19. Rohit
“ H ey man,” I say as I open my apartment door for Quinn.
Quinn nods hello as he comes in and slides off his sneakers.
Ever since we were kids, he knows to take his shoes off when he comes to visit me. I may not live with my parents anymore, but some habits I maintain. But I will never, ever reuse a yogurt container to store leftovers. There’s nothing as jarring as thinking you’re opening up a container of Greek yogurt and seeing chicken curry inside. That’s something that will die with my parents’ generation.
Quinn heads over to my sofa and makes himself at home, reaching for the remote to turn on the baseball game.
“Pizza will be here in a few minutes. Want a beer?” I don’t wait for his answer and bring two beers to the sofa.
“This is nice. It’s been a while,” Quinn says as he takes a long sip.
“Yeah, well, you’re off curing cardiac disease and hanging out with your fiancé, so I’m just glad you decided to grace me with your presence tonight,” I tease, but we both know there’s a kernel of truth to my words.
We watch a relatively uneventful inning of baseball when there’s a simultaneous knock on my door and the ping of a text notification on my phone.
“I’ll get the pizza, you get the phone,” Quinn says as he jumps up from the sofa. He runs his hand through the front of his hair as he walks leisurely to my door.
MILEY
I’m sending you Ruby’s address
We can meet there tomorrow 7PM
I’ll pick you up
You don’t have to
It’ll look weird if we meet there. We’re “dating”
Also, I’ll come to your place a little early
We have to get our stories straight
What do you mean?
We need to be on the same page about questions they may ask us
Don’t want any more disasters, like at the gala
“Work party” who?
Haven’t you ever lied before?
I’m not sure how to answer that
Does that mean you lie a lot?
I’m not sure how to answer that
Don’t worry about it
I have to say, I’m intrigued
Anyway, knowing Ruby there’s gonna be an after party to her dinnerparty at some bar
Bars are my specialty
Why am I not surprised, party boy
“Who are you texting with that goofy smile on your face?” Quinn asks as he comes back with the box of pizza.
“No one—I mean… Miley, so it’s no big deal,” I answer quickly as I turn my phone upside down. I don’t know what Quinn knows and how much I’m allowed to tell him.
“Don’t you mean your fake girlfriend?” Quinn asks in a singsong voice. He smirks as he takes a big bite of pepperoni, the cheese stretching until it breaks, slapping him on the chin.
“Oh, so you know.” I sigh with relief. I don’t like hiding things from Quinn. “I’m not sure how I got into this mess.”
“A really hot girl needed a pretend boyfriend. You’d have been stupid not to get involved.” Quinn shakes his head.
“Whatever, man. I think you are the one who got me into this mess? Aren’t you the one who convinced Miley to invite me to the gala in the first place? Anyway, I’m just helping out a friend. That she happens to be really hot is inconsequential.” I pointedly turn my attention back to the television.
Like a good friend, Quinn watches a few more innings of baseball with me in companionable silence before making his excuses to run home to Dylan.
“Heads up, man,” he says as he’s putting his shoes back on. “Stock up on Diet Coke.”
“Why? You giving up beer?” I ask.
“Not for me. For your girlfriend.” Quinn smirks as he opens the door and slips out before I can smack him.
It’s exactly six PM when I knock on Miley’s door. She opens it right away and ushers me inside. It takes me approximately two seconds to notice her curves in a fitted, cropped black tank top. Her wide leg jeans brush against the floor because she is barefoot, without heels, for now anyway.
Out of habit, I take my shoes off at the door, and Miley nods her approval.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Miley asks, heading towards her fridge.
“I’m okay, thanks,” I ask, looking around her studio for a place to sit. There’s no sofa. The only options I see are her bed, the small bench by her piano keyboard, and a small table with two chairs in the corner that serves as her kitchen. I follow her to that part of the apartment and sit at the table.
Miley closes the fridge without taking anything out of it and sits at the table with me.
“So, what’s this about getting our stories straight?” She sighs and leans her head against her hand, elbow propped up on the small table.
“When they ask, how did we actually meet?” I lean back in my chair.
“We just stick to what we already told them. We met at a work party and were introduced by Dylan and Quinn.” Miley raises one eyebrow and looks at me as if I’m daft. Little does naive Miley know that creating a cover story is never that straightforward.
“Yeah, of course, but they are going to ask for more details. When was that? How long have we been dating?” I ask, watching her intently.
Miley looks down at her lap, brows furrowed. “Two months? Long enough that it’s not a fling, but not so long that it’s very serious?”
“That sounds good, but what made us decide to date two months ago?” I press.
“You really are good at this. Have you been a fake boyfriend before?” Miley looks surprised, skeptical, and slightly impressed all at once.
