15. Sarina
fifteen
sarina
Swimming in Complicated
“W hy does my daal never turn out as good when I make it?” Nisha complains, perched on one of Dad’s barstools, pouring a spoonful of daal , her lentil soup, on her rice. “I swear, I follow your recipe exactly.”
“I was just going to say the same thing!” Piper chimes in, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Since you guys already know I don’t cook, Dev followed this exact recipe a couple of weeks ago and it also didn’t turn out this good.”
Dad beams at Piper with the same paternal affection he shows Nisha and me—no surprise, given he’s known her since high school. Now, since her marriage to Dev and the final fallout with her biological father, Dad and Dev’s father are the only ones who wear that title in her life.
“It’s because the secret ingredient is love, darling.” Dad waves his hand over the counter, as if he’s revealing the simplest trick in the book. “That, and double the amount of garlic. Which, contrary to popular belief, is exactly what vampires crave.” He runs a hand down his boyfriend Emanuel’s beefy bicep, looking at him with hearts in his eyes. “Right, honey?”
Dad’s in true form in his kitchen, wearing another Hawaiian shirt that he’s paired with his shark-tooth necklace, pink shorts, and magenta house slippers, and overfeeding us all. His precious dog-daughter, Sapphire, dressed in a matching Hawaiian dress and a small pink bow on her head, prances around our feet, hoping a morsel will accidentally fall off our plates. All kidding aside, his dog eats better than most people I know. The little diva proves this point by turning her nose up in the air when I offer her a piece of my naan.
“Suraj, sweetheart,” Emanuel croons in that high-pitched voice that still throws me off, given the man is a hulking six-foot-five and weighs about as much as the granite island we’re sitting around. He pulls Dad into him. “Why would I crave garlic when I’ve got the tastiest dish right here . . . if you catch my drift.”
“Pretty sure we all catch your drift,” Piper quips, scooping some chicken tikka masala up with her naan and popping it into her mouth.
My girlfriends and I moved our bi-weekly girls’ night to Dad’s house tonight after he insisted on hosting. Usually, it’s Nisha or me testing out new recipes while Piper brings the booze, and we sit around in one of our living rooms catching up. But tonight, Dad and Emanuel had news to share.
They’ve been dating for almost a year—Dad’s longest serious relationship since Mom. They met at a bonsai tree trimming workshop.
Yes, that’s a real thing. Yes, people pay money to make tiny trees even tinier. And yes, my dad and Emanuel are those people.
The evidence of their shared obsession is sprinkled throughout Dad’s house, on every windowsill, shelf, and table, each with its very own dramatic origin story. Don’t even get him started on the juniper bonsai he “rescued” from Home Depot after seeing how “mistreated” it was. It’s entire journey to Dad’s backyard is so harrowing in fact, Dad’s usually dabbing his eyes by the end of it.
Emanuel, despite being a decade younger and spending most of his time at the gym as a personal trainer—seriously, the dude could bench press a small car—has a sweet and gentle disposition. And from everything I’ve seen, he wholeheartedly adores my dad. So, short of them telling us they eloped, I doubt I’ll be surprised by any step they’re planning on taking next.
“For the love of God,” I groan. “Can you two go five minutes without your innuendos?”
“Seriously,” Nisha piles on, though we’re both suppressing similar smiles, because nothing makes us happier than seeing our sweet dad happy. “We have children present.”
“Oh please, darling,” Dad says, waving off her concern as if it were a fly before looking over Rome’s shoulder next to him. “Don’t be such a prude. It’s not like our astronaut even heard a word of our conversation. He’s completely lost in his book.”
And as if the universe decides right then to prove Dad wrong, my son looks up from his book, catching my eyes. “Mommy? What’s a nin-you-tendo?”
Dad clears his throat and Emanuel giggles, almost an octave higher than his regular voice, while I give Dad a withering “you were saying?” look.
“It’s just a silly grown up word for—” I start, but Rome’s already lost interest, pointing to something in his book.
“Grandpa! Did you know Mars has blue sunsets? Isn’t that so cool?”
Dad exchanges a relieved look with me before feigning overenthusiasm for Rome’s new discovery. “Wow! That’s cool, sweetie.”
“Well . . .” Nisha looks at Dad and Emanuel a few moments later. “What’s the big news?”
“Oh!” Dad claps his hands, his bangles jingling. “I asked Emanuel to move in with me, and he said yes!”
“That’s great!” Piper beams at both of them. “I’m so happy for you guys!”
“It was about time, too!” I add with the same enthusiasm. “I mean, Emanuel already practically lives here. You even converted your study into a meditation room for him.”
Emanuel squeezes my dad, sharing an affectionate look before Dad turns a raised brow in my direction. “Some of us just like to take things slow. You should know, given the snail’s pace you’ve been taking things with a certain gorgeous baseball pitch?—”
“Dad,” I interrupt before he can finish, flicking a glance at my son, who’s thankfully still absorbed in his book. “Not now.”
