Chapter 29
So this was the place that had birthed Mamma and Papa’s marriage. Jia took her time walking inside Radha Sethia’s private office on the nineteenth floor, her gaze lingering on every single framed photograph of success stories on the pink wallpaper. Radha’s mahogany desk was adjacent to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showed off the Mumbai skyline and the local train whizzing past the suburbs.
The meeting had been scheduled by Radha’s assistant the very day after Papa suggested it, and Jia had almost cancelled it this morning, mere hours before now. Then she’d thought better of it. She couldn’t be unprofessional that way; nor could she disappoint Papa. But all she could think about was last night and her conflicting feelings about the revelation that Jaiman was TheReMix. She didn’t want to let them—him—go, but she didn’t have a choice anymore, did she?
Jia sat down across from Radha and smiled at the gray-haired woman. “This is a very impressive office.” She nodded toward the rest of the space. “How many employees do you have?”
“A very modest fifteen,” Radha answered in a soft, graceful voice. “But when I started this business in 1989, I worked out of my uncle’s garage all by myself, sorting through the biodata of acquaintances who had decided to humor my silly fixation with matchmaking.”
“Really?” Jia laughed. She tried searching for an old photo of her parents on the wall, but maybe Radha had taken it off. “You must have set Mamma and Papa up very early on, then. They got married not long after that.”
Her crow’s feet stretched with a smile. “Devdutt was actually my fourth client, and his best friend was my fifth. Let me show you.” She stood up and rummaged in a shelf.
Jia tried not to think about Jaiman’s parents, another marriage heralded by Radha. Had Jaiman told them about his plans to move to America yet? How had they taken it? Jia had never understood the lack of apparent closeness between the Patils, but certainly they’d want him to move there and be with them?
“Here.”
Jia looked down and gasped at the humongous photo album before her eyes, open to the third or fourth page. There—that was the photo from her parents’ wedding that hung above the Deshpandes’ couch even today. Mamma in that crimson red lehenga, Papa in his golden sherwani, both sporting the shyest but happiest of smiles as they put orchid flower garlands around each other’s necks. The next photo was them posing with Radha Sethia—all of them so young and beaming at the camera. “Oh my god, look at Papa’s baby face.” She peered to get a closer look. “I forgot that he didn’t grow out his mustache until after Tanu was born.”
Radha let Jia flick through the album and look at photos of other couples for a few more minutes before clearing her throat. “So, Jia, your father tells me you’re a bit of a matchmaker yourself.”
Jia set the album aside and smiled, embarrassed to admit it to someone who had over thirty years of experience. “It’s a hobby of mine, yes.”
Radha studied her as she slid back into her chair. “Don’t undermine your purpose by calling it a hobby. You have to let yourself take it seriously before anyone else will.”
“I’m a relationship writer for Mimosa, and I don’t have any plans to start my matchmaking business right away,” Jia explained, lowering her gaze to her pink nails. “But I’m turning twenty-seven in a few months, and it’s a good age for me to find a life partner, right?”
She thought Radha would agree and hand her a form to fill out, maybe a biodata, or ask her about her type, but the first thing the matchmaker did was narrow her eyes. “Do you really want that for yourself, Jia?”
Jia’s lips parted, and she leaned forward. “What?”
“You say you’re a matchmaker, but you sound so nonchalant about your own love life.” Radha tapped her chin. “Are you only here because of your father?”
Jia stood up and walked around the room, her eyes damp, pretending to examine the photos on the wall.
“Well, are you?”
She turned and shot the matchmaker a look. “Oh, you’re good.”
Radha grinned, the lines on her face smoothing out with her well-deserved pride. “I know. There’s someone you’re interested in already, right? Someone it didn’t work out with?”
Jia stopped in her tracks. “How did you…?”
“When you’re in the business of matchmaking,” the elderly woman said, looking at the traffic beyond the window, “you learn how to read people’s motivations. A marriage requires a clean slate, a willing heart that’s ready to be shared with someone new. I don’t think that’s you. At least not yet.”
