Chapter 12
Headphones in, Jia ran along the Marine Drive promenade, her sneakers thudding against the joggers’ pavement. Pop music pounded in her ears, and her veins thrummed with energy. She hadn’t gotten in a good run in forever. Between Mimosa deadlines, coming up with quality content for Love Better with J, and preparing breakfast granola for Jaiman, she could barely make space for a solid morning routine.
But it was the weekend, and Jaiman’s granola was packed and stowed in her car. She’d drop it off and leave. After he’d sicced Manoj on Charu, she had no interest in talking to him.
Jia stopped by a cotton candy stall and caught her breath. She did some stretches along the promenade wall, casting her gaze along the cresting sea waves, then paused when her phone buzzed with a notification.
It was an email from TheReMix. She grinned. God, she wished she knew more about their real identity, but with the blog being anonymous, it was probably best that their relationship stayed the way it was, at least until she left Mimosa to start her own matchmaking business. TheReMix was just so funny, smart, and supportive. Jia was sure they’d make great friends not just online but in person someday.
The grin was still on Jia’s face when she tapped on the email notification, but it faded when the page loaded.
Hey.
So…I know I usually comment on everything you share on the blog so it helps your social media engagement, but I couldn’t share my thoughts there out of respect for our friendship—because I just don’t agree.
I totally get your point about not settling for anything less than all three things. But there are different levels of intimacy, passion, and commitment, right? You might find someone only fairly attractive, but the emotional intimacy is beautiful and you really want to make it work together. Or the sex might be off the charts in your committed relationship, but you both don’t have the most stimulating conversations. Or maybe you need the emotional intimacy established before you’re able to explore physical intimacy. There’s no one equation for love. Do you just keep chasing this phantom consummate love? Because you’re gonna have to settle someday…isn’t that where the term “settling down” comes from?
TheReMix
Okay, this was surprising. Jia’s stomach churned as she reread the email once, then a second time. They were in disagreement with her. Possibly for the first time. She exhaled, reminding herself to keep her cool, then typed out a quick reply.
Hiii!
I’m sorry you don’t agree with my advice, but I stand by it. I think the idea of “settling” is different for everyone. If you’re in a relationship and you feel like you’re seeking more, if you keep thinking about how it might be better with someone else, I’d say you’re settling and need to keep looking.
She resumed her run. Their email came before the next song finished playing on her headphones, and Jia eagerly checked her phone, wiping her brow.
J, you don’t understand. Relationships aren’t linear. It could always be better with someone else. There’s always that possibility, isn’t there? We always want more. That’s human nature, and it doesn’t mean you don’t love your partner.
TheReMix
Jia exhaled through her teeth and replied as politely as she could.
Doesn’t it?
It was probably silly to keep waiting for another email, but she stood by the promenade wall for a good five minutes before giving up and deciding she’d deal with this later. She let out a breath and resumed her run so she could focus on her aching leg muscles and not her sinking gut.
A half hour later, as she was driving to J’s Pub, her phone buzzed. She came to a halt behind the row of cars stuck in traffic on the Bandra–Worli Sea Link and unlocked her phone, hoping it was TheReMix.
Charu:
Good morning Jia. I told Manoj no
Jia let out a relieved breath. The #CheshaanProject was now safe. Traffic was starting to clear up, so she pressed the call button instead of texting back. Seconds later, Charu’s soft voice filled the car’s speakers. “Th-thanks for calling. I feel so bad.”
It was hard to tell whether there were network connectivity issues on the Sea Link or if Charu was crying. Jia decided to assume it was the latter. “I’m sorry, Charu. Did he say anything?”
“No, he left me on read,” she said, sobbing. “He must be really mad at me. He’s never done that before, and we’ve been texting every day since we met.”
Jia put her blinker on and took the exit, thinking. She didn’t want to paint Manoj as the villain, but Charu wasn’t the bad guy here, either. “If he’s angry that you rejected him, then I’d say you dodged a real bullet. At least you aren’t stringing him along.”
There was silence for a few moments. Jia frowned, casting a glance at the screen to make sure the call was still connected. “Charu?”
“You’re right.” Another sob. “I hosted a Puja early this morning in my building and distributed sweets to my neighbors, and I’m going to spend the rest of the day reading romance novels. Hopefully it’ll distract me from thinking about, well, Manoj. God, Jia”—her voice turned shrill—“do you think he cried?”
“Let’s focus on you, not him,” Jia replied hastily. The less Charu fixated on Manoj, the better. “I’m glad the Puja helped. When will you talk to Eshaan?”
“At work, like he said. I need some time to process first, by myself.”
“Take care, Charu. I’m here for you.”