Emanuel’s eyes light up, getting my hint. He speaks in his high-pitched voice when he looks over at Rome. “Hey, bud! I found this show that talks about Neptune’s moons. Want to watch it with me in the living room?”
Rome’s head snaps up, his eyes shimmering under his space-themed glasses. “You mean about Triton, Proteus, and Nereid?”
“Uh . . .” The look on Emanuel’s face is comical bewilderment. “Sure!”
“Well, let’s go, then!” Rome hops off his barstool, heading to the living room with Emanuel.
“Not so fast, mister!” I yell after my son. “Dishes in the sink, please.”
Rome gives me an apologetic smile before doing what I’ve asked.
He’s just about to escape when Nisha calls after him. Having moved her plate aside, she’s got her knitting needles in front of her and is working on what I assume is another beanie or scarf. Practically everyone in her life has one of her creations that they use regularly over the winter. And though I’ve watched her knit for years, the contradiction of her holding her needles with her tough and tattooed exterior never ceases to bring a smile to my face.
Another thing that often brings a smile to my face? Her strange fear of balloons. Mom and Dad learned early on to never have balloons at our parties, and while I’ve seen her try to act tough in the face of her helium-filled nemesis, I know she’s freaking out inside.
Like I said, a ball of contradictions.
“Come, give me a hug,” she says to my son.
My son grunts dramatically, acting as if it’s a chore to walk back and give his aunt a hug, but I see the hidden affection he has for her. She’s always been a second mom to him.
Once again, he’s about to make a break for the living room when Piper stops him. “Hey! What am I? Chopped liver? I need a hug, too!”
“And me!” Dad chimes in.
“And Mommy,” I add with a grin.
“This is going to take forever!” Rome whines, wrapping his arms around Piper, giggling when she tickles him.
“And don’t forget Sapphire,” Dad says when Rome makes his way around the island to come squeeze us. “She gets her feelings hurt when she’s excluded from family moments. She’s emotionally complex that way.”
“Dad, she’s literally chasing her tail right now.” I side-eye said ball of “emotionally complex” fur.
“It’s a coping mechanism, darling.” Dad’s frown deepens before he picks up his precious dog and kisses her head. “Have some empathy!”
Nisha, Piper, and I share a quick look, suppressing our giggles.
Rome hugs his “dog-aunt”. “Can I go now? Please?”
I plant a kiss on the top of his head. “Fine. Go.”
As soon as he’s settled on the couch, immersed in the show with Emanuel, three heads turn in my direction like predators ready to corner their prey.
Putting Sapphire back down on the floor, Dad places his hand under his chin. “Now, darling, tell me more about this yacht date you went on.”
I roll my eyes. He’s clearly spoken to my twin. “It wasn’t a date, Dad. Troy and I are?—”
“If you say friends one more time—” Piper cuts me off, snatching the wine bottle by its neck as if she’s pretending it's mine. “The way you two eye-fuck each other in public should be illegal.”
“Oh, I saw that!” Dad affirms, nodding at Piper. “That day when I came to the salon, they looked like they were ready to tear their clothes off right there. He has her dickmatized!”
My mouth falls to the floor. “ Dad! ”
“What?” He shrugs, unperturbed. “Unless my grandson was the result of immaculate conception, darling, I think we can all agree certain activities occur. I know neither of my daughters are virginal. Besides, I already know about your activities from the night you shared in Colorado.”
I run a hand down my face, groaning.
Nisha wrinkles her nose. “Dad, you’re not dragging us into another conversation about our sex-lives.”
“Or lack thereof.” Piper takes a healthy sip of her wine. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the local convent decided to send you both recruitment letters.”
“Hey!” Nisha’s hands fly up. “Why am I being pulled into this? I thought we agreed to give Sarina a hard time tonight.”
“What?” I scoff, but am cut off by Dad pointing his spoon at my sister.
“Oh, we’re definitely going to talk about you soon, my dear. You might slip by tonight, but I intend to get to the bottom of your situation with your ex-husband soon enough.”
Nisha winces, gulping down her wine and likely wishing she could disappear.
My sister and her ex-husband have been divorced for years but it’s no longer a surprise to anyone close to her that she never really got over him. We’ve all caught her stalking his profiles, watching his movie trailers on repeat, and crying herself to sleep as she scrolled through their old pictures on her phone. There’s no denying she still loves and pines for him, but she’s also the most stubborn person I know. In fact, I think she’s still pissed at me for getting a stain on her favorite dress in the eighth grade.
“I don’t have a situation with him. Anyway,” Nisha says pointedly, clearly trying to redirect the conversation off her. “Can we please go back to talking about Sarina and her hot and heavy yacht story?”
“There is no hot and heavy yacht story,” I counter when all three of them chuckle like Nisha’s made the funniest joke. “We had breakfast on his yacht and got to know each other a bit. That was all.”
I don’t mention that I ogled his ass every time he got up, felt short of oxygen when our eyes met, and almost purred when he pulled me close to him on the couch. That’s not something the vultures around this counter need to know because that’s neither here nor there.
