Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
San Francisco’s Financial District is a triangle sketched out by Washington Street, Kearney Street, and the Embarcadero. It is a vibrant area, a forest of skyscrapers that rises above the people and the smaller buildings below. If you were to have been on the corner of Washington and Kearney streets at 4:22 p.m. on June twenty-third, in a year not too far removed from this one, you might have seen a man in a dark blue suit rushing by with a white bag tucked under his arm. This man’s name was Arjun Chowdhury, and he was really, really late.
He held his cell phone to his ear, talking as rapidly as he walked. “Can we move anything around?” he asked, slightly out of breath.
Gordon, his new assistant, sighed on the other end. “Not really,” he said. “A lot of this was set months ago.”
“What about Green Apple Books?” he asked. “The signing at three.”
“That’s tough,” Gordon replied. “I mean, you’ve re-scheduled three times already.”
Arjun groaned. “Move it. Tell them I’ll even do a recipe demonstration next time.”
Gordon knew better than to protest; by now, he was more than used to Arjun’s busy and ever-shifting schedule. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Arjun passed a bookstore as he walked, and he paused when he noticed the display in the window. The sign on the top of the shelf said LOCAL AUTHOR, and he saw a picture of himself beside it. The lower shelves were packed with cookbooks, including copies of Raja’s Kitchen , Arjun’s perennial bestseller, and the four other cookbooks he’d developed and published over the last two years. He smiled and snapped a picture before moving along.
He caught the Muni and rode the six stops to Cole Valley. Arjun had always liked this part of the city. It was close to Golden Gate Park, and its mix of shops and restaurants was as bustling and eclectic as anywhere else. He walked briskly up the street, past a dog park and a Mediterranean restaurant, before arriving at a storefront with boarded-up windows.
Arjun drew his keys from his pocket and let himself into the building. It was a large space and was still in the process of being constructed. Light seeped through the cracks in the wood where the windows hadn’t been completely covered. This was the site of Arjun’s new restaurant, at long last. He’d designed it himself: the dark wooden floor, the golden wallpaper striped with jade, and the tables and the chairs that were being custom-built by a carpenter nearby. He’d left the kitchen design to Kevin McPherson, whom he’d just hired as his executive chef. But he’d insisted on choosing the restaurant’s name, and the sign was propped against one of the walls: NISHA’S, it said, in looping green letters.
Gordon was in the back, deep in conversation with Kevin. Kevin still preferred to wear Hawaiian shirts in the workplace, but he’d traded his Birkenstocks for a pair of comfortable sneakers.
“No, no,” Kevin was saying, pointing to a spot on the walls. “The ovens need to go here. Putting them elsewhere would disrupt the flow of the kitchen. Or do I need to explain it to you again?”
Gordon saw Arjun approaching. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “As I’ve explained to Kevin, the ovens need to be near the venting system. Failing to do so would put us in violation of San Francisco city code.”
Kevin’s eyes widened. “Screw the code!” he exclaimed.
Arjun laughed. “I agree with the sentiment, Kev. But I still think we should listen to Gordon on this one. Hey, we’re still on for dinner on Friday, right?”
“At your place? Yes, I’ll be there.”
“By the way,” said Arjun, “Nisha invited her friend, Daniel. She thinks you two will hit it off…so maybe dress up a bit?”
Kevin laughed. “Is he worth dressing up for?”
“That’s for you to decide,” said Arjun. “But he was Mr. December on last year’s ‘Gentlemen of San Francisco Fire’ calendar.”
Kevin grinned. “I’ll buy a blazer.”
Gordon checked his phone. “Arjun, your one o’clock is here.”
“Ah,” said Arjun. “If you gentlemen will excuse me.”
He went to the door and opened it. “Kelley,” he said, smiling broadly and embracing his former assistant. “It’s so good to see you.” A little girl bounded past him, and Arjun caught her and scooped her up in his arms before she could run into anything. “And Miss Emmy is here, too. My, you’re getting so big.”
Kelley smiled indulgently. “I told her I was going to see you, and she insisted on coming with. Sorry for the short notice.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Arjun, leading them to one of the few tables that had been completed and delivered to the restaurant. They sat, and he held Emmylou in his lap. “So, how’s the life of a full-time artist?”
“Tiring,” Kelley replied. “Though maybe that’s just that girl you’ve got there. I mean, they’re called the ‘terrible twos’—but that is a dramatic understatement.”
He laughed. “What do you think, Emmy? Do you feel terrible?”
She looked quizzically up at him, then erupted into a shriek of laughter before burying her face in his chest. “So, what brings you by?” he asked Kelley.
