Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“H ow was your weekend, Kelley?” asked Arjun, striding into the brightly colored offices of Pay Systems, Incorporated.
“Same old, same old,” his assistant replied, her beach-ball belly looking like it might burst at any moment. She bounced up and down on the exercise ball Arjun had bought for her, which he’d read would help relieve back pain during pregnancy. “Cramps, mostly. I had a really strong craving for steak, too, which is strange because I’m a vegetarian. Do you think that’s weird?”
He thought about it for a moment. “I have no idea,” he decided. “So, did you get your steak?”
She grinned wolfishly. “Extra bloody.”
He laughed. “Now, that’s weird.”
Kelley’s desk was right outside Arjun’s corner office: a glass cubicle overlooking California Street, with a view of the Ferry Building in the distance. She swung herself off of the ball and waddled in after him. “So, what’s on the docket today?” Arjun asked, sitting.
Kelley swiped her phone a few times. “I just emailed you your itinerary,” she said. “You have a meeting with Mark Thayer from Regulon at four. Other than that, you’re pretty much free, although Jason in HR has some forms for you to fill out.”
“I have them right here,” said Arjun, reaching into his desk drawer for the manila folder that Jason had dropped off on Friday evening.
Kelley grimaced and clutched at her spine. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home, Kelley?” he asked, rising as though he might need to catch her if she fell. “Honestly, if you need to rest?—”
“I’m fine,” she replied, waving her hand. She winced suddenly. “Okay, maybe I’m not totally fine. Distract me. Tell me how your date was with Allison. Did you two hit it off?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I had to cancel, actually,” he lied. “My friends threw me a surprise party, so I couldn’t go.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A surprise party? What for?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I turned thirty this weekend.”
“ Thirty? ” she exclaimed, as though Arjun had announced instead that he’d spontaneously grown a tail. “Happy belated birthday! God, Arjun, I’m so sorry I forgot!”
“Really, it’s no trouble,” he said. “I try not to make a fuss about my birthday, anyway.”
“Well, maybe any other birthday,” she replied. “But thirty is the exception, isn’t it? That’s a big milestone. Huge.”
“If you say so,” he said, thinking briefly of his conversation with his mother. It isn’t a big deal , he told himself. Thirty is just a number.
“I’m sure you can reschedule the date,” Kelley said. “I can ask Allison again, if you’d like?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Arjun replied, wanting to terminate the conversation about Allison as quickly as possible. “But thanks, anyway.”
“Of course,” she said, returning to her desk for a well-deserved nap.
While Kelley dozed off outside his office, Arjun opened his laptop and found the bookmarked page he’d been obsessing over for the past month. He sighed, staring longingly at the screen. Is today the day? he wondered, scrolling past pictures of empty storefronts. Am I actually going to do it?
As long as Arjun could remember, he’d wanted his own restaurant. He spent summers in India as a child and remembered going to the market with his grandfather in Hyderabad. The sun would still be rising, but the narrow alleyways were packed with people and produce. Different kinds of colorful vegetables were laid out at dozens of stalls, and vendors stood before each one, calling out to the shoppers. “Do you see this one?” his grandfather had asked, plucking a plump purple brinjal from a pile. “I tell you, beta , I have such designs for this one.” The two of them would return to the house laden with produce and smelling of cardamom and asafetida. Arjun would watch his grandfather tend to a huge pot, and he eagerly awaited the meals that he would churn up.
But that was a long time ago: before Yale, before business school at Stanford, before Arjun took the high-paid startup job, and before the startup got acquired by PSI. He was thirty now—and, like it or not, his life path was narrowing from a six-lane highway to a one-way street. Now, he could hardly contemplate leaving PSI and the lifestyle it offered: stability, status, and prestige.
Still, a man could dream. As Arjun scrolled through the realty website, contemplating the various buildings for sale, his mind wandered back to his conversation with his mother.
Sarita had stayed another day in San Francisco, and Arjun had taken her to the Palace of Fine Arts, where she’d pressed her case even further. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” she had said, craning her neck to stare at the massive, tawny rotunda. It was drizzling outside, and their raincoats made drip mark trails on the plaza, like monocolored Jackson Pollock paintings.
“I find that hard to believe,” Arjun replied. “I mean, you literally flew out to San Francisco unannounced, and you ambushed me at my birthday party. That doesn’t seem like something you’d do if you weren’t trying to pressure me.”
“Well, maybe some pressure is what you need,” Sarita retorted, dropping the pretense. “I mean, to be thirty years old and unmarried! And living in San Francisco, of all places.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Arjun asked, crossing his arms.
“Nothing,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “It’s just that…people are starting to talk.”
“What people?”
His mother fixed him with one of those telepathic glances, and all of a sudden, Arjun knew exactly who’d been wondering about his marriage prospects. “It doesn’t matter,” he sighed. “There are bigger things in life than the Indian Mafia of Des Moines. I mean, doesn’t it ever get old? Gabbing with those nosy women like fishwives. First, it was high school gossip, but I’m thirty now. I really don’t care what they think about me.”
