Chapter 25
For the first time in two years, Jia did not drop by J’s Pub with breakfast for him. Instead, she made sure Papa ate on time, had a bowl of granola herself, and left for work early. She kept her eyes on the muddy road, driving through traffic and rain on autopilot, as emotion and logic battled for dominance in her mind.
Jaiman’s going to be starving and upset. I should at least text him.
Why? He’s a grown man. He can order breakfast if he’s hungry. Besides, he had this coming after how he acted last night.
But he deserves to know I’m hurt.
If he knew me at all, he’d have reached out on his own and explained.
I should ask TheReMix to meet me. They’re probably way nicer than Jaiman. And I bet they could tell when they’ve hurt my feelings.
In the end, she got to the Mimosa parking lot with a dull headache and the urge to stay in her car for all of eternity, debating her decision. Her phone rang, Jaiman’s name on the screen, but she muted it with a huff and headed upstairs.
Damini and Charu were huddled together near the water cooler as she walked in, and when they saw her, they gestured for her to join them. “Good thing you’re here,” Damini said, straightening her spectacles. “Charulata doesn’t know what to make of a text from some guy she met yesterday.”
“Show me, show me!” Jia squealed and raced to look at Charu’s phone, eager for the distraction. Good morning, Charu! his message said. I’m working from home all week and won’t have time to step out for a date, so can we meet at my place instead, say Wed 8 pm? I’ll cook.
“What do you think?” Charu asked her tentatively.
Jia’s mouth puckered, but she didn’t want to impose her thoughts on Charu. Been there, done that, not doing it anymore. “How do you feel about meeting him at his apartment?”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her dupatta clutched in a tight fist. “I don’t feel comfortable with that. We only had a seven-minute date and exchanged numbers, and now this is the message he sends me about our first real date? My Guardian Angels are telling me something’s not right.”
“My logical, non-spiritual brain agrees.” Damini tapped her finger on her chin. “It’s giving ‘fuckboy.’?”
“Jia, what do you think?” Charu turned to her, her mouth hanging open.
A part of Jia’s heart broke when she nodded and saw the disappointment in Charu’s face. “I agree, actually. What about the other two men you hit it off with at the event? Have they texted you?”
“Not yet.” Charu straightened at the sound of Monica’s office door opening. “But it’s only been one night. Don’t men usually have a wait-three-days rule?”
“A wait-three-days rule?” Damini laughed, filling a paper cup with cold water. “I have never been this grateful to be a lesbian.”
Jia gave Charu a tight hug and mumbled a “sorry” before returning to her desk. She logged in to her Mimosa inbox just as an email from Monica jumped to the top.
Subject: Mimosa Match column update
Hi Jia—
I have a company-wide strategy meeting with my bosses the week after Christmas, a few days before your January deadline for the Charu trial run, and it’ll be a good opportunity to pitch your Mimosa Match column to them. I’d like an update. Could you and Charu meet me in my office?
Regards,
Monica Shroff
“Oh, shit,” Jia whispered. She reread the email, then snuck a glance at Charu’s desk across the room. Charu hadn’t fallen in love with anyone yet or even found a prospective boyfriend she was sure about. January was only a short time away, and Jia knew a lot could still happen before then, but would Monica agree?
As it turned out, no.
“Jia, you’ve been at this since, what, October?” Monica stood up and tossed the old “Mimosa Match!” proposal onto her desk. “You wrote in your proposal that you could match up our readers with a potential partner within two weeks of receiving their questionnaires, and you expect me to believe you can do that for strangers, but not for your own colleague?”
Charu shifted uncomfortably beside Jia, who averted her gaze to the proposal. Jia had, in fact, come up with that two-week number based on the very valid assumption that there would be a wide pool of questionnaires and matches to choose from, given that more than seventy percent of Mimosa’s readership was single. Even professional matchmakers had a large database of clients. Jia, unfortunately, didn’t.
Charu spoke up. “Even though I’m still single, Jia really has been helpful to me. When I first came to Mumbai, I had no idea how to put myself out there, and now I feel so much more prepared for love.”
Monica shook her head. “Mimosa’s single readers are already prepared for love, thanks to our relationship advice. What they need is someone to connect them to The One.”
Jia resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“That being said”—Monica picked up the proposal and flipped through the pages—“I really do love some of the ideas in here. So maybe the column could still happen—”
Charu and Jia exchanged excited looks. Was Monica finally going to step into the role of “supportive leader,” not just “hard to please boss”?
“—if you did a test run on your blog first.”
Wait. What?
Jia’s face flamed. “What—what blog?” Next to her, Charu raised a curious brow.
Monica walked over to her laptop and turned it around to reveal the Love Better with J home page. “Come on,” she said, laughing, “do you really think we can’t track your Incognito activity when you’re connected to our Wi-Fi network?”
“Is this yours?” Charu asked, peering at the laptop from a distance.
Jia nodded. “I’ll, um, explain later.”
