Chapter 7
Manisha arrived at Chai Time thirty minutes early. After receiving Deena’s message that she would be late, she decided not to wait inside with Rohit. Instead, she ducked into a bar a few doors down.
It took her eyes a second to adjust to the softly lit space.
A waitress gestured for her to find a seat anywhere, and Manisha saw a table near the window.
She glanced around the bar, which had a handful of patrons, perhaps regulars.
Who else would be at a pub in the middle of the day?
It definitely felt strange to her. Once upon a time, grabbing drinks after work at the nearby watering hole had been a regular ritual with her colleagues in London, but those days now seemed like a distant echo of her life, much like so many other memories from that time.
The waitress approached to take her order. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, with eggs aplenty.
Manisha inwardly scowled. “I’ll have a nine-ounce glass of your cheapest Chardonnay, please,” she said, plastering on a smile.
“You got it,” said the waitress brightly.
Manisha glanced at her phone and saw three missed calls from Cheating Scumbag, prompting a frustrated groan.
As if texts weren’t enough, now Oliver was resorting to calls.
She could easily ignore those, too—until he finally got the hint and stopped trying to reach her.
Without bothering to listen to the voicemails he’d left, she refocused her attention on the pressing issue at hand: her dire financial situation.
There was no way she could afford either of Dr. Rocky’s procedures.
The waitress returned with her wine in hand, and Manisha immediately gulped half the glass. It tasted cheap, but it hit the spot. The egg-freezing spot.
She inhaled deeply before opening her banking app, closing her eyes as she murmured a quiet prayer.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes to the harsh reality of her account summary.
Her savings account was in the red, hovering nearly $5,000 in overdraft, while her chequing account barely scraped a thousand dollars—most of which was her last paycheque.
To make matters worse, both credit cards were at their limits.
Staring at the bleak numbers, she desperately tried to figure out how to juggle her finances, but the truth hit her hard: There was no money to shuffle.
No lender would even consider giving her a penny after seeing her recent transactions filled with lavish purchases.
In her effort to heal her broken heart, she had inadvertently dug herself into a financial abyss.
It wasn’t until now, a realization spurred by Dr. Rocky’s words, that she truly understood the depth of her predicament.
Downing the remainder of her wine, she signalled for a refill.
The waitress returned with a glass brimming to the top, seemingly aware that Manisha was eager to numb her troubles.
“Cheers,” Manisha muttered, raising her glass to the waitress, then taking a long sip.
“You know, I used to be like you—young, carefree, probably with an impressive ovarian reserve. Look at me now.” She gestured vaguely to herself.
“I’m a cocktail of designer brands, financial chaos, and emotional wreckage.
” Manisha took the pamphlets from her purse and threw them on the table.
The waitress blinked. “Are you guys trying for a baby?”
Manisha burst into laughter. “Ha! What guy? It’s just me, darling. No Prince Charming. No knight in shining armour. Nope. Just me, staring down a fifty-thousand-dollar bill to freeze my eggs. Can you believe that? Fifty grand.”
“Oh wow. I really had no idea…”
That makes two of us.
“How about a shot?” the waitress asked, trying to comfort Manisha.
“Make it two!” Manisha replied, her voice a mix of frustration and determination. Anything to numb the pain.
The waitress returned with three shots, one for herself included.
Manisha grimaced as she picked up a glass and slammed it back in unison with her new friend. She shuddered at the burning sensation. It had been ages since she knocked back a shot of tequila. Manisha immediately accepted a lemon wedge the waitress was offering.
“You know, no one tells you any of this,” Manisha said.
“Like, nobody sits you down and says, ‘Hey, you might want to think about saving money to freeze your eggs.’ No, it’s not in the pamphlet at the library or covered by the work health benefits package.
Do you know why? Because that would be too easy.
Instead, you have to end up here, talking to a random waitress, no offence, while sipping cheap Chardonnay and doing tequila shots in the middle of the day.
” Manisha slammed her hand on the table, causing their already wobbly setup to tremble.
The waitress, still a little confused, handed her the next shot.
“Thanks…what’s your name?”
“Missy,” the waitress replied.
“Missy, I need you to lean in closer. I am going to do you a favour. I’m going to be your fertility fairy godmother?auntie, and I’m telling you now.