She reached into her black tote bag and pulled out a roll of canvas, which she unfurled across the table. It was a painting of Arjun and Nisha sitting on a bench— their bench—in Buena Vista Park. His arm was around her shoulders, and they looked at one another, laughing at some unheard joke.
“It’s a little rough right now,” said Kelley. “I’ve just done some basic blocking. I’m probably going to take another run at it for the final painting because I’m not sure I like the lighting here.” She pointed to a patch of trees; Arjun could not discern that there even was an issue. “And I definitely need to practice painting Nisha’s hair because it’s kind of kinky here, but in real life, it’s more wavy than kinky, right?”
“While you’re at it, can you make me look like Superman?” asked Arjun. He leaned in and spoke in a low voice. “Between you and me, though: maybe sit on this and come do another outline in a few months. Like, six months.”
Kelley leaned back, and her eyes widened. “No!” she exclaimed. “Are you saying—Nisha’s…?” Kelley made a curving motion towards her stomach.
He put a finger to his lips. “No one knows,” he said. “I only found out last week.”
“Last week?” blurted Kelley. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” said Arjun contentedly. “This is what I’ve wanted for a long time. I’m happy.”
Kelley laughed and beckoned for her daughter. “Give it a few years.”
It was a quarter past seven when Arjun finally got home, having settled the argument between Kevin and Gordon for now. Thankfully, the commute was easy: his new house was the Victorian just across the street from the restaurant. Arjun bounded up the steps, the white package in hand.
He opened the front door. “Honey, I’m home!” he called, grinning as Sally bounded up to greet him. He’d always wanted to be a man who said that sort of thing when he arrived from work; now, most days, he did.
“I’m upstairs!” called Nisha. Arjun ascended and found her in the large, sun-filled room that served as their shared office. There was a bay window with a sitting area just underneath, and bookshelves ringed the walls. A large desk occupied the center of the room, and Nisha sat at one end, surrounded by stacks of papers.
Arjun went over and kissed her. “Did you have a good day?” she asked him as they pulled apart.
He nodded. “And I got the cake you wanted, too.” He set the white paper bag on the table and removed the cake inside. It was chocolate buttercream on chocolate cake, velvety and delicious. “Chocolate cake is kind of an odd pregnancy craving, don’t you think?”
Nisha groaned. “ You try growing a baby inside you, and then you can tell me what’s weird. By the way, did you decide what to do about that invitation we got?”
He shook his head. “I know Sophia and I are friends now. And Patrick is a good guy…but don’t you think going to your ex-fiancée’s wedding is a little weird? Besides, her parents will be there—and they hate me.”
Nisha laughed. “Well, you did set Sophia and Patrick up. That has to count for something.”
Arjun shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”
He heard a light moan, and he turned around. “Hey, Neesh,” he said, pointing to the bassinet in the corner, “is that?—”
“A baby? Yeah, it is. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you, but Dan’s in Seattle, and Erica had some emergency at work, and long story short, we’re babysitting Teddy tonight.”
Arjun walked over to the crib just beside the couch and peered inside. The baby was sleeping peacefully, his eyes darting from side to side under his little eyelids. Arjun stroked the baby’s cheek and drew the shade on the crib. He returned to Nisha and kneeled in front of her. He pressed his ear against her stomach.
“And how’s our girl doing?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Nisha’s midsection.
“No complaints yet,” said Nisha good-naturedly. “I’ll let you know if she starts talking in there.”
“And your other baby?”
Nisha laughed. “I think I’m mostly finished with this draft,” she said. “Though I still can’t decide on a title. Did you have any ideas?”
He stroked his chin. “What about The Arranged Marriage ?” he asked. “Nice and simple.”
She shook her head. “It needs to be a bit punchier,” she said. She waved her hand. “It’ll come to me.”
Arjun stood. He looked at the clock on the wall. “Our guest will be here any minute,” he said. Nisha took his hand in hers.
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s not like she’s a monster. In fact, I find her lovely.”
He laughed. “Trust me, Nisha: my mother is Machiavelli in Gucci pumps. And she’s going to freak out when she finds out?—”
“It will be fine,” she said. “I think she’ll be glad to have a granddaughter, don’t you?”
“It’s not that,” Arjun replied. “Knowing my mother—she’ll want to move in!”
The doorbell rang, and he looked at Nisha. She smiled reassuringly and squeezed his hand. “I’m right here,” she said.
He wrapped her in a hug. “You promise?”
“Promise,” said Nisha, and together they went to open the door.