Chapter 9
“Are you sure I can wear this?” Charu asked for the tenth time that evening, her fingers going to the silver choker necklace Jia had insisted she borrow for the party. “You don’t have to—”
Jia steered her over to the mirror, grinning. “It’s Diwali, Charu. It’s not complete without some bling. And look, now we match!” She touched her hand to her own gold choker necklace, which had once belonged to Mamma.
Finally, Charu smiled at her reflection, though her eyes shimmered. “You’re right. I used to borrow Maa’s jewelry all the time, so we’d match and look good in the group photos. It’s just weird not being home for the festival. I miss Ratnagiri.”
“Tell me about your family,” Jia said, rifling through her makeup kit to touch up her lipstick. “Any siblings?”
“Three brothers, all older, all single.” Charu laughed. She made her way to Jia’s bed and sat down on it. “That’s why my parents are so eager for me to find someone. Back home, it’s customary for men to get married only after their sisters do, regardless of age.”
Jia nodded. She knew some conservative Indian families prescribed to the notion that a man needed to fulfill all familial responsibilities, such as finding a groom for his sister, before he could settle down himself. Add three brothers to the mix, and she wondered how Charu was coping with all the pressure.
What Jia still didn’t know, though, was what Charu wanted out of a marriage. Were her expectations as traditional as her parents’? Or was there more to it? “What are your thoughts on love, though?”
Charu blinked, as though she hadn’t expected that question, or maybe no one had ever cared to ask her. She ran her hand along Jia’s comforter, thinking. “I love being in love. I mean, it’s only happened once, when I was twenty-two, and it didn’t go well, but my favorite romance novels always end with a happily ever after. I want that too. Someone who’ll choose me. Someone who’ll…stay.”
Now Jia’s interest was piqued. She put down her favorite pink lipstick and turned around. “Did you want that happily ever after with the person you loved?”
“I, um…” Charu scrunched her yellow dupatta in one fist and averted her gaze. “I did. He got a big-shot job in Delhi, straight out of college. I offered to go with him, but because of our families, we could only do that if we got married. And he—”
Jia’s heart sank. She sat next to Charu and squeezed her shoulder. “And he wasn’t ready?”
“Yeah. But anyway—” Charu raised her gaze to the ceiling, blinked back her tears, then smiled softly. “Everything happens for a reason. I’m here now, and I’m ready for true love.”
“And you’ll find it.” Jia stood up, adjusted her saree, and extended her hand for Charu to take. “Come on, let’s show everyone what a real Diwali party looks like.”
Diwali at the Deshpandes’. Jaiman stood in the center of the living room, underneath the chandelier, taking it all in. The past five years, Jaiman had done nothing on this festive occasion except respond to forwarded Diwali wishes on WhatsApp with “Thanks, same to you!” Now here he was, dressed in a kurta and Indian footwear he’d found in the back of his closet, untouched since the night of Tanu and Anshuman’s wedding, and rightfully so.
Today, on the night of the party, Devdutt Uncle had retired to his study while the housekeeper worked on decorating the residence—the main entrance doorway, inside the living room, and around the hanging potted plants in the backyard—all of it under Charu’s watchful eyes. She had already drawn the rangoli outside the front door and instructed the housekeeper on how best to arrange all the diyas and fairy lights from Jia and Jaiman’s shopping spree.
Jaiman knocked on the study door and let himself inside when Devdutt Uncle grunted. “Hi, Uncle. Working today too?”
“You know how it is, Jaiman.” Jia’s father sighed, taking off his reading glasses and chewing on the end. “Work never stops. How’s your father doing with his business?”
“Good,” Jaiman said, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t have a clue. He hadn’t spoken to Dad in a long time, since Jaiman’s birthday in February, in fact, when Dad had called, wished him a happy birthday, and hung up before you could so much as think “absent father.”
Devdutt Uncle stared at him, then exhaled. “You must miss them.”
“I do,” he admitted, more so to himself than Jia’s dad, looking away as his shoulders slackened. “But I’m chasing my dream. Let him chase his.” Besides, he thought, I have you, Uncle. Maybe that’s enough.
As though Devdutt Uncle heard that thought, he nodded and stood up, walking over to him. “Well, you’re always welcome here. I’ll get dressed for the party.” He put both hands on Jaiman’s shoulders and frowned. “And eat some of the sweets Yadav bhaiyya has prepared. You look far too thin.”
Jaiman followed Devdutt Uncle outside to the living room, and his breath whooshed out of him. Someone had just turned off the usual lights and allowed Charu’s decorative lights to take center stage—the place looked straight out of a Diwali scene from a Bollywood movie. The earthy, spicy smell of incense hung all over the room. Yellow-and-blue fairy lights twinkled over the dark wood beams, the colorful rangoli at the entrance gracious and welcoming. Painted, lit diyas along the floor and up the stairs flickered with a gentle flame, but their radiance was nothing compared to the way Jia looked tonight as she descended the staircase.
She wore a forest-green saree with a gold brooch holding the pallu across her waist, while dangling gold earrings and a matching necklace completed her traditional look. She’d lined her eyes with black kohl, and there was just the faintest hint of glitter on her eyelids. When she saw him, her pink lips stretched into a wide grin—slowly but surely—although Jaiman didn’t miss the flush that crept up her neck. He grinned too.