“Charu, why don’t you get back to work?” Monica said. Once the door closed behind Charu, she leaned her weight on her desk and studied Jia. “You have so much potential. The blog isn’t half bad, although your ideas could be more original.”
Jia could hardly hear her over the pounding of her own heartbeat. According to her employment contract, she wasn’t allowed to write about relationships or dating for any other company without Mimosa’s express permission. She didn’t know how much of her contract she had breached with the blog being her own solo thing, but her boss seemed more intrigued than angry.
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Monica said, picking up the “Mimosa Match!” proposal again. “You have a decent readership on your blog—I’m guessing at least a few thousand loyal readers. How about you host the matchmaking column on your blog first? If it does well, Mimosa will take over. If it doesn’t work out, well, no harm done to you or your job here.”
“What are you saying?” Jia wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. “Love Better with J is my brainchild, and the matchmaking column was entirely my idea. If I host it on the blog and it does well, why would I let Mimosa take over?”
She chuckled. “You worked on your so-called anonymous blog while you were on our payroll and used our assignments as inspiration for your posts. As for the matchmaking column, you used our statistical database to write the proposal. From an ethical and legal standpoint, none of your writing or ideas are entirely yours.”
When Jia didn’t respond, Monica walked over to her office door and opened it. “I can have someone in the legal department draw up a contract for this collaboration as early as January. Think it over, Jia.” She nudged her head toward the exit.
Jia nodded and quietly walked back to her desk. She sat in her chair with a thump, deep in thought. Love Better with J had always been her passion project, but it was also the first step on the path toward her matchmaking business. Monica was giving her another chance to prove herself, albeit in a manipulative, blackmaily way, but was the possibility of impacting millions of Mimosa’s readers worth losing her creative freedom?
If only Mamma were still here,Jia thought numbly. She would know what to do. But there was still one person who could help her. They hadn’t replied to her last email yet, but she needed them. Jia nodded and typed out a long email to TheReMix, her mind reeling.
The number you are calling is currently not responding. Please try again later.Jaiman let out a low growl of frustration after his third call to Jia went unanswered. She was over an hour late. He paced around his pub, stroking his chin. It was a torrentially rainy day. What if she’d had an accident while driving here, or gotten stranded somewhere if the streets had flooded?
He opened her WhatsApp profile, and his stomach dropped. Her “last seen” status showed her online three minutes ago. If it had truly been an emergency, she would have called him herself.
The more reasonable explanation was that she was mad at him for not showing up to game night. Or, possibly, that he’d left the mixer with a complete stranger? Jia might not have romantic feelings for him—it was unlikely that she was jealous—but she didn’t like being kept in the dark. And the way he’d acted had certainly been confusing.
He sent her a text. I hope you’re okay. Sorry I left without saying bye. Was just catching up with a friend. Jia came online, blue double check marks appearing beside his message. And then she went offline.
Jaiman exhaled. The rain pounded against the glass walls of the pub, and he could make out a puddle forming at the door. It was December; it wasn’t supposed to rain like this. He rolled his eyes, grabbed a mop, and went to clean up before there was any serious flooding.
As he opened the door to a whoosh of cold, wet air, mop in hand, he caught sight of Harish standing outside Vodka Vada, holding an open umbrella despite the awning over his head, and staring out at the cars passing by. His eyes went to his wristwatch every few seconds.
“What are you doing?” Jaiman asked.
Harish jumped. “I didn’t see you there. Uh…” He fired off a hasty text on his phone, then put it in his pocket and turned to Jaiman. “Just appreciating the Mumbai rains.”
Jaiman’s eyes went to the umbrella. “It seems more like you’re waiting for someone.”
“Nope.” Harish’s mouth puckered. “Who would I wait for?” His phone buzzed loudly, and he added, “Have a nice day,” and went back inside, umbrella now closed, shutting the door to VV firmly.
Jaiman rolled his eyes. Harish was so weird sometimes. He finished mopping the doorstep just as the rain slowed to a halt, besides the occasional drizzle. Heading inside, he ordered some aloo parathas for himself, since Jia was most definitely not showing up.
Finally, around noon, when the first customers of the day walked in, his phone lit up with a text from Jia.
Jia:
I guess our definitions of “friend” are different. I wouldn’t call a Bumble hookup my friend, but good for you.
He exhaled. Anshuman must have said something to her at game night.
Jaiman:
I’m not sure why you’re so affected by this. Like you said yourself, we’re not trying to date each other.
I’m mad that you came to the mixer and wasted everyone’s time. Your spot at the event could have gone to some other guy who, for all we know, was someone’s future husband. Maybe MINE!!!
His nostrils flared, and before he could stop himself, he texted back, Good thing you’re meeting that matchmaker, then.
Jia is typing…
Jia is typing…
Jaiman:
Devdutt Uncle ran the idea by me earlier.
Jia:
Cool. I have to get back to work. Bye.
The front door opened. Jaiman pushed his phone and thoughts of Jia aside as he greeted the group of four approaching the barstools, handing them menus and ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest.