Chapter 6
Anshuman took a sip of his beer and looked around J’s Pub. “Kind of empty for a Friday night, don’t you think?”
Jaiman grunted a “hmm” and continued mixing a cocktail for one of the patrons seated by the bar.
“Beer. The one thing I look forward to seeing after twenty-hour shifts at the hospital. Well, other than Tanu.” Anshuman set his mug down and wiped his mouth, then added, “Jia and her Mimosa crew will be here soon, won’t they?”
“Yeah,” Jaiman replied. He handed the martini glass to the patron and returned to his best friend. “Manoj’s show is starting in a bit, too, but he seems to be running late.” He checked his phone and spotted a message from the stand-up comedian and musician. Be there in 5! So sorry Jaiman sir!
The pub doors opened with a swish, and the entire Mimosa office, or so it seemed, walked through, some finding booths for themselves, and others—like Jia, Eshaan, his friends, and some woman Jaiman didn’t know—making their way to the bar.
“Hey.” Jia smiled at Anshuman, then sat down on a barstool and drummed her fingers on the counter. “One Whipped Rose, please, bartender.”
The blush and wide grin on Jaiman’s face was wiped clean when Anshuman mumbled, “I know something else that’s whipped.”
“I’ll have a Kingfisher Ultra, buddy, thanks,” Eshaan said, sliding his glossy black credit card across the counter.
Every single time.Jaiman rolled his eyes and slid it back. “Pay later. No tabs.”
“Guys!” Eshaan yelled across the bar in his powerful, masculine, booming voice. “Today’s tab is on me!”
“What’s the occasion?” Jaiman asked, writing down everyone else’s orders.
“Charu read Eshaan’s palm and predicted that he would live a long, healthy life,” Jia said, grinning, as she forced a woman up to the front, next to Eshaan. “Not to mention, he’ll find love soon.”
At that, Jaiman looked up, his eyebrows furrowing. The woman, Charu, wore a yellow salwar kameez and virtually no makeup except for a shy smile on her face—the exact opposite of Jia, her bright pink lips brimming with pride. And then there was Eshaan, who was smiling at Jia and ignoring Charu’s body practically squished against his.
Oh no. Oh no, Jia. Isthis your next setup? Jaiman thought, then asked, “Uh, Charu, what will you have?”
“Water, please. I don’t drink,” Charu said meekly. “It’s nice to meet you, though, Jaiman. Jia’s told me so much about you and your pub.”
“Likewise,” Jaiman said, hoping she didn’t know just what Jia had told him about her. He passed the orders on to two other bartenders, and together they prepared drinks for the thirty-odd customers who were now at J’s Pub. If it weren’t for the Mimosa crew, Jaiman would have gone bankrupt by now.
He looked at Jia out of the corner of his eye as he prepared the Whipped Rose for her. It was surprising how their dynamic had changed in the past few years. As young kids, Jia and Jaiman had been inseparable. Play dates, tea parties, LEGO wars, not to mention coming up with innovative ways to piss off ten-year-old Tanu. He remembered a finger-painting incident under the not-so-careful supervision of their shared babysitter that ended with their pink-and-orange handprints all over Tanu’s childhood bedroom wall. Jaiman’s dad had yelled at him for ten minutes straight for destroying personal property. Devdutt Uncle, however, had laughed and said, “I think Tanu likes it.” And surprisingly, she had. Jaiman’s and Jia’s handprints still remained on the wall of that bedroom, two decades later.
They’d stayed close all through school, despite having different friend circles. They’d partnered up and won the high school debate championship trophy three years in a row, and pulled all-nighters together during exam season, fueled by coffee and Jaiman’s cooking.
Even college, with literal geographic distance between them, didn’t seem as much of a deterrent to their relationship as The Unfortunate Incident had. All those years, Jaiman had thought they’d been building up to something together, something more than just friendship. But then she asked him to forget about the kiss, made him promise it would never happen again, and he realized that was it. As much as he was in love with her, he loved the Deshpandes too. He’d rather have nothing more than friendship with Jia than share something casual or short-term and lose his found family in the process.
“Hey.” Eshaan raised his mug of Kingfisher Ultra just as Jaiman finished mixing the Whipped Rose. “Beer’s not cold enough.”
One of the other employees manning the bar took over, and Jaiman exhaled through his teeth. Jia was smart—too smart sometimes—but setting up this sweet, innocent Charu person with Eshaan fucking Bhargav, who clearly only had eyes for Jia? And was an entitled, arrogant asshole?
“Eshaan, you loved Charu’s palm reading today, didn’t you?” Jia said, patting him on the shoulder and shooting him a broad grin.
“Of course,” he replied, giving her hand a squeeze, his eyes glinting. “You were the one to suggest it, after all.”
Anshuman, half hidden beneath the crowd of Mimosas, raised an eyebrow at Jaiman. You gonna fight for your lady? it seemed to say.
Jaiman gave him a half-shake of the head. Nah.
