Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“R ejected?” said Arjun, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the spot between his eyebrows. “What do you mean, rejected? ”
At least the voice on the other end of the phone attempted to sound apologetic. “I’m sorry,” said Bruce, the owner of the vacant restaurant. “I know that you were excited to submit a bid for the space. But I received an offer this morning that was too good to pass up.”
“Well, how much was the offer?” Arjun asked, sitting heavily on one of the barstools beside his kitchen island.
“A hundred thousand over market price. I really am sorry,” he repeated. “But look on the bright side. It’s San Francisco. There’s opportunity everywhere.”
Arjun jammed his finger into the red “END CALL” button on his phone. He wanted to scream in fury and disappointment. He walked over to the couch, pressed one of the pillows to his face, and did just that. It was a continuous burst of muffled sound, and he felt it shake his lungs, his vocal cords stretching to their breaking point.
He felt a paw on his leg. Sally had padded over, surely to comfort him. Arjun let her up onto the couch and stroked her fur. “What do I do now?” he asked her. Of course, Sally had no reply—she just licked his face.
The doorbell rang. Arjun ignored it, but then it rang again. He opened the door to find a mailman holding a gift-wrapped package. “Are you Arjun Chowdhury? I’ll need a signature.”
Arjun signed for the package and brought it inside. What could it be? he wondered, setting it on his kitchen island. He certainly hadn’t been expecting anything. The package was the size of a shoebox, and it hadn’t been heavy. He found a knife and slit open the wrapping paper.
He smelled the contents of the box even before he opened it. It was sweet, delicious—and familiar. Arjun opened the box’s lid to find a cake waiting for him: the red velvet cake that was the signature dessert of the restaurant, Portofino. Arjun had eaten that cake half a dozen times, but there was something different about this one. Red icing letters looped atop the snow-white buttercream, perfect and taunting:
THANKS FOR LOCATION SCOUTING FOR ME!
Arjun didn’t have to read the enclosed note to know who had sent this this cake. How could I be so stupid? he berated himself. He’d spilled his entire plan to Emily Richter, down to the smallest detail. She’d been only too happy to listen…and now he knew why.
Arjun picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Hey,” he said. “Something’s happened. I need you.”
Nisha arrived at Arjun’s apartment twenty minutes later, dressed in an oversized purple Northwestern hoodie, her hair in a messy bun. “And you’re sure it was Emily Richter who snaked the location out from under you?” she asked, stepping inside and removing her shoes.
Arjun nodded. “Read the note,” he said, handing her the envelope. She opened it and pulled out the sheet of paper inside. “She’s opening up an Indian restaurant,” Arjun said as Nisha scanned over the letter.
“Ouch,” Nisha replied, setting the letter down on the kitchen island. “Talk about adding insult to injury.”
Arjun began to pace. “I mean, what am I going to do, Nisha? I spent months planning this, assuming my restaurant would go in that location . All that work—just down the drain?”
She stepped towards him and grasped his forearms. Arjun stopped pacing. “You’re spinning out,” she said. “Close your eyes and just breathe. Do it with me, okay?”
Arjun nodded. “Inhale,” said Nisha. “Good. Now, exhale.”
He did as he was told: breathe in, breathe out, repeat. In, out, repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. He felt Nisha’s hands on his forearms, anchoring him to the room. He could hear his heart beating against his eardrums—but, gradually, it slowed.
They pulled apart. Arjun slumped against the wall. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he said. “A way to honor my dad and my grandfather. A legacy . And I had it.”
He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly. This time, it didn’t help. “How am I supposed to just move on from this?” he asked, looking at Nisha.
She nodded sympathetically. “Come on,” she said, extending her hand.
“Where are we going?” Arjun asked, remaining rooted to the wall.
“You’ll see,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Quickly, please.”
Reluctantly, he followed her out of his kitchen and down the steps. She had parked her ancient Camaro on the street, and Arjun climbed into the passenger seat. He leaned against the window, watching the hills roll by. Thankfully, Nisha let him linger in the silence.
She hadn’t told him where they were going, but it didn’t take him long to figure it out. She parked the car on the side of a hill and engaged the emergency brake. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Do we have to?” Arjun asked. He wanted to stay inside the car—or, better yet, go home, crawl into bed, and disappear under the covers.