Jia turned on the radio after hanging up the phone, and as she sang along to the love song that played, she hoped Charu would say yes to Eshaan. Not just because it would help the “Mimosa Match!” column, but because they really were right for each other. And damn if Jia wouldn’t prove that to the whole world.
Jaiman was half-expecting Jia not to show up with her homemade granola the day after the Diwali party because of the way she’d disappeared on him and ignored his texts ever since.
But there she was, half an hour later than usual, pushing open the front door to J’s Pub and striding inside in yoga pants and a sports bra, leaving the scent of roses and sweat in her wake. “Cinnamon and chocolate.” She set the packet of granola on the counter and whirled around to leave, but Jaiman called out her name, and she paused.
“Are you okay?” he asked carefully. Was this about Manoj asking Charu out? Manoj had told him, after Charu left with Jia, that he hadn’t gotten an answer yet; she said she would tell him after thinking about it. Or was it because of their conversation about Jia’s mother? Jia didn’t talk about her mom as much as she used to a few years ago, when the pain of her passing had still been fresh and raw, but their conversation might have reopened an old emotional wound.
Jia put her hands on her hips. “You almost ruined the #CheshaanProject, but I managed to fix it.”
“What…” Jaiman’s eyes widened as he poured milk into a bowl of cinnamon-and-chocolate granola. “What did you fix, Jia?”
“Manoj and Eshaan both asked Charu out, and she didn’t know what to do, so I helped her come to the conclusion that she belongs with a commitment-minded man, not a cute, funny young boy who’s still figuring out his own shit.”
Jaiman pushed the bowl away without taking his first bite, which took immense willpower because, well, it was Jia fucking Deshpande’s homemade granola. “Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice bordering on yelling. “Who are you to decide that? Jesus, Jia!”
“I didn’t decide it!” Jia rolled her eyes. “She did! I simply helped her think things through and—”
“Bullshit!” Jaiman scoffed and walked out from behind the counter. He put a hand to the back of his head and sighed. “Why are you doing this, Jia? There are tons of people who would actually be right for Charu. They’d fall for her organically, of their own volition, without you having to orchestrate it. Realistically, her future husband probably isn’t going to be the first guy you think is the right fit.”
“That’s not—”
“Plus,” Jaiman went on, “Charu’s feelings matter a whole lot more than meeting a deadline.”
“I agree.” Jia exhaled. “Look, I only talked to Charu because she asked me what I thought—”
“Because she looks up to you!” Jaiman ran his fingers through his curly hair, shaking his head. “But that doesn’t mean you manipulate her into saying no to some guy you’ve assumed is wrong for her because, what, he doesn’t want to get married tomorrow?”
“Eshaan’s obviously not going to rush into a marriage, either.” Jia fumed. “That’s not the point.”
Jaiman opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. How could he— How was he supposed to— Agh! “Never mind.” He took a bite of the granola to calm his grumbling stomach, ignoring the sweetness and spiciness of the cinnamon flooding his taste buds. It didn’t deserve any appreciation right now.
“Well, I’m going to go,” Jia said. “Don’t try to meddle again, okay?”
“I’m not the one who’s meddling,” he mumbled, just barely audibly, as she was about to go out the door. As soon as he said it, he knew he’d hit a nerve.
Jia took a deep breath, then turned around and faced him. “It’s funny hearing you talk about relationships. When was the last time you even had a serious relationship that was more than casual sex?”
Jaiman licked his lips and folded his arms, staring at her as he tried to give her—and himself—an answer. Finally, he said, “I haven’t, but I could say the same for you, right?”
Her gaze narrowed, creasing that perfect mole next to her right eye. “I might not have relationship experience, which is a personal choice, but I know more about setting people up—successfully, mind you—than you ever will. You’re not the expert here.” She jabbed a finger into her chest. “I am. So lay off.”
She headed back to her car, and Jaiman didn’t stop her. He watched her leave, strands of her ponytail fluttering in the humid Mumbai breeze outside, and swallowed the granola like it was a pebble lodged in his throat. He loved the woman, but hell, she was too clueless for her own good.
Jia would do anything to convince herself that this setup’s end goal was to forward her career first and foremost, but Jaiman knew she genuinely cared about Charu. She did have good intentions at the root of it; that was Jia Deshpande for you. She went out of her way to help people—whether it was accidentally-on-purpose spraining her ankle to find her sister a match, bringing twenty people from work (on her first day at the office) to Jaiman’s pub so he wouldn’t feel like a failed business owner, or…trying to make Mumbai a better home for Charu.
That was all she truly wanted at her core, he realized. She just wanted Charu to be happy, and she thought Eshaan might be the one to make her happy, for some weird, incomprehensible reason.