“Got to know each other?” Piper snorts into her wine glass. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”
“I meant that we just talked. About our kids and our pasts . . .”
Piper sets her glass on the table and looks through it like she’s watching a memory play out. “Take it from me, don’t live in the past like I did for so long. It took me too long to realize how badly my past was holding me back. How I kept reliving my pain and resentment because that’s where I was comfortable. Like a scab I wasn’t allowing to heal. In the end, it kept me away from fully seeing Dev, from fully recognizing that he wasn’t my past, but my present, my future.”
“I’m not living in the past,” I protest. “I’m just trying not to make the same mistakes again.”
“Troy isn’t Jamie.” Nisha places her tattooed forearm on the counter, turning to look at me. “Yes, he’s an athlete and everyone here knows your feelings about them, but you can’t paint them all with the same brush.”
I wrap my arms around my chest, not willing to budge on my opinion. Yeah, so maybe my sister and I have the whole stubborn thing in common. “Do you not remember Travis? The guy I dated in college. Remember how he tried to mold me into a trophy girlfriend?”
Piper scoffs but doesn’t argue.
“And remember how I had a new client from the 49ers today?” I ask, glancing from Piper to my sister. “He was married. Not only did he have a ring on his finger, but I heard him speak to his wife on the phone, telling her he’d be home to tuck their daughter into bed. Not five minutes into me massaging his shoulders after his haircut, he grabbed my hand and asked if I’d want to go out with him sometime.”
Nisha gasps. “What a scumbag!”
“Sweetie.” Dad brings my attention to him. “Are you trying to insinuate that Troy is anything like this creep?”
“No,” I blurt quickly, surprising myself with how defensive I feel of Troy. After all, hadn’t I just recounted the story to prove all athletes were the same? But somewhere deep down, I already knew I was grasping at straws. “I know he’s not like that. The way he is with his daughter, the way he boosts Rome’s confidence instead of bringing him down . . .” I think about how Troy’s face lights up any time he talks about either of our kids. “He’s nothing like that. But I also don’t know him well, and?—”
“Then get to know him,” Nisha interrupts, not giving me a chance to change my mind about him.
I take a long breath, already regretting what I’m about to tell them. “He invited me and Rome to go camping with him and Pearl in a couple of weeks, over the weekend.”
Three pairs of eyes become larger than the dinner plates in front of us.
“I’m sorry, what?” Piper’s wine sloshes dangerously. “As in, playing house in the middle of the woods?”
I need to take another long inhale because the woman will stop at nothing to connect dots that aren’t there.
“It’s not like that. Rome has never been before. He’s asked Jamie at least twenty times, but apparently roughing it in the woods is too ‘primitive’ for him.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it seeps through, anyway.
Nisha bristles at the mention of yet another thing my ex-husband has disappointed me and my son with. “The douchebag probably wouldn’t know how to pitch a tent or make a fire even if he was given step-by-step instructions?—”
“He’d mistake a squirrel for a bear and book it to the nearest Four Seasons,” Piper cuts in, matching Nisha’s irritation.
“Which is why I said yes. For Rome.”
“Just like you checked up on him when he was recovering? For Rome?” Dad tries to hide his smile behind his ringed fingers. “And not at all for the chance to spend a weekend with Troy under the stars?”
“Preferably horizontally,” Piper adds with a smirk and waggling brows.
“Piper!” My cheeks heat while my dad and Nisha giggle like schoolgirls.
“What?” Piper shrugs. “Not like you’ve never been horizontal with him before. Anyway, you can be friends with someone and still bang. Remember how it was with me and the Oscar Mayer twins before I met Dev?” She winks. “We were really friendly with each other at times.”
I shake my head, trying to force away the vision of Troy hovering over me, his warm breath fanning my face. “That . . . that can’t happen with me and Troy.”
“Sure it can. You just have to stop overthinking it. Hell, just stop thinking, period.”
My stomach flips around at the absurdity of the idea. “And then what? What happens when Troy goes back to the MLB? I just go back to my previously scheduled life? Because let’s be clear, I’m never going back to the other life again—the cameras, the gossip columns, none of it.”
Something flickers across Piper’s face, but before I can read it, she shrugs casually. “Then just have fun while it lasts. No strings attached and no hearts involved. Just two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company until he goes back to the league.”
“And what about our kids? I wouldn’t be able to stop them from getting their hearts involved if they saw us together all the time.”
“Oh, absolutely. If you were to do this?—”
“Which I’m not going to.”
“Of course. But if you were , the kids should never find out. Even I know that’s bad parenting.”
I chew on my bottom lip. It’s not like I’m even considering the idea, but I can’t say it doesn’t intrigue me.
Wait, no it doesn’t.
“I don’t know. I think that’s a sure-fire way to make things complicated. And complicated is the last thing I need.”
“Oh, honey.” Dad laughs, his eyes dancing with both amusement and something that looks a lot like . . . pity. “You’re already swimming in complicated .”