Whatever, bro. I’m out.Anshuman set some cash on the counter and left the bar, just as Manoj, with all his wild and curly hair, rushed inside, his guitar strapped across his back. He waved at Jaiman and found his place at the front of the pub, where the stage was set with his chair and the microphone ready and waiting for him.
“Hey, guys,” Manoj said, and heads turned his way. “Sorry I’m late. I know your corporate lives are bleak and empty, and you spend every minute of every day waiting with bated breath for my Friday night show, but”—he paused as the spectators chuckled—“I’m here now, ready to dazzle your night with some jokes and great music.”
Grinning, Jaiman took a step back and regarded the show. In between song performances, Manoj spoke about the Mumbai weather—sometimes sweltering hot, sometimes rainy, sometimes breezy, all in one day, and how it should probably learn to make up its mind; having something in common with his traditional mom, at long last (chronic back pain, despite their thirty-year age difference); and the beautiful newcomer he’d just spotted at the bar.
“You’re new here.” Manoj got up from his little stool and looked at Charu. His face turned pink. “J’s Pub doesn’t see a lot of pretty girls lately. Or ugly girls, for that matter.” People whooped, and he asked, “What’s your name?”
Jaiman bit his lip to keep from laughing. Charu had clapped her hands to her mouth and was trying to escape from the pub customers’ attention, all of which was now trained on her, but Eshaan yelled, as loud as he could, “HER NAME’S CHARULATA!” and Charu finally turned back around and waved at Manoj sheepishly.
“Charulata.” Manoj grinned and waved back. “That’s an old-fashioned name. I thought it must have been taken far, far away from India by the British, just like the Kohinoor, but it’s a pretty name. For a pretty woman.” The blush deepened, and he cleared his throat. “Tonight’s final song is dedicated to Charulata.”
With a strum of his guitar, Manoj sang the acoustic version of a song that was, by all means, about falling in love at first sight, his eyes flitting to Charu every few seconds. Jaiman once again had to dig into his lower lip to prevent the chuckles from escaping. The flushed look on her face, plus the brightness in Manoj’s gaze and the eagerness with which he sang, was really something.
Manoj finished the song, took a bow, and said, “Well, that’s it for my show tonight. Charulata—hope to see you next week, same time, same place, same comedian, different songs. And the rest of you—y’all have nothing better to do except come here and drink, anyway. Toodle-oo!”
Beaming at the smattering round of applause that followed his set, Manoj hopped off the stage and walked over to the bar, directly to Charu. “Hi,” he said, slinging the guitar over his back again.
“Hi,” she whispered, her cheeks tinged red. “Um, that was very sweet of you.”
“I tell it like I see it,” Manoj said, shrugging. “How has your week been, Charulata?”
“My friends call me Charu,” she said, lowering her gaze.
Interesting.Jaiman went back to preparing drinks and sending food orders to the kitchen, but he didn’t miss the rage in Jia’s eyes as she took in the scene unfolding before them.
Jia strode up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She rested against the doorframe, taking deep breaths and reminding herself to stay calm. Then she grabbed her laptop and looked up the comedian/musician online, and the search results only confirmed what she’d assumed over the many weeks of observing him at J’s Pub: Manoj Mukundan was not a good match for sweet, commitment-minded Charu.
Age gaps in relationships weren’t a problem as long as the couple’s maturity levels and life goals lined up, but that wasn’t the case here. Manoj was four years younger than Charu, still in his first year of grad school, and—judging by the memes he shared on social media—probably not emotionally ready for marriage. Jia’s stomach churned with the two Whipped Roses she’d drunk earlier. Despite Manoj’s charm having worked on Charu during their fairly cute meet-cute, their futures did not line up together. Which meant Jia would have to do some damage control over the next few days to ensure the success of the #CheshaanProject.
She got a Hi Jia! text from Charu as she was brushing her teeth. She texted back, Hey, did you get home safe?
Charu:
I did So I guess Manoj found my IG! He messaged me to ask if he could share a snippet from tonight’s show and tag me. How sweet, right?
Jia frowned. Manoj had barely spoken to Charu for five minutes before Jia had dragged her off to a booth, and he already had the guts to slide into her DMs? That man was quicker than Jia had—
You there Jia?
Jia:
Yeah sorry, was just getting ready for bed
Okay I won’t disturb you! Sleep well
Jia let out a scoff and rinsed her mouth. There would be no sleeping well tonight. She put her toothbrush back in its holder, finished her nighttime skincare routine, and got into bed, shaking her head. This was fine. This was just a hurdle she’d have to cross. The Diwali party was coming up, and the lights, the fireworks, the way she was going to dress Charu up—it would be almost impossible for Eshaan not to ask her out then and there.
All she had to do until then was keep Charu away from the comedian. Her past two matches had gone off successfully without a hitch—she had never had to course correct her original plan—but here was a real challenge to prove to Monica that she was good enough to get her own matchmaking column.
And Jia Deshpande was not one to back down from a challenge. No matter how hard it seemed.