The fact that she was utterly and completely wrong, and this matchmaking setup was going to break not one, but three hearts, was not obvious to Jia Deshpande.
Later that night, around ten o’clock, Jaiman admitted he felt a twinge of jealousy when he walked into The Fairytale Café and found it packed. Twenty people were on the waiting list. The ma?tred’ remembered Jaiman from before, so at least he’d been spared the embarrassment as he was led to their table for two.
Since he’d last seen Flora, she’d done two interviews with culinary reporters and food channels. Her restaurant had gained (even more) popularity this week, after Bollywood’s most famous actress called it her “favorite place to grab a bite” on an Instagram Live video. Naturally, everyone who was anyone wanted to dine there now.
Flora wrapped up her work in the kitchen and joined Jaiman at the table she’d reserved for them. After the server brought over a pecan-crusted goat cheese salad and spiced chicken skewers, as well as a dirty martini for her and a ginger ale for him, since he was driving back home, she filled Jaiman in on how the interviews went. “Two of those reporters asked me about my romantic relationships—or lack thereof.” She toyed with her necklace and lowered her gaze. “I love what I do, but the lonely nights suck.”
“I know what you mean,” Jaiman admitted, then cracked a weak grin. “If only we weren’t so bad in bed together. Then I could have just married you.”
Flora snorted as the martini nearly sloshed out of her glass. “Yeah, our first—and only—time was the least fun I’ve had with a man.”
He mimed stabbing himself in the chest with his fork in mock pain while she laughed. Then he sipped his ginger ale and straightened. “Do you not have time for a relationship? You’re a catch, Flora. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
Flora sipped her drink and paused, as though she were mulling this over. “It’s more like…I don’t have time to do the searching. If The One could just walk into my life right now, that’d be great. Until then, I have to sit tight and wait.”
“I don’t think there’s just one person out there for everyone—”
“You’re saying that?” She scoffed and reached across the table to slap him on the side of the arm. “You’ve had a hundred chances to meet women, and you’re still hung up on Jia.”
He nearly choked on his drink. She knew? He hadn’t told anyone but Anshuman—how could Flora possibly know?
“It’s so obvious,” Flora went on, correctly interpreting his silence for shock. “I guessed it the first time I saw you with her at our graduation ceremony years ago. And you’ve proved it every time since.”
“Flora…” He exhaled and reached over to her, wishing his racing heart would calm the fuck down. “You can’t tell her.”
She squeezed his hand. “It’s not my place to. Besides, she and I hardly ever see each other.”
Jaiman looked past her shoulder at the packed restaurant, at families and couples, minor celebrities and regular people alike, and gulped. He loved being one in a crowd, but in this moment, he felt more alone than ever. “Thanks.”
A few hours later, after he helped Flora close down the restaurant for the night, Jaiman parked in the basement of his apartment complex and took the lift to the twenty-sixth floor. His sprawling apartment, once his parents’, overlooked the popular tourist hot spot, Bandstand Promenade, that ran along the Arabian Sea. The salty, tangy taste of the sea always lingered in his living room, and tourists flooded the sidewalk outside the mansion next door with their selfie sticks and cameras, because that was where Bollywood’s “King,” Shah Rukh Khan, lived.
Jaiman chuckled. He’d lived here his whole life, but the Deshpandes’ mansion had always felt more like home than this four-bedroom apartment ever could.
He undressed and climbed into bed, his hand grazing the empty spot next to him. He hadn’t had a woman over in quite some time. Flora had been spot-on. It was Jia; it had always been Jia. When you loved someone for fifteen years, moving on was next to impossible. That was another reason why things hadn’t worked out with Flora, or the three other girls who’d wanted a serious relationship with Jaiman while he was studying in Pune. He turned them all down, citing commitment issues. The truth was, he just couldn’t get Jia out of his head.
Until a year ago, Jaiman was perfectly happy having hookups and flings with women he’d met on dating apps. Then the night of Tanu and Anshuman’s wedding happened, and it taught him that kissing the woman he loved was incomparable to the kisses he’d shared during those hookups. Kissing Jia had stirred in him an interesting combination of déjà vu and nostalgia. His lips had found hers like it was the hundredth time he was kissing her, not the first; her petite frame curving to meet his body felt like coming back home after years of traveling the world. Like he could finally exhale.
But in the same way that remnants of a dream disappeared moments after waking up, she slipped through his fingers, and he went back to holding his breath.
Jaiman turned on his side, one hand curling around his pillow. Should he give relationships another chance, give other women a chance, like Flora said? After all, how long could he love someone who was determined to push him away?
He opened the app store on his phone, his thumbs hesitating for a second before he downloaded Bumble. Here goes nothing.