Chapter Twenty-Seven Rupi #2
“Yumm,” his mouth says even as his eyes say he’s gagging. He hates it.
I haven’t laughed like this in my life.
He watches me, his dark eyes stripping me to my soul.
I thank him for his service and courage.
He thanks me for testing his limits. Apparently every man has them, and his are eggplant.
Then he drops kisses on his nephews’ heads, lets them climb all over him for hugs, and leaves.
I do not wonder what it might be like if we were the kind of people who hugged goodbye.
I am not thinking about his hug or letting the warmth of being wrapped up like that dance across my skin, across every fiber of my being.
Mamma and Baba eat their pizza, which they love and praise as though Mount Everest has been scaled. The boys, having earned their video game time, get to it. Their parents are working late.
So, my fiancé and I share the rest of the pizza at the kitchen island by ourselves.
“How are you so good at this?” Prem says, taking a bite.
“I did work at a restaurant for years. Our chef in Mumbai made sure we knew what everything tasted like. And his description of flavors and ingredients made a lot of sense.” I’m not used to talking about the past without pain, and it’s strange to have a memory so clean of bitterness.
“Now that the visa extension has come through and everything is on track, maybe once the green card comes through, you can help at the restaurants?”
“Maybe.”
He leaves it at that and takes another bite. “But this is really good. Thanks for helping me with it.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“Do you mean the pizza is okay, or was that for me thanking you?”
“Both.” I bite into the flaky, buttery crust. “Fine. It’s delicious.”
“Even though Saj hated it?”
“I mean, are there things Saj likes? Also, eggplant is a polarizing vegetable. Have you ever thought of putting these pizzas on the menu at the restaurants?”
“What? No!” He’s totally lying, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Nah, we’re a franchise. We have to stick with the recipes.”
“But you don’t. Mamma told me you tweak.”
He looks surprised. “She told you that?”
“Of course. Why would she not trust her future daughter-in-law?”
His face falls into a pout. Gah! Is the guy actually bordering on cute? When did this happen?
“It’s only two years, you know. I’ve already spent three months here, and those went by fast, didn’t they?”
Shock flashes in his eyes. Great. They were the longest months of his life. Just like they’ve been the longest months of my sister’s life.
“This isn’t long term, you know that. You’ll marry her after two years, and then it won’t matter. And well, you know you can be with her that entire time, right? As long as no one finds out.”
He’s studying his fingers.
“What?”
“I’m not so sure she wants that.”
Excuse me? “Why do you say that?”
“Simi.” His voice breaks on her name. I want to laugh at that, because it’s hilarious, but I can’t, because also it’s not. It’s heartbreaking and beautiful. He rubs a hand into his chest. “She’s been avoiding me. And she’s been so angry with me. I’m . . . I don’t know what I’ve done.”
Oh dear. “Have you asked her?”
He looks at me like the thought never occurred to him. “Simi, she . . . sometimes she needs her space, and if I push her, she’d never push back so, I . . . I don’t. And I don’t . . .” A fat teardrop leaks from his eye, and he swats it away.
Can you believe these two?
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t want to force her to be with me.”
Wow, he’s full of surprises today. And just as much of an idiot as Simi is.
“Prem, are you doing this . . . marrying me, because you were afraid she’d leave you if you didn’t?”
He looks genuinely surprised, as though that thought, too, never occurred to him. “No! Well, I’m doing it because she can’t do anything herself to help you, and it would destroy her if she couldn’t help you. And well, you . . . what you’ve been through. It’s not fair.”
My hand presses against my mouth. The boy is actually angry on my behalf.
“That’s really sweet, Prem,” I say. “Thank you.”
He looks all alert, as though I’m softening him up so I can stick a knife into his side. I want to tell him to cut it out, but he’s not wrong. In fact, it’s a bit disturbing that I’m not reaching for the proverbial knife and plotting his stabbing.
“Then why do you think she’d leave you?” I ask.
He studies my face, his nails, the kitchen, the empty pizza stone. He pushes the crumbs on his plate around. I consider poking him and asking him to hurry up.
“Even before you showed up, I don’t think she was ready for marriage.
I wanted to ask her to marry me months after meeting her, but .
. . but when I tried, she was just so, so scared.
I’m not sure she wants to be with me, at least not all the time.
And well, I sometimes wonder how someone like Simi is with me in the first place. ”
“Someone like Simi?”
He looks at me like I’m being deliberately obtuse. “Someone that smart and kind and gorgeous.”
Oh my god. It’s official. He just crossed over the line of cuteness to frickin’ adorableness. “You think Simi is gorgeous?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Everyone except her. “I’m not sure she does.”
He sits up and looks like he just thought of something for the first time.
“What?” I ask.
“Is that why she’s with someone like me? Because she has no idea that she’s gorgeous?”
Great. These two are exactly alike. How will they survive this big, bad world together?
“No,” I say. “It’s because she has terrible taste in men.”
He’s about to pout again, but then he has yet another realization. “You’re joking. Ha!”
Indeed I am. “Well, maybe instead of avoiding her and running away to the far reaches of the tristate area, take some time to tell her all this.”
“I have.”
“Obviously she hasn’t heard you. Tell her again.
And demand that she listen. She’s asked you for something bigger than the realm of a normal relationship demands.
Maybe demanding your time and attention in addition to that feels like too much.
But trust me, she needs to hear everything you just told me. And she needs to hear it soon.”
Maybe then I can stop this absurd wave of guilt and have some damn peace.