Don’t take this stuff for granted,” she said, pointing at the waitress.
“Because if you do, you might end up like me. And I’m not exactly prime egg-freezing material anymore. ”
Missy forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“You’ll thank me later,” Manisha said.
“Well, good luck. I bet you’ll make a great mom.” Missy turned and hurried to another table.
Manisha, feeling empowered by her tequila-soaked wisdom, raised her glass again. “I’ll be the greatest mom in Baskin!” Manisha called after her. “Sure, my child…she…or he…may not have anything else, like a father. But guess what they will have? The finest of Hermès,” Manisha slurred loudly.
“You’re a hairy mess!” another patron yelled.
She gasped, free hand flying to her frizzy hair. “How rude. It’s Hermès,” Manisha scolded back. She took another swig of her drink. “Hairy mess.” She giggled to herself just as her phone rang. Cheating Scumbag. It was Oliver, and this time, Manisha picked it up.
“What the hell do you want, Oliver?”
“Ish! Finally. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but you haven’t replied to any of my texts or…”
“Why the hell would I?” Manisha asked, temper flaring.
“Is everything alright? Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Oliver,” Manisha replied impatiently. “Why are you trying to get a hold of me now? I’m out of London. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Ish, what are you talking about? Why would I want you out of London? I know I was a complete bastard, and again, I’m sorry for what happened, but—”
“What happened is you cheated on me with your law student,” Manisha interrupted.
She heard a hush fall over the bar. She hadn’t realized she’d been talking so loudly.
There was silence on the phone now, too.
Manisha continued, trying to calm herself. “And I need you to stop texting and calling me. It’s over. You got what you wanted. You win.”
“Got what I wanted?” Oliver asked in disbelief. “I wanted you, Ish. I wanted you so badly.”
Manisha scoffed. He sure had a backward way of showing it. “Let me get this straight: You wanted me so badly that you cheated on me?” Each word climbed in volume.
“I tried to get you to spend time with me! You were always working!” Oliver cried.
“We lived together. I saw you every day!” She was definitely shouting now.
“But did you see me? Like, actually see who I was, who I am?” His voice cracked, close to breaking.
Manisha froze, not knowing what to say. Did she?
“Manisha, all you saw was a guy you lived with, not someone you wanted to be with for the rest of your life. We were like roommates, and I know that deep down, you were never a hundred percent in this.”
That made her bristle. “Oh, really? How do you know that?”
“I think you want to end up with an Indian guy,” Oliver said simply.
Manisha didn’t know what to do with that. Finally, she spoke. “Okay, Oliver. Let’s say that’s true. Did that give you the right to cheat on me?”
“No, and I own that.”
“Oh wow! Everyone, listen up!” She raised her voice. “Oliver James Horne admits he did wrong by cheating on me!”
“Is that why you’re a hairy mess?” The patron from earlier shouted.
She scowled in the direction of the heckler. “H-E-R-M-è-S!” she shouted back.
“What?” Oliver gasped through the phone. “Herpes? Do you have herpes?”
“Oh my god, no!” she cried. “Hermès.”
She took a gulp of wine. “Honestly, Oliver, between the two of us, if someone was at risk of having anything, it would be you. I wasn’t the one sleeping with someone.”
“Oh, don’t I know it,” Oliver said bitterly.
Manisha fell silent, stunned. When she finally found her voice, she fought to keep it even.
“Just because we weren’t having sex doesn’t give you the right to sleep around on me.
And to be very clear, you only owned up to cheating because I caught you.
You made me think I was acting crazy, denying it over and over again until that night.
” Tears sprang to her eyes at the awful memory.
“Until I saw you. I saw you with her.” She blinked hard.
She was not going to let him hear her cry.
“I know. I’m so sorry, Ish.”
Manisha paused. He actually sounded sincere.
“I don’t care,” she muttered, steeling herself. “You didn’t deserve me, and I don’t need to sit here listening to your pathetic excuses or apologies, either. I’m going. Goodbye.”
“Isha, Ish, wait—”
But she hung up, cutting him off mid-sentence. She clumsily stuffed the pamphlets back in her purse, tossed some cash on the table, and swayed toward Chai Time, wine-fuelled confidence guiding her steps.