Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
O kay, so maybe Arjun didn’t hate Nisha Nandan after all.
They’d sat on the bench until San Francisco’s midday cold settled over the park. “I think I’m going to head home,” Nisha said. “I don’t know about going back to the office today.”
Arjun nodded. “Okay. Can I walk you back?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
Arjun stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nisha,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. He started his descent.
“Wait!” she called, her voice carrying over the wind.
He turned around to see her striding towards him. “What is it?”
“I just want to say…thanks for…just thanks.” Nisha stepped tentatively towards him, her arms slightly outstretched. Arjun embraced her and felt the softness of her hair against his cheek.
They pulled apart.
Back at home that evening, Arjun found that Nisha still lingered in his thoughts. When he closed his eyes, he saw her face: her eyes, her nose, the curve of her lips. He bought a copy of The Age of Innocence at the bookstore near his house, and as he read, it was Nisha’s voice in his head.
Arjun stayed up late reading. When he woke up, there was a new feeling in his chest: was he really looking forward to seeing Nisha again?
Apparently, the feeling was mutual. He arrived at the basement office to find a chocolate chip scone on the desk. “It’s a peace offering,” Nisha explained.
Arjun took a bite of the scone, still warm and crumbly. “Offering accepted,” he said, his mouth full of chocolate.
They had lunch together that day, and every day after. On Wednesday, they ate at a Thai food truck parked outside Salesforce Tower, and they took the long way back to the office, down Mission Street. “Have you been here before?” Arjun asked, gesturing to one of the glass storefronts as they passed.
“Anthony’s Book Company?” asked Nisha, peering inside. “I have, actually. This was one of the places that hosted me for a reading during my book tour.”
Arjun smiled. “Well, we have to go inside, then.” He bounded over to the door and held it open for Nisha. “Let’s see if we can find your book.”
The store contained three stories, with a bright-blue staircase near the back. Bookshelves lined the walls, with freestanding displays interspersed in between. Arjun had always loved bookstores; walking into one always made him feel a bit awestruck, the weight of millions of words bearing down on him.
“Where do you think you are?” Arjun asked, bending at the waist to browse one of the bookshelves. “With the other N’s? Or in the romance section?”
“I’m not sure,” Nisha said. “Every place does it differently, you know.”
“Well, The Kiss of Eternity would be hard to miss. It is bright pink, after all.”
She laughed. “Let’s split up, then. You can search through the letters. I’ll head upstairs for the romance section.”
Arjun scanned the N section three times, but he couldn’t find Nisha’s book. He approached the register. “Hi,” he said. “I’m wondering if you have The Kiss of Eternity? The author’s name is Nisha Nandan.”
The clerk, a thin and gray-haired man, nodded. “Let me check,” he said, typing the title on his computer. “It looks like we do have one copy in stock,” he said, sliding past the desk. Arjun followed him across the store to a small section near the back. He saw the sign hanging above the section—and his heart sank. “Here it is,” the clerk said, plucking the sole remaining copy of The Kiss of Eternity from a milk crate and handing it to Arjun.
There was a bright-red sticker taped to the front cover: 50% OFF. Arjun glanced up at the sign again. LAST CHANCE, it said.
He heard footsteps descending the staircase, and he saw Nisha coming downstairs again. Quickly, he hooked his thumbnail under the edge of the sticker; in one swift motion, he peeled it off. He crumpled the sticker into a tight little ball and hid it in his pocket. “Here it is,” Arjun said, showing the book to Nisha.
“Wow,” she said, a grin stretching across her face. “I’ve crossed over to the ‘General Fiction’ section. I have to say: it feels pretty good.”
Arjun laughed. He led Nisha back to the N section and slid The Kiss of Eternity back onto the shelf where it belonged. “We should probably get back to work,” he said, and she nodded.
Stepping back outside, Arjun was glad Nisha hadn’t witnessed his deception. Yes, lying was bad—but he hated to think of her finding her novel in the clearance section, along with outdated calendars, old cookbooks, and other castoffs. Still, he’d failed to realize one thing: the clearance section was visible from the top of the staircase, and Nisha Nandan had seen it all.