“I agree,” Jia said, joining her by the window. “But he’s leaving the country soon, and he’s not the relationship kind of guy anyway. No woman has ever caught his eye long enough.”
Radha frowned. “Is he a Casanova type? What is it you kids say these days? An f-boy?”
“No.” Jia nearly laughed at Radha’s hesitation to say “fuck.” “Jaiman may be a casual dater, but he’s a fantastic guy. It’s just that no woman has ever been right for him.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Jia thought for a moment. “He deserves a woman who won’t just stand up for him in times of need, but also stand up to him when he’s being stubborn and snarky, which is most of the time.”
“And you think—”
“Someone he’ll have fun with,” Jia went on, smiling to herself. “Someone he can’t take his eyes off of. Someone who’ll notice and appreciate the little things about him: the way he smiles when his patrons play pool at J’s Pub, that childlike excitement in his voice when he talks about a new cocktail recipe—he makes the best cocktails, you know?”
Radha bit her lip. “I’m sure he does—”
“And he gets this thoughtful crease between his brows during conversations, which makes it so clear he’s listening to you.” Jia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s who he deserves. Someone like…like…”
Her heart thudded, and she locked eyes with Radha, who was smiling just the slightest bit. “Someone like?” the matchmaker prodded.
“Someone like me,” Jia whispered numbly. She sat down in the chair with a thump. Wait, what? Why would she even think that?
“Sit tight, I’ll get you some water,” Radha said, heading outside the office.
Jia sat there, hands pressed to the table, as she really thought about her dynamic with the man she’d known her entire life.
“Oh,” she whispered. Did she…love Jaiman? She’d always ranted on Love Better with J about romance and the false portrayal of it by the media, misogynistic Bollywood movies, and her own employer’s magazine. But she often told herself—and her readers—that she’d never experienced it herself. Had that been a lie? Had what she’d felt for Jaiman all these years been romantic feelings?
Memories flashed before her eyes. Like the time she had practically begged her colleagues to give J’s Pub a shot instead of going to their usual bar on her very first day at Mimosa, despite the thirty-five-minute commute. The look on Jaiman’s face when twenty people had waltzed in, led by Jia, and the way her heart had soared so much she couldn’t stop grinning.
Or how she would always sample the new cocktails Jaiman concocted for his bar menu, despite the hangovers from hell she got from mixing all those drinks.
Or the fact that she went to J’s Pub almost every fucking morning, just to drop off her homemade granola, even though it was in the opposite direction of the Mimosa office.
She didn’t do those things because it was routine, or because she’d known him for so long. She did them because…because the idea of Jaiman Patil having a bad day, of his business failing, of him skipping a meal was unbearable for her.
And maybe—just maybe—she’d loved him for so long that it had become second nature, an unconscious reflex, just like breathing. Because she’d always been doing it. She’d just never gotten around to realizing it.
Until now.
Radha walked back inside, holding two paper cups filled with water. She handed one to Jia, who chugged it in one go, crumpling the cup in her fist. “I love him,” she said, gasping. “I don’t believe this.”
“Well”—Radha sat down in her chair—“is it such a bad thing if you love him?”
“Yeah, because I don’t know if he feels the same way.” She played with the pink pendant on her neck. “Sometimes, I think, maybe he does? But we’ve never told each other how we feel. And after what happened the other night, it’s best if he leaves.” At Radha’s confused look, Jia filled her in on everything—their kiss at Tanu’s wedding, the beginning of Love Better with J, all their almost-moments over the past year, her friendship with TheReMix, who turned out to be Jaiman, and his decision to leave for San Francisco.
“Let me get this straight.” Radha adjusted the folds of her saree, looking dubious. “He kissed you, and you turned him down, causing a rift in your friendship. So he created a fake profile to try to regain the connection with you that he thought you’d given up on.”
Jia blinked. “Um, yeah, but—”
“Then you got drunk and tried to kiss him, and being a respectful gentleman, he walked away, even though you strongly believe he’s very interested in casual hookups. And you took that to assume he doesn’t feel anything real for you?”