“How nice for you,” Sarita snapped. “But it’s not them I’m concerned about. It’s you. I mean, can’t you picture it? A nice Indian wife: beautiful, well-educated? And children! Oh, when you have children, I promise I’ll move into your apartment and raise them for you.”
The notion of his mother joining him in his apartment was almost enough to turn Arjun off from the idea of ever having kids. “I’m just too focused on my career right now,” he said instead, aware of how lame and false those words sounded as they rolled off his tongue.
“Ah, yes: your career,” said Sarita, smiling sarcastically. “Always, your career. When you’re on your deathbed, will you have your ‘career’ to comfort you?”
Arjun chuckled. “I think my deathbed is a way off.”
“ My deathbed, then,” she replied, exasperated. “Think of how much more easily I’d pass on with a perfect little grandbaby by my side!”
Arjun could only shake his head. “Whatever you say, Mom.”
Still, her words had hit the mark. Arjun did want all of those things Sarita was telling him about: a wife and children, a house full of laughter, and the sound of little footsteps running across the floors. But, no matter how badly he wished for this future, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t —wrap his mind around an arranged marriage. He was steeped in a lifetime of watching Nora Ephron films and chasing his own rom-com-worthy quest for true love. And true love was always serendipitous, not something you ordered like picking out a vacuum cleaner on Amazon. Having his mother find him a wife would be like surrendering, admitting that he was too broken to find true love on his own.
Arjun had driven Sarita to SoMa, where they had dinner at an Indian restaurant that she deemed “subpar.” After extracting a promise that she’d call before her next visit, Arjun dropped his mother off at SFO.
Arjun alternated between the realty site and actual work until noon. When he grew hungry, he got lunch at the deli across the street, bringing back a pastrami sandwich for Kelley and setting it on her desk (where she was still sitting, sound asleep).
To Arjun’s surprise, he found his boss, Adam D’Antonio, lounging behind his desk. “Arjun, my boy,” Adam beamed, flashing his impossibly perfect teeth. “Did you enjoy the weekend?”
“It was all right,” he replied. “My mother dropped by for a visit.” He set his salad on his desk and sat down opposite Adam. “What about yours?”
“It was excellent! My kid was the fiddler in Fiddler on the Roof . I’d never seen it before; did you know the fiddler isn’t the lead? It’s some old man named Tevye.” Adam let out a booming laugh that seemed to shake the office. He’d played outside linebacker at Stanford, and the years had not diminished his hulking frame in the slightest. Silhouetted against the window, he towered over Arjun like a mountain.
“So, what can I do for you, Adam?” Arjun asked. His boss usually stopped by to chat about the 49ers or, on occasion, actual work. “Are you here to prep me for my meeting with the Regulon folks? I put together a deck you can look at, if you’d like.”
“Actually, I had your assistant punt that meeting to Wednesday,” Adam replied. “I need you on something else today.” He paused, seemingly for effect. “It’s Pacific Bank. They’re coming in this evening to discuss their mobile strategy for the new year. I’m going to need you to take that meeting.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow. “Pacific Bank? That’s one of our biggest accounts—that’s your account. Wouldn’t they want to meet with the CFO?”
“Ordinarily, yes,” his boss admitted. “But I have to fly out to Seattle today. Our largest account, Crimson Financial, is considering walking away from us altogether, so I have to go personally. And, unfortunately, the Pacific Bank folks are flying in from LA and can’t reschedule.”
“Adam…are you sure about this?” Arjun asked. “I’ve pitched strategies to clients, sure, but never anyone this big. Aren’t you worried that I could…I don’t know, mess everything up for the company?”
Adam grinned. “Arjun, I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t know you could do it. You’re not the youngest Vice President in PSI history for nothing, huh?”
Adam stood and sidled past Arjun, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “You’ll do great!” he called over his shoulder as he sauntered down the hallway.
The presentation was scheduled for five o’clock, so Arjun didn’t have much time to prepare. Adam had sent over a new slide deck, and Arjun reviewed it with Kelley in one of the conference rooms. “As you know,” he said, “PSI offers state-of-the-art software infrastructure for financial institutions just like yours. I’m here to tell you about our newest product, Transfer Tech. It allows customers to transfer money between their accounts and automatically pay bills easily. Our closest competitor, Altura, charges twice as much as we do, with customer success scores that are forty percent lower than ours. Your clients deserve the best in banking technology—let the remarkable team at PSI lead the way.”
Kelley yawned.
“What’s wrong?” Arjun asked, his heart sinking. “I don’t have Adam’s charisma, do I?”
She laughed. “It’s not you. It’s the presentation. Is there any way to…I don’t know, jazz it up a little?”
He sighed and glanced at the presentation being projected onto the conference room wall. Was there a way to make financial presentations more entertaining? “I mean, I guess I could change the font,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would that be helpful?”
“It might be,” she replied, thoughtfully stroking her chin. She and Arjun spent the next forty minutes debating the merits of serif and sans serif fonts, deciding between Avenir and Century before finally landing on Futura.