“Yes,” she replied. She circled around, opened the passenger door from the outside, and pulled him out by the arm. She led the way up this time, guiding Arjun over the trails that wound through the forest.
It was a cruelly gorgeous day, with a slight breeze cooling their ascent. Above them, the branches began to clear, and the path grew wider until, at last, it opened up into that familiar meadow shaded by oak and elm. Nisha found the bench she’d been looking for, and Arjun followed.
“Our old spot, huh?” said Arjun, sitting beside her. The view was achingly beautiful today: the San Francisco Bay shone like a sheet of glass, with whitecaps surfacing and descending like dolphins as they raced towards the shore. “Do you remember the first time I brought you up here?”
Nisha smiled. “You wanted to show me how romantic SF could be,” she said, sounding almost wistful. She turned to face him. “You’re going to be fine, Arjun.”
“How do you know that?”
She sighed. “I never told you about my divorce, did I?”
He shook his head.
“We met just after college,” Nisha said. “It was…passionate. He was Indian, which my parents loved. And he was a doctor, which they loved even more. We dated for just six months before he asked me to marry him. And after that, I thought my life was all set. You know: the picket fence, two and a half kids, all of it. It was just a matter of time. And so, I dove into my writing, and he spent a lot of time at the hospital. We were building our lives, like bricklayers constructing a castle.
“We went on like this for two years. I published The Kiss of Eternity and went on an extended book tour. He made Chief Resident and began spending even more time working. Our towers grew higher and higher. And we just kept building, not realizing that that’s what was destroying us.
“You see, Arjun, eventually, we realized that the towers we were building weren’t part of the same castle anymore. Sure, they had started from the same place—but they were different structures now, and once they grew apart, there was no putting them back together again.”
He nodded. “I appreciate you being so honest with me,” he said. “But why are you telling me this now?”
“My divorce wrecked me,” Nisha said. “I know you saw some of that—but definitely not the worst of it. I thought I was done—that my whole life was over. But look at me now. I’m happy. For the first time in a long time…I’m happy.”
She looked deep into his eyes and rested her hand on his. “Happiness isn’t something that’s given to us. It’s something that we have to choose every day. It’s something that we have to fight for. And you are a fighter , Arjun. You will figure this out. I promise.”
Their fingers coiled together, her palm warm and soft against his. His heart pounded in his ears. He looked at Nisha, and an overwhelming urge swept over him, like a wave crashing into his body.
Why had he taken this to her first, instead of Dan, or Erica—or even Sophia? It was a stupid question to ask, because he already knew the answer.
He wanted Nisha’s hand to stay in his forever. He wanted to turn towards her and put his arm around her. He wanted to caress her cheek and stare into those marvelous green eyes. He wanted to lean towards her and kiss her, to feel her breath in his mouth, hot and life-giving.
More than that, though, he wanted to open his lips and tell her the words that he’d known for some time now, had known he’d known, but had been too afraid to say.
An idea popped into his head. “I still have the recipes,” he said. “My very own recipes. Can you help me with something?”
Arjun didn’t sleep at all that night. The two of them stayed awake, hopped up on caffeine and adrenaline, as Arjun cooked his recipes, and Nisha tasted them. By the time 6 a.m. rolled around, there were fifteen dishes scattered on Arjun’s kitchen island: mulligatawny soup, malai kofta , cherry-red tandoori paneer, and more. “All right,” he said. “Last one.”
He set a tureen on the table. “Birthday cake kulfi ,” he said. Inside the tureen were two perfect, round scoops of ice cream: cream-colored, flecked with multicolored sprinkles.
Nisha dug a spoon in and took a bite. She closed her eyes with pleasure. “That is so good. I think it’s missing something, though. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Arjun nodded. He dug around in his cabinet and pulled out a tin of flaky Maldon salt. “Try this,” he said, sprinkling some salt over the kulfi.
She tasted it again, her head arching back in pleasure. “That’s the best kulfi I’ve ever had. Truly.”
He smiled wearily. “I’m glad,” he replied. “I’ll get all of these recipes typed out and formatted. Can you help me compile them into a book?”