“My, my,” Jia said, walking up to him, hands on her hips, “someone’s all dressed up.”
Jaiman smirked. “I wanted to make sure there was someone as hot as you at this party, which is why”—he looked pointedly at the burgundy kurta he wore, gold threads lining the collar—“I decided to bring my A game.”
“There will be someone else as hot as us here.” Jia walked closer and whispered, cupping her palm around her mouth, “Wait till you see Charu. No, scratch that, wait till Eshaan sees Charu.”
Oh, not this again.Jaiman opened his mouth to gently explain to her that Eshaan had a thing for her, not Charu, when the woman in question walked down the stairs, and he raised a brow in awe. Charu looked…exactly like herself, but as though every aspect of her had been magnified tenfold. She stood before them, that shy smile on her face, dressed in a bright yellow salwar suit with a silver bodice and jewelry that, no doubt, had come from Jia’s collection. Her dark hair was straight and shiny like always, flowing down to her waist like a sheet, but curled at the ends. There was no makeup on her face save for some lipstick. She did, indeed, look breathtaking.
“You look lovely, Charu,” Jaiman said, smiling back at her. “And this place…amazing. You made good use of the decorations we bought.”
She nodded with much pride. “It looks exactly like back home in Ratnagiri! I’m so excited for the party. I can’t wait for all the guests to get here.”
“Eshaan RSVP’d yes,” Jia said, putting a hand on Charu’s shoulder. “He’s such a nice guy, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.” Charu played with a lock of her hair and turned to Jaiman. “By the way, when is Manoj getting here?”
Jaiman looked at his wristwatch and thought for a second. “Probably after his set at the pub. So around sevenish—”
“Wait.” Jia looked between the two of them. “Why is Manoj coming?”
“Oh,” Jaiman said, smirking, as he put his hands in his pockets again. “I invited him. Devdutt Uncle said I could call some of my friends too.”
Jia glared at him, but Charu didn’t seem to notice. She clapped her hands together and squealed. “I’m going to go check on the preparations in the kitchen! I hope your cook can pull off my jalebi recipe!”
Once she was out of earshot, Jia balled her fists. “How dare you? You know the #CheshaanProject is my third setup. You’re purposely sabotaging—”
“I’m not sabotaging anything.” Jaiman said it matter-of-factly because, well, it was true, and someone needed to explain that to Jia. “You should see the goofy, lovesick grin on Manoj’s face when he texts her. Before his set, after his set. When he comes in for his paycheck. I think he’s smitten.”
“Well, so is Eshaan,” Jia said, folding her arms across her chest. “Or at least, he will be. Soon. Once I finish setting them up.”
“Manoj is a nice guy.” Jaiman pursed his lips. “And Charu could do with a nice guy.”
“Too bad she doesn’t like him.”
“That’s a matter of—”
Jia looked to the kitchen, which Charu had just stepped out of, and pulled Jaiman outside the main door, where instead of the doormat, there was a colorful rangoli made of powdered rice, sand, and flower petals. They carefully avoided stepping on it as she lowered her voice and addressed him. “Look,” she said, biting her pink lower lip, “I know my shit when it comes to setting people up. Let me do my job.”
“Your job?” Jaiman rolled his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know you see Charu as your little pet project, but she doesn’t need help. Nor do you need to be the one helping her. Especially not like this.”
“I do need to,” Jia insisted, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “You and I both know Monica won’t give me any more chances to prove my worth. I only have until January, and that’s not far off.”
Oh, shit.Jaiman thought for a second, then shrugged. “You were the one to bring her to my pub. She wouldn’t have met Manoj if it weren’t for you, so technically, you did—”
Jia rolled her eyes. “No. That’s not how it works. You don’t get to explain matchmaking to me under my own roof. I don’t come to your pub and tell you how to mix cocktails, do I?”
“Jia…” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “You set two couples up very well in the past. But you might not be able to make that happen this time.”
“Watch me,” Jia said, spinning back around toward the house.
“Jia, no.” Jaiman pulled her back gently, tilting her head up so she’d look at him. Her skin was soft and cold against his fingers—and he had a split-second flashback of the last time this had happened, at Tanu’s wedding, and he froze, his hand still holding her chin.
The memory seemed to have hit her too, because she gulped. Her eyes seared; not with anger, but with something that held a lot more passion.
“Jaiman,” she said, breathing out, and as she stepped in to him, her eyes flitted closed.
But he pulled away. No way did he want a rehash of The Unfortunate Incident, not after she’d made him promise, Never again. Not until he knew for sure how she felt about him. If she even felt any way about him. He didn’t want to watch her running away from him again. He didn’t think his heart could take it.
“B-minus,” he said, taking a few steps back.
Jia opened her eyes. “What?”
“B-minus. Your matchmaking skills. I, uh”—he ran a hand along his jaw—“I should see what your father’s up to.”
And he walked back inside the house before she could stop him. He leaned against the living room wall, a sigh on his lips. He wished he didn’t want more from her than granola and snappy comebacks. He wished he could turn his feelings off like the Diwali lights strung along the walls. But feelings didn’t work that way.
Unfortunately.