Chapter Nineteen
Her name is Reva Smith,” Krish announces in a tone even more broody than normal as we leave Anderson’s.
Actually, I leave. He storms out with the curtest thanks. That stick up his behind is truly whimsical. He’s been perfectly pleasant all day. Or at least as pleasant as one can expect from a generally distant person. Mr. Anderson (whose actual name, it turns out, is Andrew Barr; his father was Anderson Barr) called her and left a message. Because of course when you’ve lost something precious and someone calls with information about it, you’ll miss their call. It’s Murphy’s law.
I tried to convince Mr. Barr to give me the customer’s phone number and name, but he politely reminded us that in this country we follow the law. Which was a little impolitely phrased. However, he did take my number and promised to give it to her when she got back to him. Which is fair but doesn’t help with the impatience doing cartwheels inside me.
Krish has barely been interested in anything since Andrew Barr placed his finger on the name in the ledger. The emotionless mask has fallen over Krish’s face again, reminding me of the first time we met.
“How do you know her name?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He gives me a look that tells me he knows I know how already.
“She lives in Park Slope.” He looks at his phone, mapping her address, which he’s obviously memorized. “It’s twenty minutes away.”
“We can’t just show up on her doorstep without warning.”
When he doesn’t answer, I second-guess myself. “Can we?”
Usually he’d smile at that, I think, but he seems preoccupied, almost nervous.
“What’s the matter? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He startles out of his trance and focuses on me with an intensity that makes me yearn for his indifference. “What do you mean?”
“A question in response to a question. Now you’re scaring me.”
“It’s your story. We don’t have to go.” Sulky and nervous? This isn’t the same guy who goaded me to hop onto a killing machine and then flew with stone-cold glee across Queens. Something about him is suddenly different.
“We can also just wait for her to call back. Because how can she not? She’s probably been in a panic over losing the ring.”
The dimple doesn’t just make an appearance when he smiles. It makes an appearance when he frowns too. “Or maybe she doesn’t care as much as you do.”
“Of course she cares.” If it turns out that she doesn’t care, I’ll feel like a grade A idiot. Which is a judgment everyone I know has unanimously passed about me since I found that ring.
“You have no way of knowing that. Not everyone makes attachments the way you seem to think they do. Most people forget about things when they’re out of sight.”
“You said earlier that you have good instincts. That means you believe in instinct, right?”
“I’m a reporter. Of course I believe in instinct.”
“And I deal with people’s pain all day, every day. Instinct is what helps me get from what they’re able to identify to what is truly causing them pain. I know there’s something here, and I know your instinct is telling you that too. Isn’t that why you’re still here? Isn’t that why you paid two hundred dollars for this bike and left your watch with a stranger?” I point at the motorcycle. “Because mine is screaming it.”
Then I go quiet because something strikes me. I lean heavily, almost desperately, into my inner voice at work. But in my personal life, all anyone has ever told me is that I have no instincts for self-preservation. That I don’t know how to take care of myself. And I’ve believed them, because a long time ago I proved them right. Now I want to be right. I want this raging belief that’s taken hold of me to be right. I want it so badly I’m trembling.
Krish is watching me like he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “That’s why I think we should just go there and see what this is all about.”
I smile through the stupid tears that just sprung into my eyes. “Are you always like this?”
He looks confused.
“Is everything always about the story for you?”
He takes a quick step back and away from me, but before he can deny the accusation, my phone buzzes.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” It’s Druv. I clear my throat and answer. “Hi, Druv. What’s up?”
“Hey, babe. Are you with someone?”
“Yes, why?”
“You sound different, that’s all.”
“You sound rested,” I say. “For the first time in days.”
“I love how you do that. How you can tell so easily how I’m feeling.”
“Thank you,” I say, and there’s an awkward silence because that was a nonsensical response to what he just said. “That was a nice thing to say,” I add, and that comes out even more awkward. Krish is staring at his phone, and I can’t tell if he’s listening, but he’s pretending not to, and for that I’m grateful.
