Chapter 14
Jia didn’t want to go shopping in the ridiculous cricket fanatic disguise she wore, so she made a pit stop at home, changed into a summer dress, and then drove to her favorite luxury department store two streets away, where the salespeople probably had her credit card details memorized. Her tears had dried by now, and the light coat of makeup she’d applied helped hide the puffiness that came from crying for an hour in her car. She pushed the image of Charu’s shocked face out of her mind and walked through the aisles, greeting the salespeople politely and looking here and there, hoping something would catch her eye.
A pink purse from Versace. A blue dress from Yves Saint Laurent. Stilettos from Dolce Gabbana. Ooh, the jewelry section. She could do with some earrings. Maybe a bracelet. The charm bracelet Eshaan had gifted her came to mind, and she pulled a face. Yes, she definitely needed to donate his bracelet and buy a new one. Perhaps something with diamonds.
She wandered through the perfume section, spritzing different scents on her pulse points, eventually settling on another small bottle of her favorite rose perfume.
By the time she left the store, she had five heavy shopping bags slung over her wrists. She let out a loud exhale and got into her car. Now that the high of shopping had started to fade, she was back to feeling like shit for breaking Charu’s heart—the exact thing she was supposed to avoid doing.
How could she have been so stupid?
At least she had Jaiman’s butter chicken to look forward to tomorrow night, something to lift her spirits, even if only temporarily until she had to face Charu at work on Monday. She exhaled and was making a left turn when her phone buzzed. She picked up the call on her car’s Bluetooth, dread pooling in the base of her stomach. “Hello? Monica?”
“Jia, are you free?” her boss’s voice rang out sharply. Before Jia could say yes, Monica went on. “Sorry to call you on a Friday night, but I’d mentioned your Charu matchmaking project to Eshaan last week, and he just texted me about it.”
Jia cringed, stopping in traffic and crisscrossing her fingers. Had Eshaan ratted her out to Monica as revenge for turning him down, ugh, romantically? “About that. Monica—”
“Matchmaking isn’t easy, and it was bold of you to try to match her with another employee,” Monica cut in. “You couldn’t do it for Charu, someone you work with in real life. How can I trust you to find the right partners for our readers, none of whom you know personally? Some of them have been Mimosa loyalists for years. I can’t risk it, Jia. You should move on to other projects.”
Tears sprung to the corners of Jia’s eyes, but she willed herself—and her mascara—to hold it together. “One more chance,” she pleaded. “Charu deserves love, and I’ll help her find it. You gave me until the New Year, remember?”
Monica exhaled, her breath loud over the phone. “Fine. Do what you can. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Absolutely!” Jia said, springing to life as the signal turned green. “You won’t regret it, Mon—” The call dropped. She blew out air through her lips and resumed driving. She hadn’t failed the #CharuProject. Yet. She cringed at that word. No matter what, she could—and would—turn things around.
She didn’t have a choice, anyway.
The next evening, Jaiman rang the doorbell to the Deshpandes’ residence, grocery bags in hand. Devdutt Uncle opened the door, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He must have been taking a power nap. “Jaiman, beta! Come on in. Surprising us with dinner, are you?”
Jaiman set the groceries on the kitchen counter. “Jia didn’t tell you?” Yadav bhaiyya, their cook, sometimes took the evenings off, and the kitchen was silent and sparkling clean, the scent of dishwashing liquid still lingering from lunchtime. Soon, the aroma of butter and spices would fill the air instead.
“She’s barely left her room since she got home last night with a hundred shopping bags.” Devdutt Uncle wiped his spectacles with the front of his untucked shirt. “What was I to do?”
“I’m sure butter chicken will cheer her up,” he replied, unpacking the groceries. Devdutt Uncle whooped at that; he adored Jaiman’s cooking as much as Jaiman loved cooking.
“I guess I picked the right day to stop by while Anshuman’s at the hospital,” Tanu said, walking over to the kitchen and eyeing the curry-cut chicken pieces. “Butter chicken?”
Jaiman nodded. Tanu decided to help him with the marinade while Devdutt Uncle lounged on the couch, watching a rerun of yesterday’s cricket match. Anshuman was in the midst of yet another twenty-hour shift, and perhaps Tanu was lonely. She had quit her legal consulting job after the wedding, preferring to take care of the house and garden, given Anshuman’s long hours at work, and although she still consulted for friends every now and then, there wasn’t much she had to fill up her days.