When, on Friday, Arjun told Nisha that he was fulfilling his inebriated promise to Dan and Erica and getting a dog, she insisted on coming with him. She showed up at his apartment on Saturday at nine o’clock on the dot, holding two steaming carryout cups of coffee. “This place is huge,” she said, stepping inside and handing him his drink. “Although I find it concerning that the only artwork you have here is a Tintin poster.”
Arjun glanced back at the poster. “You know what that is?”
“Please,” she replied. “Did you know that, in that particular issue, Hergé suggested that there was water under the moon’s surface? We didn’t discover that there actually was water on the moon until the seventies—more than twenty years after publication.”
He smiled. “I didn’t know that.”
“So,” said Nisha, “today’s the day, huh? Are you excited?”
He shrugged, pulling on his jacket. “I’m more worried than excited,” he said. “I’ve never had a dog before.”
“Really? Not even as a kid?”
He shook his head. “My family always talked about it, but we were too busy to ever actually get one. It’s probably for the best, though. We eventually found out that my dad was allergic to dogs. Like, really allergic.”
Nisha grinned. “How does he feel about you getting one now, then?”
Arjun rubbed the back of his neck. “He died when I was a sophomore in college.”
A shadow passed over her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, trying his best to smile reassuringly. “It happened a long time ago.”
The San Francisco SPCA was in the Mission, two miles away from Arjun’s condo. It was a swanky-looking building that would have fit in on the Stanford campus or as the home of one of the venture capital firms on Sandhill Road. There was a wide plaza shaded by swaying palms, and Arjun and Nisha crossed and went inside.
The inside of the building was pristine and white, like a hospital wing built exclusively for wealthy patients. Clinicians shuttled through the hallways in multicolored scrubs; owners queued with their pets in front of the veterinary wing. Arjun threw away his empty coffee cup and approached the front desk. “Hi,” he said. “I’m looking for the pound.”
The volunteer, a young woman in a red SPCA t-shirt, narrowed her eyes. “The ‘pound’?” she repeated venomously. “We don’t have a ‘pound’ here, sir.”
Arjun heard Nisha walk up beside him. “He meant the adoption center ,” she said, shaking her head at him. The volunteer pointed the way, and Arjun followed Nisha down the hall. “Come on, man,” she chided, batting his arm.
They turned a corner and arrived at a set of double doors. Arjun could hear the sounds of dogs just behind: pawing and scraping, barking and whining. He stopped. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “I mean, am I even capable of taking care of a dog?”
Nisha shook her head. “You’re overthinking it.”
“You’ve met me, right?” he replied. “Overthinking things is kind of what I do.”
She laughed. “You want to be married, right? So, I assume you want kids someday?” He nodded. “Well, then,” she said, “think of this as practice. Adorable, furry practice.” She looked expectantly at Arjun. “You ready?”
He took a breath. “Yes.”
Nisha pushed open the doors and led Arjun into the kennel.
There were rows of wire doors along either side of the hallway, so they could see all of the dogs inside as they passed. Arjun felt his heart begin to thaw as he saw each dog: a German shepherd who raised his huge head from his paws as he walked by; a black Labrador who began to bark excitedly; a Shih Tzu that stood up on her rear legs, scratching furiously at the door as though she might break through.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the volunteer manning the kennel, a middle-aged woman dressed in violet scrubs. Arjun gave her the details, and she confirmed his information on her clipboard. “Perfect,” she said. “Arjun Chowdhury, with the two-bedroom on Folsom Street. First-time owner, requesting something non-shedding.” She smiled at Nisha, then back at him. “I’m sorry, Arjun—you didn’t mention you had a partner.”
“We’re just friends,” said Nisha, beating him to it. Arjun felt a weird flutter in his stomach, the same sensation he’d felt when he saw Nisha for the first time. Despite himself, he’d almost liked it when the volunteer assumed that he and Nisha were a couple.
