Chapter 8
Jia’s sister’s wedding had been the city’s ceremony of the century. Tanu had always dreamed of a big fat Indian wedding—so when Anshuman proposed to her in front of their full family in a grand gesture, she screamed out a “YES!” and exclaimed, “This is going to be the most lavish wedding Mumbai has ever seen!”
Papa’s grin twitched for a second, but he continued clapping and cheering as Anshuman picked Tanu up in his arms and spun her around. Jia had bawled uncontrollable tears of joy that day, because—well—if it hadn’t been for her, this happy day would never have come.
Tanu had wanted to get married before her thirtieth birthday, so Papa hired the best wedding planners in the city to throw her an expedited four-day wedding ceremony at Taj Lands End, Bandra, inviting more than two hundred guests, with some people flying down from France, where Tanu had gone to university. All of that in three short months.
The wedding planners worked their magic, though, and despite the time crunch, the first day of the wedding went by without a hitch, with the haldi and mehendi ceremony: song and dance in the background as the women smeared turmeric on Tanu, as was custom, meant to cleanse her body of “evil spirits” (and dead skin cells, of course); and then, later in the afternoon, the women all sat together in a circle as trained henna artists drew intricate patterns on their palms.
Tanu, being the bride, got henna painted on her full arms and feet too, with all the letters of Anshuman’s name hidden within the pattern. Later, she would ask him to find his name scattered on her palms, and if he found it, it meant their love would be eternal.
To nobody’s surprise, the doctor who loved word games found all eight letters, and Jia cried happy tears once more.
The Unfortunate Incident, as Jia called it, happened the next night, during the sangeet ceremony. According to tradition, every family member had to put on their ethnic Indian wear—ranging from kurtas and sherwanis for the men to sarees and lehengas for the women—and perform a dance number onstage. Jia solo-danced to “Desi Girl” from a Priyanka Chopra movie, one of the most popular single-girl sangeet dance songs in the history of Indian weddings, and she got more whistles and cheers than she’d expected.
As she stepped off the stage, she locked eyes with Jaiman. He made the typical Indian “I’m impressed” gesture, touching his forefinger to his thumb and sticking the other three fingers up, and she grinned at him, her stomach fluttering. He wore a burgundy kurta that fit his tall, muscular frame like a dream. She wondered what song he would perform to.
She was just grabbing a wet towel roll from a passing waiter, to wipe the sweat off her face, when her aunt Anjana—better known as the MILF of the Deshpande family, although she had no children and was single—went onstage to perform a peppy Bollywood dance. She was curvy and beautiful, her skin dark and her eyes bright brown, and as she grooved to the music, almost all the men from Anshuman’s side of the family sat up straighter in their seats.
“Look at all these old uncles checking her out,” came a scoff from the buffet a few feet behind Jia.
She paused mid-wipe and turned to where one of Anshuman’s cousins stood with Jaiman. His name was Yashwant, she recalled. “Like they could ever land her,” Yashwant went on, shaking his head. “Although I don’t blame them. Every straight man would want to land her.”
“I don’t want to land her,” Jaiman murmured, chuckling, as he popped a big, round pani puri into his mouth.
“Yeah, well, you couldn’t if you wanted to.” Yashwant laughed and took a bite of his papdi chaat. “Actually,” he added, crunching away, “you probably couldn’t even land someone your age.”
“I could if I wanted to,” Jaiman said, his jaw clenched. He set the empty plate of pani puri down and folded his arms.
Jia discarded the used towel on a nearby vacant table, hoping a waiter would dispose of it, and was going to go find a seat to watch the next performance when Yashwant spoke again. “Dude, you probably can’t even land Jia, and you’ve known her for years, haven’t you?”
Jia froze in place, her ears itching to hear what Jaiman would say. “Hey,” he finally said, his voice stern. “Don’t say that.”
“You know it’s true,” Yashwant teased. “She’s way out of your league. Don’t believe me? I dare you to try it without getting shot down.”
“Fuck off.” Jaiman shook his head at him and headed in the other direction, away from Jia. After some grumbling under his breath, Yashwant followed him, still grinning.