She nodded, yawning hugely. “Of course,” she said. “I should probably head out, though. I haven’t pulled an all-nighter since college.”
“You don’t need to go,” Arjun said. “Crash here, if you want. I’m sure Sally would love the company.”
Nisha smiled. “That’s sweet. But I should probably move my car, anyway. Street sweeping today, right?”
She embraced Arjun. “This is a good step,” she said. “I’m really proud of you.”
“I couldn’t have done this without you,” he replied. “Nisha, I?—”
He stopped himself just short of saying it.
She gave him a curious look. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” he said, smiling wearily. “Get home safe.”
Arjun had Dan and Erica over to his apartment that night for dinner. He hadn’t seen them since the group date at Scopa—and, besides, he had a fridge full of leftovers from his marathon cooking session that morning (Sophia, industrious to a fault, had stayed behind to prepare the fall semester’s syllabus). Arjun made fresh lacchha parathas in the kitchen with Erica while Dan sat on the couch drinking a beer and watching the Premier League.
Fragrant steam billowed from the various pots and pans on the stovetop, each heating up a different curry; the apartment was filled with intoxicating smells. I wish Nisha were here , Arjun thought, shaping one of the parathas into a neat triangle.
Stop it , he told himself. He was not supposed to be thinking of Nisha, despite the fact that she was the only thing he could think about since she’d left his apartment that morning. It had taken every fiber of his being not to sprint down the street and tell her how he really felt about her.
He turned to Erica. “I have something to tell you,” he said. “But I need you to promise not to kick me again.”
She laughed. “Why would I kick you?”
Arjun took a deep breath. “Because I think…I think that I’m in love with Nisha.”
Silence followed. Then, quick as a striking mongoose, Erica’s foot sped outward and collided with Arjun’s shin. He yelped in pain. “What the hell!” he exclaimed. “I told you not to kick me!”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Erica retorted, practically yelling. Arjun saw Dan swivel his head toward the kitchen, evidently interested in whatever was happening. “You’re in love with Nisha?”
That was enough to rouse Dan from his soccer game. “You’re in love with Nisha?” he repeated, walking to the kitchen.
Arjun sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, I think I am.”
Erica scoffed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Do you hear that, Dan? He thinks . Even better!”
“Hey, go easy on him,” Dan said. He turned to Arjun. “What makes you think you’re in love with Nisha?” he asked earnestly.
“It’s just a feeling I have,” Arjun said. “But I feel it so deeply—like it’s a fundamental part of my existence. I think…I want to be with her.”
Dan nodded. “All right,” he said. “So, then, be with her. It’s simple, isn’t it?”
Arjun shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I’m marrying Sophia, remember? We’re engaged. Or pre-engaged. Or whatever the hell we are.”
Dan raised his eyebrows. “So? If you really love Nisha, then you’re doing a disservice to Sophia. Not only are you sacrificing your happiness by not being with Nisha, but you’re also preventing Sophia from getting hers.”
Erica shook her head. “You’re so wrong,” she said to Dan. She sighed. “Look, Arjun, I know you’re going through a lot. But it’s just pre-wedding jitters. Trust me, I had them after I got engaged to Dan. Big time.”
A concerned expression dropped over Dan’s face. “You did?”
“Not now, babe,” said Erica, waving him off. “Anyway, Arjun—I thought the reason you wanted an arranged marriage in the first place was to build a relationship on a different foundation. Compatibility, not attraction or love. Wouldn’t you be undermining that if you were to suddenly dump Sophia and get with Nisha?”
Arjun struggled briefly for words. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Erica pressed her advantage. “Look, Nisha is a great person. And maybe you really do have these strong feelings for her. But let me ask you: you had these strong feelings for all the other girls you’ve dated, didn’t you? What if this thing with Nisha turns out the exact same way?”
Arjun’s mind flashed to Vicky Chang. Erica was right: he’d felt the same about Vicky as he did with Nisha. And you remember how that turned out, don’t you? he thought.
He nodded. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe these feelings for Nisha are just jitters. Just temporary.”
Dan clapped him on the shoulder. “Look: whatever you decide, we’ll support you. Now, which one of these curries should I start with?”