The woman looked at her clipboard. “Well, it’s your lucky day. We just had someone surrender a dog that I think would be perfect for you. You can take her home today, if you’d like.”
Nisha grabbed his arm excitedly. “Can we see her?” Arjun asked. The volunteer led them down the hallway. She opened one of the doors and kneeled, beckoning to the dog inside with a small treat.
The dog stepped out slowly, sniffing the air. She had bright, clear eyes and curly golden fur that reminded Arjun of a teddy bear he’d owned as a child. “This is Daisy,” said the volunteer, clipping a leash onto the dog’s collar as she fed her the treat. “She’s a mix between a cocker spaniel and a poodle. Hypoallergenic, just like you requested.”
“Why did the previous owner surrender her?” he asked, kneeling and letting Daisy lick his hand.
“No behavior issues,” said the volunteer. “He had to move out of the country unexpectedly. As you can see, she’s a very sweet dog. And she’s already housebroken, which is one fewer thing to worry about.”
“You should get her,” Nisha whispered, nuzzling Daisy’s head. The dog’s tail began to wag rapidly, as though she understood Nisha and was in total agreement. “I mean, can you resist this face?”
Arjun grinned, and Daisy leaped up and put her paws on his shoulders. She nuzzled his ear with her nose, and he laughed and scooped her up under his arm. “I’ll take her,” he said.
It turned out not to be so simple. The volunteer brought them into a back room, where she made Arjun fill out at least twenty different forms, scanned his driver’s license, and promised/threatened to send someone to conduct a house visit if he didn’t check in with the shelter in a week. After they finished, Arjun let Nisha pick out a collar and a leash for his new dog, along with a bag of treats and a fluffy pink tennis ball. They thanked the shelter staff and stepped out into the sunshine, with Daisy tugging eagerly at her leash. There was a park nearby, and Arjun unclipped Daisy from her leash and rolled the tennis ball across the grass for her to retrieve.
“So, obviously, we can’t call her ‘Daisy’ anymore,” Nisha said as Arjun took the ball from his new dog’s mouth and tossed it again.
He laughed. “What do you mean, ‘obviously’?”
“Does she look like a ‘Daisy’ to you?” asked Nisha, as though that were an obvious statement to be making. “And, besides,” she said, “‘Daisy’ is such a cookie-cutter name. I know three other dogs named Daisy.”
“You know more than three dogs?”
“Well, I know them from Facebook,” she admitted. “So, what do you think?”
Daisy was walking back with the ball, tail wagging. “Can you even rename a dog?” Arjun asked.
“Sure, you can.” Nisha kneeled and offered a treat to Daisy, who gobbled it up and began licking her face. “What does she look like to you?” She stared into Daisy’s eyes. “Are you a Scout? Rocket? How about…Morticia?”
“I was always more of a Brady Bunch guy,” Arjun said bemusedly.
“Well, you could always help me out, you know.”
“What about Sally?”
A quizzical expression came over Nisha’s face. “Why Sally?”
“Her fur,” Arjun said. “Blonde and curly. It reminds me of Meg Ryan’s hair in When Harry Met Sally . So, you know, Sally.”
Nisha nodded slowly.
“You hate it,” he said.
She smiled. “No, it’s great. Sally it is.”
Arjun clipped the leash onto his newly christened dog, and they continued down the street. “You know, I’ve never actually seen that movie?” said Nisha.
“Which? When Harry Met Sally ?”
She nodded. “That’s the one.”
Arjun stopped in his tracks. “You can’t be serious. You—a bestselling romance author—have never seen When Harry Met Sally ? The greatest romantic comedy of all time?”
“That’s right,” she replied. “I mean, I’ve tried to watch it. But I could never make it past the opening scene. You know, with the old people talking on the couch? They were terrible actors.”
“That’s the point!” Arjun countered. “It’s candid!”
“It’s tacky ,” Nisha corrected.
He shook his head. “Nisha, that is my favorite movie. If we’re going to be friends, you need to see it.”
The corner of Nisha’s mouth hitched up in a sly smile. “If you say so. You know, I think it’s on Netflix. Do you want to come over later and watch?”