“Well, when you put it like that—”
“And finally, Jaiman told you in his lowest moment that he has no reason to stay here, and despite your love for him and his obvious feelings for you, you’re going to let miscommunication and misunderstandings get in the way?” Radha groaned in frustration. “Are all you Gen Z kids this afraid of confrontation?”
“I am not Gen Z—” Jia exhaled and shut her eyes briefly. “That’s not the point. He lied to me for over a year. How is that acceptable?”
Radha let out a whoosh of breath and leaned back in her chair, and Jia followed. “From where I’m sitting, it seems like he did all of those things because he wants to be close to you. He wants you to feel seen and heard, and if you won’t let him in as Jaiman, maybe you’ll let him in as TheReMix.”
“Which is still lying.”
“But it’s also love.” Radha rested her head on her hands and sighed. “Perhaps if you had a conversation with him about all of this, you both could find your way to each other.”
Jia sniffled. “I don’t think my love would be enough to make him stay.”
“Then find a way to save his pub,” she replied. “Be the superhero he needs you to be. And learn to put your ego aside and communicate with him. Communication is the only thing that can save relationships, period.”
Jia ran her fingers over her goosebump-ridden arms. “You’re right. I can’t just sit around and let go of him. I…I love him.”
“You do.”
“I’m Jia Deshpande,” she whispered. “And I can’t let consummate love get away.”
Radha stood up, her gaze on the clock on the other side of the room. “I hope it works out, Jia. I truly do.” She smiled. “And if it doesn’t, don’t come back until you’ve moved on. I find my clients their life partners, not rebounds.”
Jia shook hands with her and made her way out of the building, still reeling from her realization. She was in love…with a man who was leaving. Jia licked her lips. No. She would convince him to stay. She had to.
Jaiman was right, though. She was being a hypocrite. And she couldn’t be one any longer. She got into her car and dialed Tanu’s number, determined to fix things. Not just with Jaiman, but her career, as well.
Jaiman woke up with his mouth tasting like sandpaper and his body feeling like deadweight. It took him three tries to get out of bed. He reached for the bottle of water on his bedside table, but fuck, it was empty. Sighing, he lurched to the kitchen, trying to recall the events of last night and how much he’d had to drink.
There was an empty glass beside the sink. Jaiman sniffed it. Whiskey. He looked around the room, sensing the tense energy and the faint whiff of roses. Jia had been here. Maybe he’d called her over. Why, though?
He found his phone from under his pillow and sank into the living room couch, scrolling through his call log. Oh, right. Faded memories played in his head like a sepia-toned movie: the problems with his pub and the cooling system, the seven or so pegs of whiskey he’d drunk, and telling Jia everything about his plans moving forward. Although he couldn’t remember the exact details of their conversation, he recalled the mascara-stained tears falling down her cheeks. God, he’d made her cry so much. Jaiman slammed his face into his palm. He was such an asshole.
But his decision to move to America and join Dad’s company had been a sound one. Especially after the way Jia had left his place last night. She was moving on. He should too. Not just from his dreams, but from the woman he’d loved his whole life.
Besides, Dad had always had an eye for business, while Jaiman still didn’t. He’d majored in culinary arts and mixology and minored in hotel management, but applying what you learned in school to real life was a different skill altogether—one that he had always been missing.
So when Dad, the CEO and founder of a million-dollar business in the United States, of all places, had told him repeatedly that his dreams were never going to come to fruition, Jaiman should have believed him. It would have saved him and his employees a whole lot of trouble.
Jaiman drank two full glasses of water, then dialed Dad’s number. It was still only around nine p.m. in California, so hopefully, he would pick up. Jaiman had decided to give up on the seventh ring, when Dad’s voice boomed into his ears. “Hello?”
“Dad, hi,” he replied, noting how weary his own voice sounded.
Dad must have picked up on it, despite their physical and emotional distance. “Beta? Is everything fine over there?”
“I, uh…no. Not really.” Jaiman chuckled. “You were right all along, Dad. I’m not cut out for this pub thing.”
“So you’re finally listening to your old man?” A chair creaked on Dad’s end, then Jaiman was met with the sounds of shuffling. “It’s about time. What are your plans, then?”
