketching. “Oh, it’s been a few years now. Elizabeth was out walking her dog, and she knew I worked in construction, and she asked if I’d come out for a few hours. Now, I help coordinate and pitch in where needed. It’s just…” His fingers tighten around the pencil, his movements growing a bit stiff. “Losing a home…it can be a traumatic experience. And it’s something that happens too often here, with the frequent flooding and storms like this. And fixing places up, that’s something I know how to do, so if it can help…” He trails off, straightening the piece of wood, then sketching again.

I swallow. I don’t know if I’d ever realized that this was something Nikhil would like to do. That he’d enjoy using his skills and talents to help people in this way. I don’t know if I’d ever realized this was something Nikhil and I shared.

I think about the people on this street. In this city. How much rebuilding will need to happen, and how much change is needed here and throughout the state. I think about all the things Elizabeth said, and how there’s something I know how to do, and how I want to be here so I can do it. So I can help.

“That’s great, Nikhil,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re doing that.”

He works quietly for a little while, and I let myself picture it for a moment. Living in Texas, working with folks like Elizabeth, advocating for change. Living in this house, with Nikhil, waking up to his bright, joyful smile, and falling asleep right beside his tender heart and hardworking hands.

“Done,” he says, showing me the lettering on the sign. “You want to try carving it?”

I don’t know why, but I tell him yes. I take the drill from his hands, and he stands behind me, walking me through a minitutorial. He shows me how it all works, and he does the first letter with me, his body firm behind me, his hands steady over mine as we trace the letter together.

He’s patient with me, moving more slowly through the process than he had been when he’d been doing it on his own. And I savor the feel of him, this quiet intimacy of the two of us working together.

“You know,” he says, as we finish and move on to the next letter, “I think you’d be great in Garcia’s seat.”

Hope flutters for a moment. Nothing more than a whisper, but I feel it, somewhere deep inside me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “After you mentioned her, I did some reading about her, and the causes she’s championed, they’re exactly the issues you care about. The ones you’ve been working on all these years.”

I startle, but fortunately my hands don’t shake, our movements stay slow and smooth. “How do you know what I’ve been working on?”

A huff of breath travels over my ear. “C’mon. You didn’t really buy that I was watching all that C-Span just for fun, right?” he asks, his voice low and amused. “I’ve followed your career. The bills you’ve worked on, the laws you’ve lobbied for, the articles you’ve written.”

“You have?”

He hums in acknowledgment, and the sound vibrates through me. “I liked your op-ed about immigration policy last year,” he says casually, as if every word he’s saying isn’t making me feel like I’m melting inside. “I ended up reading more and watching some documentaries about it. It’s partly why I think Garcia’s seat makes so much sense for you. Not just because it’s in Texas, but because it’s what she’s always led the way on. Something that really matters to her constituents. And to you.”

“Me too,” I say. “I thought the same thing too.”

“And I know Alan said Elizabeth might run for it, and she might, but I still think it’d be worth doing. If it’s what you really wanted.” His voice softens. “People here would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, the word small and inadequate, unable to convey how his belief in me feels. It’s as if I have wings, as if the impossible might actually be within reach. “I’m still thinking about it, but thank you for saying that. It…it means a lot.”

We finish another letter, and he switches off the drill, leaving it to me. “You want to try the next one on your own?”

My heart flips in my chest. He’s trusting me with this, sharing this with me, showing he’s not afraid of me handling this by myself. I nod, and he steps to the side as I move on to the next letter.

I work for a while, and I can feel his gaze on my hands, then my face. He watches me, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

He followed me to D.C. He never called me or tried to find me, but he’s been following my career all these years, and…The question scares me, but I want to ask it. I want to know the truth.

“Nikhil, earlier, before I fell sick, when you told me you came to D.C., you said you would have moved with me if you’d known what I…if you’d known how I felt and is that still, is that—”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nikhil’s shoulders stiffen.

I lick my lips. “I mean, I know you have the inn, and everything here, so things are different now, but then—”

“What are you saying?” he asks, his voice low.

I lift the drill, turning to look at him.

“It’s just…I did tell you what I wanted back then. I did. I told you I wanted you to move with me, but it’s like you didn’t believe me. You told me you thought I didn’t want you there, and I don’t know…I’m trying to understand why .”

His expression shutters, his jaw growing firm, and it hurts to see him this way. It’s the way he looked every time he pushed me out. Every time he refused to tell me his thoughts and feelings. Every time he took away his warmth and left me in the cold.

I feel the stitches on a barely healed wound start to unravel, but I clamp down on the sensation before it all falls apart.

“Why would you think that?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

Because there are things I might want now. Things I want to tell him. But I need to know that he’ll trust what I’m saying. That he’ll trust me . I can’t stop wondering how different our lives might have looked if he’d found me in D.C. If we’d actually talked to each other back then. I can’t stop thinking about an alternate life that could have been mine.

That could maybe still be mine.

But as the silence ticks on, as I wait and wait and wait for him to say something, to say anything, that hope begins to deflate. The stitches come apart, slowly at first, then all at once, exposing the raw wound at the surface.

I wince, turning away, back to the sign on the table. I try to move on to the next letter, but my vision blurs, and I know I can’t work like this. I confirm the drill is switched off, just like he showed me, then set it down right as a tear escapes, rolling down my cheek.

“Meena?” Nikhil asks, his voice thick with concern, but I brush him off.

Why am I surprised? Why does this hurt so badly? Why did I let this hurt?

These past few days, it had almost felt like we’d been taking steps toward each other. I thought Nikhil had been letting down his guard, letting me in, but he still has walls up. He still has fences I’ll never be able to climb, and why should I? Why should I fight and beg for his trust if he doesn’t want to give it? Why should I settle for scraps when I could have a real partner if I get back together with Shake?

A man who confides in me, who sees me as a teammate, who sees me as an equal. Not like Nikhil, who’s still hiding things from me. Who’s still treating me like the lost, broken person I was back then. The person who he thought needed coddling, who needed help, who needed support. Who wasn’t strong enough to be there for him in return.

“I’m fine. I just need—” I try to leave, walking quickly toward the door, but he blocks my path.

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice raised in concern.

I shake my head, and do my best to take a deep breath.

Those things Shake said…He wasn’t wrong. Years ago, I wanted Nikhil more than anything, and that kind of love—that feeling—it was all-consuming. It made me irrational. Impulsive. It made me the kind of person who lost sight of my goals and got distracted. The kind of person who failed the bar and got married on a drunken night in Vegas. At the time, I’d thought staying in that marriage was a risk worth taking, that somehow everything would work out, but it ended in disaster.

This way I feel, if I give in to it, I know it’ll end the same way too.

Nikhil’s hand comes to my chin, tilts it up. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he says. “ Please .”

And that’s when I break.

“I can’t be here. I can’t . I’m going back and what have we even been doing? What has all of this been? I don’t even understand why you want to stay married to me. Why won’t you just sign the papers? Why won’t you let us go?”

He drops his hand, and all hint of emotion slides off his face.

I wait for him to say something, to give a straight answer, to finally break this silence between us. I wait for him to try, but he doesn’t say a word. I wish I was surprised. I wish I was angry. But honestly, I’m just tired . Tired of all the times Nikhil has retreated like this. Tired of the way he never used to tell me what he was thinking. Tired of having to guess what’s on his mind.

“What is it?” I ask. “I don’t understand…What do you want out of all this? What could you possibly—”

“I want you!” His voice booms, louder than I’ve ever heard it.

All the blood rushes from my head. The room tilts, everything going sideways.

“I want you to stay. I want you to be with me. I want to live out everything we promised to each other. Those vows, they meant something to me, Meena. They still mean something to me. What we had…what we have…is real.”

My thoughts swirl, vibrant colors blending and twisting so fast I can’t grab on to a single one. Temptation and hope start to build again, but it all comes to a grinding halt when one word breaks through: “stay.” He’s asking me to stay.

Which means he wouldn’t come with me. Just like he wouldn’t come with me then.

And I still don’t really know why that happened. Why he thought I didn’t want him with me. He’s still avoiding talking about hard things.

My heart slams against my rib cage, and I hate it. These turbulent emotions, these up-and-down swings, I can’t do this again. I can’t get caught up in this. My career and my dreams and my plans of running for office, I can’t afford to let any of that fall by the wayside.

Not when I could have something safe and stable with someone who understands my goals, who shares them, who could help me achieve them.

“How can this be real, Nikhil?” My voice breaks, but I push through. “We’ve been living in a fantasy. Trapped in this house, away from everything, isolated from the real world, but this can’t last forever. I can’t stay— I’ve…I’ve built a life of my own. I can’t just come back here and go back to being rootless and lost and stuck in this house. I can’t go back to being that sad, dark version of myself again. I can’t.”

“It wouldn’t be that.” His brows crease. “There are things you want to do here. You told me there are things you want to do here.”

“Like what? Run for office? For a seat that might not even be available?” I blow out a breath. “We don’t know if Garcia is actually retiring, and even if she is, we both know Elizabeth is probably going to run and what are the chances I’d win against someone established and connected to this city like her? Why would I—why should I give up on the seat in Maryland? That’s real. That’s sure. All of this…it’s just adrenaline. Exhaustion. We haven’t been thinking straight.”

“What about last night? That was real, Meena.” A muscle in his cheek jumps, but his expression is raw, deeply earnest, when he says, “It was real to me.”

I soften for a moment, even as I feel myself torn in two. “You’re right. It was real, but that was never our problem, Nikhil. It was…It was the only thing that worked between us, and it’s not enough.”

“So, that’s it? That’s all we—”

“What else is there, Nikhil? There’s nothing left for me here. Nothing.”

He winces, and it almost makes me want to retract the words.

“We can’t make this work,” I say instead. “You’ve put roots down here. This is your home. You have community here and things you’re working toward and I’m so…I’m so happy to see that. Really. But I need those things too. I have those things in D.C. My job, the race in Maryland, and I have…I have someone waiting for me in D.C.”

Nikhil pales. “I thought you weren’t…You said you weren’t—”

“I’m not. Not right now. He ended things, because…well, because of this . But we had plans. We talked about running for office side by side, about maybe even getting married one day, but I can’t do that. I can’t do any of that if I’m still married to you.”

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“That’s why you want the divorce?” he says. “So you can marry him?”

“I want to at least have the option. I want to at least have a choice .”

The disbelieving sound that escapes his mouth cuts like a dagger. “Tell me this, has he met your family? Do your parents like him? Is he everything they wanted for you?”

“Yes, but why…” I shake my head, confused by the abrupt change in topic. “What are you—”

He stares at me, the fire in his gaze slowly dying. “It doesn’t matter.”

My temper flares. He’s still shutting me out, still refusing to let me in. “Clearly it does. Talk to me!”

“You never let me meet your family!” The words explode from his chest. All at once. And then there’s silence. All I hear is a ringing in my ears, the aftereffect of the grenade he just let loose.

“We…we both agreed,” I stammer. “We both agreed that it would be best to wait. That we would wait awhile before breaking the news to them.”

“How long, Meena? We’d been married for a year . How long were you going to wait?”

“I…I don’t—”

He raises a hand. “I understood it at first. After Vegas. With the way it happened and with everything with your sister. I understood why you would have been a little worried about telling them, but…” He shakes his head. “You were never going to tell them.”

“That’s not true,” I say, but I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. Nikhil hadn’t brought up meeting my family during the first holiday we’d spent together. Or the second. But as we neared the six-month mark, he’d casually asked if we should invite my parents for dinner. Or even just my sister. I’d refused, panicking, and saying this wasn’t the right time. My second attempt at the bar exam was only weeks away. We’d do it later. After that.