Arjun checked his watch. “I wish I could,” he said. “But I have another meeting today.”
“Another meeting? Working on the weekend, are we?”
He smiled awkwardly. “It’s not for work.”
Nisha clocked his meaning, and her expression fell for just an instant. “Anyway,” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, “can I get a rain check?”
“Yeah, of course,” Nisha replied, sounding as cool as ever. “I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
Arjun didn’t have much time to enjoy his new dog by himself. He walked Sally back to his place, loaded her into his car, and headed to the San Francisco International Airport, where his mother’s flight had just landed. “That’s not yours, is it?” Sarita asked as Arjun loaded her suitcase into the trunk. She pointed at Sally, who had curled up in the passenger seat.
“I just got her,” said Arjun, sliding behind the wheel. “Sally, meet my emotional baggage. Emotional baggage, meet Sally.”
Sarita scoffed. “I can’t believe you could be so irresponsible.”
Arjun scooped up his dog and put her in his mother’s arms. “You’ll grow to love her,” he said. On cue, Sally snuggled into Sarita’s arms. Arjun wondered if Sally did, indeed, understand English.
His mother looked down at the dog, then sighed. “She is quite cute,” she admitted, stroking Sally’s velvety ear.
Much to Arjun’s chagrin, Sally spent the night in Sarita’s room. When he woke his mother with coffee and the Sunday edition of the San Francisco Current , he found Sally cuddled up in bed beside her. Sarita insisted on walking Sally up and down the block while Arjun made breakfast, and he watched them skip over the sidewalk with mounting jealousy.
He glanced anxiously at the clock as he and Sarita ate. “Are you nervous?” she asked, sipping her coffee. Arjun nodded. “Remember, this isn’t your first meeting.”
“And I was nervous then, too,” he replied, sawing away at his omelet with a butter knife. “This feels more real to me, somehow. Last time, I was a guest. This time—well, everyone is coming here .”
After his meeting with Malini, Arjun told Dhanya Agrawal that he preferred to meet an American girl, and she’d been very obliging. In fact, she’d sent over a potential match the day after he’d asked: an anesthesiologist named Simran. He’d agreed to the meeting, and Dhanya had set it up and asked if her family could visit him in San Francisco.
“It will be fine, Arjun,” said Sarita, waving her hand. “Don’t stress.”
“How could I not stress?” he countered. “This isn’t like a normal date, Mom. If I go out to coffee with a girl and it goes well, I can see her again or not. If this meeting goes well…I could marry this girl.”
Sarita raised an eyebrow. “That’s the point, beta .”
Arjun sighed. “Right,” he said, standing. “If you need me, I’m going to go stress-clean my room.”
“While you’re at it, could you run a vacuum through mine, too?” Sarita asked, sneaking Sally a piece of her omelet beneath the table. “Oh, and if you have the time, my clothes need ironing.”
The doorbell rang at eleven o’clock sharp. “I’ll get it,” said Sarita, rising from the couch and walking towards the door. “Take a breath, Arjun,” she said, her hand on the doorknob. “You’re white as a ghost.”
He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. This is it, he thought. In the next two minutes, I could be meeting the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. He stared up at his Tintin poster, and a small part of him wished that he could be transported to the moon, far away from all of this pressure.
He heard the front door swing open. “Come in!” Sarita said, and Arjun heard shuffling feet and the general chatter of people. How many are there? he wondered, standing to try and get a better view.
Sarita moved to the side, and Arjun saw the crowd on his front step. There were at least a dozen people there, and Arjun stood and greeted each one as they made their way toward the living area. He hadn’t expected this many guests, and he made trips to the bedroom and the guest room for more seating: his desk chair, the bench at the foot of his bed, and the small stool in the bathroom. Simran had arrived with generations of family support, from squirming infants to stooped elders. Yet, there was no sign of Simran herself.
A few people were closer to Arjun’s age, including three similar-looking women who must have been sisters. Which one looks most like the biodata? he wondered, embracing Dhanya the matchmaker, who had come in last.