Jia stared open-mouthed at their retreating backs. She and Jaiman might not be as close as they used to be, but that didn’t give him the right to talk to some random guy about “landing” her.
Sure, he was attractive in a way she’d never found anyone else attractive before, with his chocolate-brown eyes; clean, beardless face; and lean upper body muscles that she always regarded when they went to the lakeside family cabin over the summer. But despite that, he was just the family friend she’d known for twenty-five years, one who probably saw her as exactly that—a friend—and nothing more.
Aunt Anjana was dancing up a storm, her hips swaying rhythmically to the beat and her hands moving up and down in the air. Jia joined the audience in the thundering applause, even “woo-hooing” at her when she took a bow and hopped offstage.
Next up on the schedule was a group of uncles from Anshuman’s side of the family, whom Jia didn’t know, so she decided to take a break and stretch her sore legs.
She clutched the front of her lehenga skirt and headed outside into the hotel garden, her heels sinking softly into the grassy lawn. Taj Lands End was one of the most luxurious five-star hotels in the country—forget the city—and every time she visited here, she liked to go to the back garden, by the sea, and look at the one or two stars shining in the hazy sky.
She walked for about ten minutes in silence, then stopped in her tracks when she saw Jaiman standing by the boundary of the garden, looking at the water in the distance, his hands in the pockets of his pants.
“Hey,” she said, frowning. “Didn’t think you’d be here.” Right now, he was the last person she wanted to see. She thought about confronting him about the “landing” comment, but it was probably unwise to stir up drama at her sister’s wedding.
Jaiman turned to her, his face breaking into a grin. “Oh, hey.”
“What are you doing?” She stood in step with him. “Taking in the view?”
Jaiman’s eyes flitted to hers, and he nodded. “Yeah. It’s…a nice view.”
“I prefer the smell, though.” Jia took a long breath from the depths of her belly and exhaled slowly. “I’m never leaving here. The salty scent of the sea is never leaving me, so I’m never leaving Mumbai.”
His eyes were still on her; she could tell from her peripheral vision. But she only turned her gaze to the crescent-shaped moon above them, peeking out from beneath the few clouds in the night sky. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?” she asked.
Jaiman jumped, as though he’d just come out of a trance. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe when I love someone that much.”
“I don’t think I will,” Jia admitted, then sighed. “I’ve never really liked anyone that way.”
“Never?” Jaiman repeated. He raised his brows and let out a laugh. “Wow. That’s, uh, good to know.”
“Yeah, well.” Jia straightened one of the folds of her lehenga, wondering why she was even telling him all this—wasn’t she supposed to be mad at him? “Almost everyone at work is seeing someone. A couple of them are engaged. Most will be married with two kids in the next five years. Though I’ve set couples up before, like Aunt Mona and her husband, Tanu and Anshuman…I can’t really see myself marrying. Or having kids.”
“You can’t?” His voice was hushed. “Why not?”
Jia laughed. “It’d be nice, I guess, but I’ve never even found anyone attractive that way.” She raised her gaze to his, one thought left unsaid: Except for you, that is.
“Oh.” Jaiman took a step back, his hands back in his pockets. “I guess I’d better go back inside. I don’t want to miss your dad’s performance.”
“You’ve had a lot of relationships before, haven’t you?” Jia asked, staring back at the sea, thinking about how casually he’d talked to Yashwant about “landing” women. Jia had never even entertained the thought of having sex with somebody, perhaps not even Jaiman, although she often thought about running her hands through his hair and pressing her lips to his lips—
“I mean, not relationships,” Jaiman said after a beat, and she snapped back to the conversation. “I’ve dated people.” He scratched the side of his head and chuckled. “A lot of people. Nothing serious, though.”
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been on her mind for years now. “Why nothing serious?”
“It never felt right enough. Not with any of them.” Then he came back to stand next to her, his face turned her way. She didn’t look at him, though. The sea was just too mesmerizing for her to look anywhere else. With the way the moonlight turned the water into shimmering diamonds, the crests and troughs of the waves, and the smell of salt lingering in the air, this felt like a perfect moment. Almost…romantic.