He’d retreated. Hiding out in the garage, working on something or other. I’d hurt him, but his response had hurt me too. We’d fought the next few days. Over little things, neither of us bringing up the topic of my family again. But we tiptoed around it, our anger building to an all-time high on our six-month anniversary. The anniversary where I gave him the cologne he inexplicably still wears now. But I’d told myself that the tension between us was only temporary.That things would be fine once the bar exam was over. Once I passed.

Once I was able to prove that I hadn’t failed, that I was back on track, I’d be able to introduce him to my parents. I’d worked so hard to make sure they never worried about me. I’d followed every rule. I’d achieved every milestone. I’d made plans and backup plans to make sure things turned out the right way. And then it had all gone awry.

But once I passed, I’d be able to show them that I hadn’t made a mistake. That the choice I’d made hadn’t completely destroyed my plans. That even though I’d gone off course, everything had turned out fine.

“I would have told them,” I insist. “I was just waiting for the bar to be over. To find out if I passed before—”

“Really? Even now…have you ever mentioned me to them? Have you ever told them the truth? Have you ever talked about any of it? To your parents, or your sister, or Ritu?”

I recoil at the thought. I’ve never brought it up to them. I’ve never wanted them to find out that I’d failed the bar, that I’d failed atmarriage. I’d wanted to leave all of that in the past, where it belongs.

“And I don’t remember you telling them anything after you got your results back. I don’t remember us making plans for us to go up there together. For me to finally meet them,” he continues.

I swallow, my mouth dry as sandpaper, because he’s right. I hadn’t.

“We were…There was so much we needed to figure out then. We hadn’t even talked about where we were going to live and what it meant for my job, for yours, and then when we did…”

Nikhil’s expression darkens. No doubt he’s remembering the same night I am. The last words we spoke to each other. The final fight, which tore us apart.

“But if we’d worked out,” I say, holding his gaze, hoping to break him from those memories and anchor him to the present. “If we’d worked out, I would have told them, Nikhil. I would have.”

He scoffs, and the sound is cutting, a crisp edge of a page slicing against my skin. “Let’s be honest, Meena. After all this time, let’s be honest with each other. You were halfway out the door at that point. You didn’t want me to meet them. You didn’t want them to know about me. And I know why. I’m not a lawyer or a doctor. I’m not the kind of person your parents would have wanted for you. I didn’t finish college. I just work in construction, and you didn’t want them to know that. You didn’t want them to know you’d married someone like me.”

The pain in his voice pierces through me. “That’s not true. That’s not why—”

“ Please . You made it clear I wasn’t good enough for you, and I’m not arguing. I wasn’t.”

“No. Nikhil—” I stop, a lump in my throat forming. “I was the failure. Not you. I would have been so proud to introduce you to myfamily. Really, I would have. But I couldn’t face them like that. I was falling apart. I was barely making it through. I needed to pass first. I needed to show them that I hadn’t messed up. That I hadn’t made a mistake—”

“That I wasn’t a mistake,” he says flatly.

“No, you’re not listening to me. I—”

“You don’t have to do this. It’s fine. I’ve accepted it.” He shrugs. “You can say that you were going to do it after you passed, but really, why would you have introduced them to your backup plan? Once you passed, once Plan A was in reach, you left. You went back to the life you were always supposed to have. The one you always were supposed to live.”

“You weren’t Plan B, Nikhil. You were never Plan B. You weren’t even part of the plan.”

He laughs roughly. “Great.”

“No. I’m saying…I never planned for you because I couldn’t have. I could never have imagined…I could never have…” I take a deep breath. “You were better than anything I could have possibly planned.”

He stares at me, and then he’s moving, erasing the space he’d created between us. His eyes burn hot, the specks of gold brighter than I’ve ever seen them, and I can’t tear my gaze away. I’m locked in, and the force at which we meet almost hurts. It’s a clash. His lips against mine, his arm around my waist, his hand cradling the back of my head. The stubble on his cheek burns against my skin, but it’s far from unpleasant. I want more of it. I want to feel it everywhere.