Dhanya began her introductions. “Sarita, Arjun: it’s my pleasure to announce the Khatri family of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Here we have the parents, Shivam and Rupal—” Dhanya indicated the two middle-aged people in Indian dress—“Shivam’s parents, Ishan and Ishana; and Rupal’s parents, Gaurav and Sahana.” Arjun folded his hands in greeting as Dhanya rattled off the names of the assembled siblings and cousins, though he might as well have been listening to her read from the Yellow Pages. It was like the ocean was roaring in his ears, drowning out all the noise. I don’t care about any of them , he thought, his heart in his throat . Where is Simran?
Dhanya answered his question. “Finally, the woman of the hour: Dr. Simran Khatri.”
Arjun held his breath. He looked expectantly at the three women, doing his best to appear as nonchalant as possible.
None of them moved. A hush fell over the room, like a crowd waiting for fireworks. Which one is she? wondered Arjun, examining the women—but they didn’t give any indication.
From the entryway, he heard the tinkling of anklets.
Arjun’s first thought was that this woman made him feel severely underdressed. She was wearing a beautiful pink sari snared with delicate green vines. Her eyes were shadowed with dusky makeup, a sharp accent against her honey-colored skin. Henna tattoos adorned her palms, the patterns as intricate as lace. She bowed her head demurely and touched Sarita’s feet. “ Namaste , Auntie,” she said. “My name is Simran.”
The woman rose, and her eyes met Arjun’s. There was a veiled expectation in those eyes, and Arjun did not know what she wanted him to say—only that, clearly, he was meant to say something . “I’m Arjun,” he decided. “It’s very nice to meet you, Simran. Or should I call you Dr. Khatri?”
She laughed. That’s a good sign , thought Arjun, his chest rising with hope. “Simran is fine,” she said.
Dhanya beamed. “Excellent! Shall we all sit?”
“Of course,” said Sarita. “My apologies—if I’d known so many of you were coming, I might have suggested a different venue. You know, my house is in Iowa, as well.”
“It’s no trouble,” said Simran’s father—whose name Arjun was struggling to remember. “We’re all going skiing in Tahoe in a few days, so this was on the way. Thank you for welcoming us into your home, Arjun.”
It struck him how odd this entire enterprise was. Here were two families: strangers, all tiptoeing around one another. In a few months, though, they could all be one family centered around him and Simran. His mouth began to dry up at the very thought of it.
Dhanya seemed to anticipate the awkwardness, and she kicked off the conversation. “I’ve given each of you the other’s biodata,” she said. “Do you have anything you’d like to discuss?”
“Yes,” said Arjun, remembering the conversation topics he’d drilled with Sarita the night before. “Simran, I understand that you’re an anesthesiologist. How do you like that job?”
“I enjoy it,” she replied from the couch. The coffee table was like a chasm separating the two of them. Simran’s relatives watched her eagerly, like spectators at a prize fight. Arjun became aware of how ridiculous he must look, perched on the kitchen stool like a gargoyle. “My hours are quite demanding,” Simran said. “But the opportunity to practice medicine is amazing.”
“Simran was at the top of her class at ISU Medical School,” Simran’s mother said proudly.
“That’s very impressive,” Arjun replied. He searched for the next thing to say. Usually, a first date was an opportunity to learn more about the other person: their family and their interests, where they went to school, their favorite foods. Having studied the biodata the previous night, Arjun already knew all of that—and, of course, there was the added complication that his date did not usually bring her whole family along.
Simran’s father cleared his throat. “Obviously, Simran has had a lot of time to evaluate her priorities. What makes you think you’re ready for marriage?”
Arjun had known a question like that was coming. “I’m in the right place for it,” he replied. “I have a great home, a great job—a great life. The missing piece for me is someone to share it with.”
“I have already completed an assessment of Arjun,” Dhanya put in. “I assure you, his intentions are good.”
Arjun could have kissed her. Simran’s father nodded, though he seemed a bit annoyed that his opportunity to grill his prospective son-in-law had been snatched away.