“What all did you see today?” Druv asks.
“I’m in Brooklyn right now.” I throw a glance around me. “It’s nice.”
“You’re still trying to find the owner of that ring?” I can’t tell if he’s annoyed, but I can’t blame him because I haven’t had a chance to explain how much it means to me. All I’ve told him is that I found it and I’m looking for the owner. He’s been so busy and tired these past few days, he probably barely even registered it.
“I think we might already have.”
“We? Has your brother put you up to this?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Mira. You know how your family is.”
“Excuse me?” I say to him, and apparently also to Krish, because he looks up and I put up a finger to signal needing a moment and take my phone across the alley we’re parked in.
“You know your family manipulates you. You’ve said so yourself. One of the reasons I wanted to take you on this trip was so you could loosen up and relax away from them.”
My heart is beating so hard I’m not sure I can make words. “I have never said that to you.” The most basic thing about me is that I never say anything negative about my family out loud, no matter what. It’s something that’s been hardwired into me. It’s like a gag I have been breathing around my entire life. It’s the thing even my twin loathes about me. It’s practically a flashing neon sign I carry around: Never Criticize Your Family .
“You don’t have to say it in so many words.” Druv uses his Dr. Druv voice, and as always, it tranquilizes me a little. Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s probably the excitement from everything that’s happened with the ring.
“They don’t manipulate me,” I say with a firmness bred into me. “My parents are more protective and strict than yours. But they come from a tougher background.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know how hard they’ve worked. It’s admirable to break the cycle of poverty. I respect them for that. It’s just that I planned this trip so you could do something just for yourself. A happy Mira is a beautiful Mira to me.”
Dr. Drum-Roll-Please, Rumi’s voice says in my ear.
No, I will not let Rumi’s cynicism ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Druv is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He just apologized for not even doing anything terrible. I’ve never heard my father apologize for anything in my entire life, except to customers.
“I am doing something for myself.” For the first time in my life.
I look across the alley at Krish, who’s leaning against the bike with his hands dug in his pockets. Ready to chase down what we started.
I give him my most endearing smile, apologizing for making him wait. He doesn’t smile back. Which only proves how lucky I am to have found a man like Druv when the world is filled with jerks.
“Then go see the Statue of Liberty,” Druv says. “Go stroll in Central Park. I want to hear you gushing over all your rom-com associations. Nothing fun has happened in my life in days. Let me live vicariously. Throw a man a bone.”
He’s being charming. I would be an idiot to not be charmed. Those were all things I wanted to do. There’s nothing wrong with him suggesting that I do them. But all I want to do right now is find Reva Smith. Across the street Krish throws the ring in the air and catches it, then throws it again and catches it.
“Stop that!” I shout. “What is wrong with you?”
“Mira? What did I say?” Druv says on the phone. Krish stops tossing the ring. “I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to tease you about the rom-com thing.” He sounds placating instead of offended.
I want to groan, but Krish is watching, expression as dry as ever. I turn away from him and face the donut-shop window, filled with more donuts than anyone could ever eat. “I didn’t mean to yell at you,” I say into the phone. “You can tease me about the rom-com thing all you want. I’m not ashamed.” I channel his charm.
He laughs. “What is going on with you? I’ve never heard you be like this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. God, it’s been a long day.
“No, I like it. You’ve never yelled at me before. I guess we just took a step forward in our relationship.”
I turn to find Krish slipping the ring back in his pocket and going into his stick-up-his-behind stance. Suddenly I want this to be over. I want the ring where it belongs, and I want to be back with Druv, where I belong.
“I have to go,” I say and tell Druv that I’ll call him later. Then I march across the alley.
Krish doesn’t move.
“Let’s go,” I say, walking straight to the motorcycle and throwing my leg over it. “You’re right. There’s no point in waiting until Reva calls us if you already have the address.”