“What’s it like?” she mused. “Having those kinds of feelings for someone?”
“It’s like…” He sighed. “It’s like they walk into a room, and your senses go on high alert. Every inch of you heats up, every single part of you lights up. You feel so drawn to them, and it’s—it’s so fucking hard not to do anything about it.”
Huh.That sounded like such an alien concept. Jia raised a brow at him. “Well, why wouldn’t you do something about it?”
Jaiman gulped. His gaze fell to—her lips? “Sometimes you just can’t. Even if it kills you not to.”
“But why can’t you?” Her eyes flicked to his plush mouth and back up. She hoped he wouldn’t notice, but he did. He took a step forward, his eyes steadily on her lips. Goosebumps sprouted up Jia’s face and body, so she looked away and rubbed her palms along her arms.
“Jaiman,” she whispered, her forehead creased. “What are you—”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence, because Jaiman’s fingers were under her chin, easing her face to look up at him. The slight contact sent flutters into her stomach, and she froze in place. Then his hands moved to her shoulders and his lips touched hers, and her body lit up, warmth—no, heat—igniting every single one of her senses, like the scene he’d just described to her had come to life. He smelled like citrus. His hands on her skin were rough and calloused. His body was hot underneath that kurta. He tasted like nothing Jia had ever tasted before, something she wouldn’t have known she liked until she tasted it.
“Wow,” she breathed in between kisses, and he pulled away, as though only now realizing what had happened. Jaiman’s ears were pink, and he looked down, his lips stretching into a smile.
And then it hit Jia. Aunt Anjana’s dance. Yashwant’s taunt. The challenge.
“Oh my god!” she yelped, clapping a hand to her mouth, and despite Jaiman yelling her name, she rushed back inside the hotel, took her key from the reception, and bolted herself inside her room.
She’d thought about kissing Jaiman for years, interspersed with thoughts of how he’d never shown interest in her that way, and how experienced he was in the dating department. She’d never thought about it with anyone else; hell, her first and only more-than-a-peck kiss so far had happened years ago solely because of copious amounts of alcohol at a college party. And it had sucked. It had sucked so bad she never wanted to kiss anyone again.
But this?
Jia sobbed and sobbed until her makeup was nothing more than black liquid running down her face. When a knock sounded on her door, she wiped her eyes with the back of her henna-stained hand and answered.
It was Jaiman, and his eyes were glimmering with tears too. “Jia. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, without asking—”
“Y-you shouldn’t have k-kissed me, period.” She glared at him, and his frown deepened.
“Why did you—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It should never have happened.”
Jaiman took a step back, his mouth falling open. “But it did—”
“We are never going to talk about this—this Unfortunate Incident again, okay?”
“Jia—”
“Never again. Promise me,” she got out between sobs.
“Okay. I promise. Never again.” Jaiman bowed his head and released a breath, his body trembling, just as she slammed the door in his face.
Jia put a hand to her heart and waited as his footsteps receded and the ding! of the elevators sounded. Then she touched her fingers to her lips. Her one other kiss had certainly not felt that good. Maybe kissing was only fun when you were sober?
That wasn’t the case, she found out in due time. A dating app exploration over the next two months and kissing five other guys who were, by all means, handsome and kind and sweet, told her that no, attraction wasn’t as simple as that, and maybe—just maybe—akiss that made her feel things was harder to find than most other things in life.
Jaiman never brought up The Unfortunate Incident again, nor did she. It was pushed to the back of her mind, resurfacing only every now and then, and she pushed it back down right away, each time.
Maybe it was for the best. Jia didn’t want plain lust; she wanted love. Lust may have been possible with only Jaiman so far, but love with him was never going to happen. He had kissed her only because of a bet, and he’d never been in a serious relationship despite having dated so much. Maybe sex was all he was looking for—something Jia could only see herself doing with the person she loved undeniably and wholeheartedly. So be it. She had her future sea-facing dream home and her two future dogs, after all.
She was Jia Deshpande, and she needed nothing and no one else.