The rest of the conversation was relatively tame, with each family member asking Arjun a few questions and him answering while trying to appear as marriageable as possible. Arjun made sure to include Simran in the conversation, though he and Sarita were vastly outnumbered, and his questions to her rarely deviated from Sarita’s meticulous script.
Finally, Dhanya suggested that the family meeting end. “This is about the kids, after all,” she said. “Why don’t you two go off and get to know one another better? Arjun, do you have anything planned?”
He nodded, stood, and bade farewell to Simran’s family; Sarita would entertain them for a while before they left.
Simran followed him to the entryway. She did not say anything—only cast sidelong glances, perhaps hoping that he would initiate conversation. “That was something, wasn’t it?” Arjun asked in a hushed voice as he slipped on his shoes.
She smiled. “I’m sorry about the third degree. My parents—my father especially—are very protective.”
They stepped outside. “So, where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Where do you usually go?” said Arjun.
“A coffee shop,” she said with a laugh. She had a nice laugh, the kind that Arjun knew he’d enjoy hearing for the rest of his life. “One guy took me to the library once.”
He chuckled. “We’re not going to the library,” he said. “Do you have a change of clothes?”
Arjun had rented a new car just for this occasion, a sparkling Porsche Boxster in storm gray. He drove into the San Francisco Zoo parking lot, sliding into a spot marked “compact.”
Simran stepped out of the car. They’d stopped off at her hotel just before, and she’d changed into jeans, a pair of Converse high-tops, and a navy-blue Columbia puffer coat with a bright-orange zipper. “This is new,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never had a guy bring me to the zoo before.”
“You’re not one of those people who hates zoos, are you?” asked Arjun. He had traded his stiff kurta for a dark-gray Patagonia fleece.
“People hate zoos?”
“You’d be surprised,” he replied. They continued through the parking lot and toward the zoo entrance. Arjun had purchased the tickets on his phone, and the clerk scanned the passes.
They passed through the lobby and back outside again, where a large sign displayed the various exhibits. The sky was a steely gray, and Arjun hoped it wouldn’t rain. “Where to first?” he asked.
Simran didn’t hesitate. “Africa,” she said, pointing to the sign. “I want to see the giraffes.”
“Africa it is.”
They walked down the wide path toward the African exhibit, which was the closest to the entrance. Other people meandered by, mostly families with young children in tow. Arjun had a passing thought that he would like to bring his own children here one day. Then, he realized that those children could belong to him and the woman walking just a few steps away. He felt suddenly lightheaded, as though all the blood in his body had rushed toward his feet.
“So, you said you’d met other suitors,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and admiring a flock of ostriches doing laps in their exhibit. “What did you think of them?”
Simran smiled coyly. “That’s private, isn’t it? What happens when the next guy asks what I thought of you?”
“Maybe there won’t be a next guy.”
She laughed. “You’re quick.”
A herd of gemsbok grazed on a pile of hay. They were beautiful animals with smooth silver coats and slender, spiraling horns. Simran leaned against the guardrail and gazed out at the herd. The air smelled like popcorn, and Arjun turned to see a food cart a few yards away. “Do you want a lemonade?” he asked, gesturing to the cart.
She shook her head. “I’m good for now. To tell you the truth, I hate sweets.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow. “You hate sweets? That wasn’t on the biodata,” he said jokingly.
“Is that a dealbreaker?”
“I think I can make it work.”
“So, if it’s not our mutual love of junk food,” she asked, “why do you think Dhanya matched us?”
“That’s a good question,” he said, leaning on the rail beside her. “Something in the biodatas, I guess.”
“Yes, but what specifically? There had to have been a reason.”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe it’ll become more apparent when we spend more time together. I think you being a doctor had a lot to do with it, though.”
Simran seemed surprised by that. “Really? A lot of guys are scared off when they find out that I have an MD.”
“Why would that matter?”
She shrugged. “Most American-born guys who go for an arranged marriage tend to be pretty traditional. You know, the husband works, and the wife stays home and takes care of the kids. Or if she does work, it’s something totally menial. My job, on the other hand…I practically live at the hospital. You really wouldn’t have a problem with that?”