“So you’ll never believe what happened last night,” Jaiman told her as he chopped garlic and ginger to add to the yogurt-based chicken marinade. “Jia crashed the date she set up for Charu and Eshaan, and Eshaan kissed her instead of Charu.”
“He did what?” Tanu’s head snapped up from the spices she was measuring. “Did Charu see?”
“Yeah,” Jaiman said numbly. He set the knife down and wiped his hands with a cloth. “Charu told me all of this at J’s Pub. She was crying, but I think she’ll get through it.”
“Ouch.” Tanu winced. “I always had a feeling Eshaan was into Jia. I should have set her straight when she first told me about this project.”
Jaiman rubbed the top of his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “It isn’t your fault. It’s…” He exhaled. “It’s nobody’s fault, not even Jia’s.”
Tanu added the spices—garam masala, turmeric, ground cumin, salt, and red chili powder—to the marinade and let him take over. “It’s not Jia’s fault?” she repeated.
“Yeah, I mean”—Jaiman shrugged as he mixed the chicken into the marinade—“you know she means well.”
“I know.” He felt her eyes on him, so he looked up. “You care about her a lot, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Jaiman said, forcing himself to laugh. Had Anshuman told her about his feelings? No, that couldn’t be it. He’d never do that; Anshuman was loyal and knew how to keep secrets. “I’ve known her since we were in diapers. I care about you a lot too,” he added. “And Anshuman. And Devdutt Uncle.”
“Uh-huh.” Tanu licked some yogurt off her finger. “And we care about you as well. Jia, especially.”
“I know.” He set the marinade aside—it would sit for twenty minutes—and got to work on the sauce, hoping Tanu wouldn’t see the panic on his face. If Tanu found out he was in love with Jia, she’d surely tell her.
“How is Jia now?” Tanu prodded. “Did you see her this morning? She’s been hiding in her room since I got here.”
“Yeah, I saw her,” Jaiman said. He poured a few teaspoons of ghee into a pan. “She dropped off the granola and walked out without a word. She looked…” He bit his lip. “She looked miserable. I mean, she had her makeup on and everything, but I could tell.”
It was so easy to tell when Jia was sad. Her eyes got wider than usual, her lipstick always changed from bright shades to nude, and the eyeliner went out the window. Not to mention that sad but adorable pout.
“I’ll take her shopping tomorrow,” Tanu said, thinking for a moment. “That ought to bring her mojo back.”
“I think she already went shopping.”
“Second time’s the charm.” She grinned at him, then turned on the mini TV above the fridge and flipped through the channels before pausing. “Hey, isn’t that your restaurateur friend? Flora?”
Jaiman looked up at the TV and nodded. It was an interview on the India Food Network, shot inside The Fairytale Café, the one she’d told him about recently, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been a new one. This was becoming a weekly occurrence for his celebrity chef bestie. “Yeah, Flora’s doing pretty well for herself.”
“Clearly,” Tanu said, her mouth hanging open. “I can’t wait for the day we see you and J’s Pub in an interview like this.”
Jaiman rubbed along his mouth to avoid scoffing out loud. “Sure, that’d be cool,” he lied. Dad’s words from years ago echoed in his mind again: There are already hundreds of well-known pubs in Mumbai. It was true. The India Food Network wouldn’t invite Jaiman to their show unless he had a never-seen-before concept. Which he didn’t. J’s Pub, as much as he and his regulars loved it, was a pub like most others: a place to converge with friends, old and new, where its patrons felt at home. The most impressive thing about J’s Pub was its cocktail menu, but even those weren’t as popular as the beer on tap and the classic drinks everyone stuck to.
Tanu muted the channel after Flora’s interview segment ended and put her hands on her hips. “Well. Need my help with the food?”
“You know I don’t,” Jaiman said, chuckling. “How about you check on Jia until I’m done cooking?”
“Good idea.” She headed toward the staircase, calling out Jia’s name.
Jaiman returned to the stove, wondering if the coffee shop date fiasco had changed Jia’s mind about Manoj. Maybe Jaiman wasn’t a matchmaker or a relationship expert—he’d only had one relationship, with Flora, of all people—but anyone with half a romantic bone could tell there was something between Manoj and Charu beyond just physical attraction.
Now all that was left to be seen was what Jia, with her preconceived notions, would do next. Sighing, Jaiman checked on the chicken marinade, smiling when the rich, fragrant aroma of spices greeted his nostrils.