I pull him closer, clutching at the collar of his shirt, and he responds in kind, his hands sliding down my lower back, pulling me taut against him. This isn’t a simple kiss. This is possession. Claiming. This is each of us screaming, You’re mine, you belong to me . The truth of it thrums through my bones. Through my blood. We’ve always belonged to each other. Always. Before we exchanged those vows and every day since.

I press my teeth down, gently pulling on his bottom lip, and he moans in response. The sound sets me on fire. I want to hear him make it again. Over and over again. I capture his lip, fully intending to repeat my actions, but before I can my back meets the hard surface of a wall. Nikhil lifts me slightly, and my legs automatically wrap around his waist.

“Yes,” he murmurs, his lips traveling down the curve of my neck. “Just like that.”

I let my head fall back, enjoying his attentions, but I’m not patient for long. He’s too far away and I need him closer. I cup my hands around his face, bringing him back to me. Bringing his mouth back to mine.

After a long while, our pace slows, the initial frenzy fading into something else. Something slow and soft. Something I’m scared to examine too closely. Something I felt last night.

These last couple days have been stressful and chaotic and wild, but somehow, in these moments, there’s been an underlying sense of peace. It’s a kind of calm I haven’t experienced in six years. I’d forgotten how it feels and now that I have it back, I don’t know how I’ve gone this long without it. Being around Nikhil somehow makes everything better. It always has. He’s the quiet center in the midst of chaos. My eye of the storm.

His thumb slides against my cheek, so slowly. So tenderly. I don’t realize he’s wiping away a tear until another one escapes my eye.

“Meena,” he says softly, the sound barely a whisper. His lips brush my cheekbone, kissing another tear away.

I reach for him, and slide my mouth against his, tasting the salt of my own tears. I ignore it, and press closer. I tighten my legs around his waist and slide my arms around his neck, but something light and abrasive brushes against my skin. I trace it with the pad of my finger, trying to figure it out. It’s a chain, I think. A very thin one.

I frown, breaking away. Nikhil never wore a necklace. He never seemed into jewelry. But that thought crumbles into dust when Nikhil nips at my jaw. He grabs my hands, interlocking our fingers, then presses his firm, closed lips back against mine. A few seconds pass, and I tilt my head, trying to find another angle, trying to coax his lips open, trying to entangle my tongue with his, but he doesn’t respond in kind. His kisses are feather light, and no matter what I do, he won’t return to our earlier fervor.

He pulls back, confusion and passion warring for a moment, and then his face shutters. He looks down at our hands, at our fingers still intertwined.

“You’re not wearing a ring,” he says. And for a second, I think he’s talking about my wedding ring. Not the one we’d gotten in Vegas, but the one Nikhil had surprised me with a month later. He’d bought two. A matching set of gold bands. He’d said he was saving up for a diamond, and that he’d get one for me soon. That he’d do a real proposal one day when I least expected it, but that we could at least wear these bands for now.

I’d taken mine off, leaving it on the kitchen table before leaving for good. Is it possible he never found it? Maybe it got knocked off and sucked up by the vacuum cleaner. Or maybe it rolled under the couch or into a shadowy corner of the room. I wonder where his is. I haven’t seen him wearing it. I don’t even know if he still has it. But when he continues staring at my left hand, I realize what he’s really asking.

“It’s not like that,” I say. “Shake and I— It’s just something we used to talk about, but I don’t know…I mean, he says he wants to get back together, but—”

Nikhil releases me, and I disentangle my legs from his body. He steps away, his breaths harsh and quick.

“We can’t do this,” he says quietly. “ I can’t.”

I open my mouth, desperate for words that will convince him that we can have this. That we need this one final goodbye before we’re torn apart for good.

“Nikhil—” I try.

“You’re leaving.” His words are final, but still a little tentative, as if he’s testing them out, as if he’s hoping I might correct him.

But I can’t. I can’t stay here. I have to go back.

“I am,” I say.

Nikhil’s carefully blank expression fades, something desperate and harsh breaking through, but he reels it back in an instant.

We watch each other for a long moment, and then he shakes his head, turning and leaving me alone.