“Who are we kidding?” groaned Arjun, sinking back into a chair. “This is the most boring pitch in history. I’ll be lucky to keep the account, let alone expand it. I don’t know what Adam was thinking. I’m a manager, not a salesman.”
Kelley shrugged. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe you really aren’t cut out for this. Or maybe you’re just acting like a scared little boy.”
He sat up. “That’s one hell of a pep talk.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a pep talk,” she replied. “Look, Arjun: Adam asked you to do this for a reason. All of the assistants have a group chat, and do you know what we talk about? First, how hot your new beard looks—but mostly about how the other VPs here can’t do anything! You’re the most competent person at this whole company. I believe in you.”
Arjun realized that he’d been holding his breath, and exhaled deeply. He felt his anxiety subside, like a wave receding from the shore. “Thanks, Kelley,” he said. He glanced at the clock; it was 4:15. “I think I’ll go grab a coffee before the meeting. Do you want anything? Maybe some herbal tea?”
“No tea for me,” Kelley replied, laying her hands over her stomach. “But I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate chip scone. Or a dozen.”
He smiled. “Of course, Kelley.” He walked to the door and turned around. “Do the other assistants really think I’m hot?”
She pointed out the doorway. “Focus, Arjun. Scones!”
There was a coffee shop across the street from the PSI offices, one of those local gems that had somehow held on during the city’s rapid Starbucks-ification. Delicious scents drifted through the shop: cinnamon and cloves, mocha and vanilla, and the pastries baking in the massive oven behind the counter. A Smiths song played softly from speakers hidden in the alcoves. And, because this was San Francisco, the coffee shop also doubled as an art gallery: colorful paintings hung on the walls, all available for purchase.
Arjun approached the register. “There he is!” the cashier called when he saw him approaching. “You here for your daily caffeine fix?”
Arjun smiled. “You know me too well, Ron. How’s business today?”
“Can’t complain,” Ron replied earnestly. “Let me guess: you want your usual?” He made a face and imitated a town crier unfurling a scroll, “Iced coffee with exactly two splashes of oat milk and one packet of Splenda!”
Arjun laughed. “That’s it,” he said. “Oh, and a chocolate chip scone, too. I’m mixing it up today.” Arjun leaned over the glass display case, considering the selection. “Actually, I’ll take the lot.”
“Watching your figure, I see,” Ron said jokingly, sweeping the remaining scones into a white paper bag before making Arjun’s coffee. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he asked, handing Arjun his drink.
“What is it?”
“You know that Vee-nee guy? Indian fellow, works in your building?”
Arjun nodded. “You mean Vinay? Yeah, he’s actually another one of the Vice Presidents at PSI. What about him?”
“How’s he doing? He usually stops by the shop two or three times a day, but I haven’t seen him around for the past few weeks. He hasn’t left the city or anything, has he?”
“As a matter of fact, he has,” said Arjun. “He got married a few weeks ago. He’s on his honeymoon, but he should be getting back any day now.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ron replied, breaking into a wide grin. “That man is single-handedly putting my son through college.”
Arjun laughed. “Have a good one, Ron,” he said, waving goodbye. He turned toward the door and stepped outside. It was still a bit chilly, and he hurried across the street.
A voice called out behind him. “Hey! Hey, you!”
Arjun kept moving. Having lived in San Francisco for six years, he knew it was best to ignore the homeless people who yelled at you on the street.
“Hey!” the voice called again. “Yeah, you in the blue micro puff!”
Arjun turned around, one hand on the door to his building. The woman who was yelling at him was definitely not homeless. She had dark, wavy hair that fell just past her shoulders, beneath which Arjun could discern the glint of two star-shaped earrings. Her nose was prominent and angular, and there was a small gold ring in her right nostril. The most noteworthy thing about her was her eyes: bright, piercing, and green as summer grass. Arjun had seen many Indian women, but never one with eyes like that. He felt his heart flutter as though it had been jolted by an electric paddle.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked, finding his voice.
“Yeah, you can,” she said, folding her arms. There was a deep scowl etched onto her face. “Care to explain why you took all of the chocolate chip scones?”
Arjun glanced down at the paper bag in his hand. “…I wanted them.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?”
“They’re not for me ,” he protested. “They’re for my assistant. She’s pregnant,” he added, hoping this would convince this strange (and strangely beautiful) woman to leave him alone.
“Well, there are at least ten scones in that bag,” she said. “Your assistant can’t possibly eat them all.”
Arjun shrugged. “I mean, maybe not. But what’s the big deal, anyway? It’s not like I bought all the scones in the store. There’s still cinnamon maple, peach pecan, triple chocolate, vanilla matcha—oh, and cheddar, too. You’re more than welcome to any of those.”
The woman scoffed. “How magnanimous,” she said sarcastically.
“Look, I don’t know what you want me to do here,” Arjun said. “I bought the scones, fair and square. If you don’t like it…well, get there earlier next time.”
He swiped his key card and pushed the door open. “It was nice meeting you,” he said, his voice dripping with irony.
“Screw you!” the woman shot back.
She shook her head and stormed across the street again.