Arjun shrugged. “My mom is a doctor, you know.”
Simran grinned. “So, what you’re saying is: Freud was right?”
Arjun rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help but laugh.
They continued down the trail. There was a bench near the gorilla preserve, and Arjun suggested they sit and watch them for a while. “So—how am I doing so far?” he asked as a silverback strutted up to the glass and examined his reflection.
Simran looked thoughtful for a moment. “Pretty solid, I’d say. The zoo was a strong move.” They were sitting close together, their shoulders almost touching. Arjun cast a glance at her. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. The light reflecting off of the glass spiderwebbed across her face, and a lock of black hair hung over her forehead. For a moment he was tempted to move it aside. Would that be too intimate? he wondered. After all, he had only known Simran for a few hours—certainly, it would be very familiar.
But, then again—that was the game, wasn’t it? This wasn’t just another first date. We could literally be married within the year , he thought.
They stood and continued through the zoo, conversing more as they observed the animals. Simran told Arjun about her three sisters while they looked at brilliantly colored poison frogs. Arjun told Simran about his disastrous meeting with Malini while toucans leaped on a net strung above their heads. In truth, he was more inclined to listen than to talk. He wondered if Simran’s voice—light and pleasant, with a tendency to rush to the end of sentences—could be the voice he’d listen to for the rest of his life.
Despite his latent misgivings about the arranged marriage process, Arjun was struck by how normal this date seemed—and then was struck that he hadn’t considered this meeting to be “normal” in the first place. He liked Simran, and she seemed to like him. Why should this experience be inferior just because we didn’t meet at a bookstore or in line for coffee? he asked himself. He remembered the words of the woman in the Peacock bathroom: Not better. Not worse. Just different.
“So, what happens next?” he asked as they walked toward the capybara exhibit. “Assuming that anything does happen.”
Simran smiled. “I want to see you again,” she said. “Are you planning on making a trip to Iowa anytime soon?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “I’ve been traveling for work recently, so I might be back there soon. And I try to get out to visit my mom every few months. When are you thinking of returning to SF?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, I work pretty insane hours, so it’ll probably be tough for me to get out here again.”
Arjun nodded. “This might be jumping the gun a little bit, but do you have an idea of where you’d want to work if you came to live here?”
Simran knit her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Like, a clinic in San Francisco,” he said. “Or maybe even in South Bay, if you don’t mind the commute.”
She shook her head. “I’m not moving to California. Arjun, one of the reasons I wanted to meet you was because you’re from Iowa, too. I thought you’d want to move back.”
He frowned. “What gave you that idea?”
“Well, your biodata said you’d be open to relocating.” A concerned expression darkened her face like an ink stain.
“I meant, like…to the Peninsula ,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave the Bay Area.”
“You wouldn’t want to return to Iowa to start a family?” she asked. “Don’t you want your kids to have the same experiences you did growing up? To have the same sense of home?”
Arjun shook his head. “Simran, Iowa hasn’t been home for me for ten years now. I’ve spent basically my entire adulthood here in SF, and I really love it. If anything, this is the place that I want to share with my kids.” He watched the capybara munch on a pile of hay. “You really wouldn’t move here? I mean, it’s San Francisco . What do they have in Iowa that we don’t have here?”
“My parents,” said Simran with a wistful expression. “They’re getting older, and I want to be close to them. I thought that...well, I thought that you might want to be near your mom, too.”
Arjun nodded. “I lost my dad when I was twenty,” he said. “It was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I know that I should realize that my mom is getting older, but some part of me just…well, it’s tough to acknowledge. She’s all I have. And, if she starts to lose speed, I know I can give her a better life here than in the Midwest. The winters are certainly more forgiving.”
“You’re not wrong there,” Simran said, staring up at the sky. “Are you sure, Arjun? Like, really sure?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not in the cards for me.”
Arjun braced for a protest, an argument—but none came. Simran only gave a sad smile. “I guess it’s not meant to be,” she said. “Want to go look at the kangaroos?”