“Well, I don’t have the money to keep the pub running anymore,” he admitted, hanging his head in shame. “Possibly not even in savings. I think I want to take you up on your offer to join the family business.”
Dad was clearly thrilled by this news. He laughed aloud. “Beta, that’s wonderful! We miss you so much here. You won’t regret this.”
Jaiman stood up and walked over to the balcony, sliding the door open and breathing in the fresh, salty sea breeze from Bandstand. “I know.”
“I’ll talk to HR and my legal team. We might have to create a brand-new job opening for you, but—”
A woman’s voice echoed in the background, hurried and anxious. Then Dad cleared his throat. “You’re on speakerphone. Your mother is here too.”
“Hi, Mom,” Jaiman said weakly.
“What happened?” Mom exclaimed. “Of course you’re always welcome here, but what about everything you have in Mumbai? You’ve been there your whole life. The old you would never have agreed to this, no matter how much your father pestered you aboutit.”
For a brief moment, Jaiman closed his eyes and imagined how life would play out if he stayed in Mumbai. Game night with the Deshpandes…cooking for Tanu and Anshuman…drinks with Devdutt Uncle—but then he thought of the heartbreaking scenarios that were inevitable at best, immediate at worst. The employees at J’s Pub quitting one by one because Jaiman was a shitty boss with no business acumen…Flora spending all her time at VV with Harish…and Jia, dressed in a stunning red lehenga, taking seven rounds of the holy wedding pyre hand-in-hand with a man she’d met through that matchmaker.
No.His fingers curled around the edge of the balcony door. Leaving was his only option. “I’m sure,” Jaiman said finally. “The old me is dead.”
“You’d make a fine manager with some training.” Jaiman could hear the joy in Dad’s voice. “I’ll get the documentation ready. It’ll be a few weeks before we can figure out your visa situation. Until then—”
“—I’ll settle all my matters here and prepare for the move. This is for the best.”
Dad started, “I agree, you should be close to your family—” when Mom cut in. “Shut up for a second, Prabhu, and read between the lines. Your son is struggling and heartbroken and desperate, and you’re taking advantage of him.”
Jaiman rolled his eyes. “Mom, he’s not taking—”
Mom shushed him. “Beta, I’m listening. Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened—”
“This is all so sudden. Did you have a fight with Jia?”
He stepped out, put the phone on speaker, and set it on the balcony table. Leaning his arms against the dusty railing, he said, “I’m not seventeen anymore, Mom. I don’t make life-changing decisions because of a girl.”
“She’s not just a girl,” Mom chided. “She’s the girl. And we all know it. This isn’t about J’s Pub not making money. Your father or even Devdutt can help you with that in a second. No, this is about you starting to lose hope in what you have with Jia.”
Something snapped inside Jaiman at those words. Starting to lose hope? Nah, he’d lost it a long time ago. He smacked his palm against the railing, hot from the harsh sunlight. “Jia and I have nothing, Mom! We’ve never had anything! And now she’s—she’s meeting Radha Sethia, who will obviously find her the perfect guy, and I’ll be left with nothing. Not money, not love, not family. Nothing.” He broke down, clutching the pigeon net covering the expanse of the balcony, and slid to the floor. “I’ll have nothing, Mom.”
“Oh, beta.” After some more scuffling, Dad took the phone.
“This move will be good for you, Jaiman. Keep me updated on things on your end.”
“I will.” His voice was harsh, certain, despite the sobs.
“All right. Have a good day. And welcome home.”
“Night, Dad. Sleep well.”
Jaiman heaved himself up from the balcony floor, dusted off his sweatpants, and returned to the kitchen for another two glasses of water. So this was happening, then. He was moving to San Francisco. Dad was thrilled, Mom wasn’t, but hey, she’d come around.
He swiped through his phone, his fingers resting on the contact labeled Mr. Jha Landlord. He hit the green Call icon and waited for Mr. Jha to pick up. Goodbye, J’s Pub, he thought bitterly. We had some good times.