“No, but I’ve hidden plenty of things from my parents, and this is not that different,” I answer truthfully, showing Miley more of myself than I do to most people.
“Remember when we helped Quinn and Dylan move into their new place?” Miley asks, leaning forward.
I think back to a few months ago, when Quinn and I moved boxes while Miley and Dylan unpacked them. Miley and I didn’t interact much that day, but we were technically together. I nod, urging Miley to go on.
“Well,” Miley continues, “maybe you and I went out for a bite to eat after, giving Dylan and Quinn some alone time, and we got to know each other better then?”
My head tilts as I consider the possibility. I wonder what would have been if that had actually happened.
“That’ll work,” I agree. “On to personal details. You already know about my sister Reena, and I know about Ruby. What else do I need to know about Dr. Miley Chen?” That brings a smile to her lips.
“Anesthesia resident,” Miley replies, as she ticks one finger. “I play the piano.” She ticks another finger and nods her head towards her keyboard. “My parents own bubble tea shops and I help out when I can,” she says as she touches a third finger. “That, and everything else you know about me, should cover it.” She folds her hands on the table as if she’s that simple. I don’t believe it for a second. “What about you?” Miley looks me in the eye.
“Twin sister, ICU nurse, you already know my dad, my mom runs a non-profit, tennis,” I say with finality.
“Who’s your dad? Why would I know him?” Miley asks, again looking at me as if I’m daft and getting dafter.
In a haughty voice fit for my dad, I reply, “Dr. Rajesh Kumar, anesthesiologist to the stars.”
“Hold up, your dad is Dr. Kumar? As in my attending? As in my favorite attending?” Her eyes widen in shock.
“He cannot possibly be your favorite!” I shout involuntarily, not understanding how he can be anyone's favorite anything. My father is a stern, no-nonsense guy. He doesn’t have a warm bone in his body. His expectations of Reena and me have been impossible to meet. Everything I do is a disappointment to him, most of all my not going to medical school.
“He’s so nice! I can always count on him to teach and not make me feel stupid. Our cases always go very smoothly. He’s also so funny! I love listening to his stories. Now that I think about it, he has told me some stories about his kids, I just had no idea he was referring to you!” She says with a bright smile meant for my dad. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I think I want to be the one to make her smile like that.
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” I wonder, still in disbelief. “I don’t even want to know about whatever stories he’s told you about me. I’m not the apple of his eye. And obviously, he never makes you feel stupid, since you are absolutely brilliant.”
Miley eyes me, ignoring the compliment I just gave her, instead focusing on the former statement. Concern flits across her pretty face. “I think you are mistaken about how he feels about you.”
I shake my head. But it’s not the right time to rehash my family drama, so I change the subject. “What about PDA?”
I see a blush creeping from her cheeks up to her ears. Miley asks, looking down at her hands. “You can touch me casually, hold my hand. I think that’s normal.” She’s still averting her gaze.
“Makes sense,” I say. My voice is gruff. I swallow the lump in my throat, and I’m just willing Miley to look at me, so I know she’s okay. When she doesn’t, I add, “If you’re ever uncomfortable, just let me know, because that won’t ever be my intention.” When Miley gives a small nod, I breathe a sigh of relief and pull out my phone.
“Okay, I think we’re ready to go,” I say as I tap on the screen.
“Are you calling another Uber?” Miley asks as she stands and walks to the door to put on her shoes.
“Not yet, first, we need some selfies because if this is a believable relationship, we need couples photos for our lock screens.” I hold up my phone and pull her to me. With her back to me, I wrap my arms around her front. I feel a zing of electricity that maybe Miley does too because she looks at me, surprised, just as my finger hits the button to snap the photo. We both are startled from the moment by the sound of the “shutter” of the phone and turn our attention to the photo. Surprisingly, we are looking at each other with the fondness of a happy couple.
“I’ll use that one,” Miley says as she puts some distance between us. “Text it to me. But, let’s take a different one for your phone.”
I look around her apartment to try to find a different backdrop for our next photo.
Miley sits back down, and gestures for me to sit at the table with her. Wordlessly, I oblige. She extends her hand on the table and instinctively, I hold it and intertwine our fingers. Miley pulls out her phone and takes an artistic photo of our hands and airdrops it to me.
“It’s subtle, but sweet,” Miley explains. Lock screen here we go.
Miley gets up and walks to the door, turning her attention to putting on her shoes. High wedge heels. Literally every time I’ve seen this girl get dressed to go out, she’s wearing some sort of break-neck shoe.
“Now it’s Uber time,” I explain, as I open the app on my phone. Miley scoffs as she picks up her purse and opens the door.
It takes us less than fifteen minutes to get out of Miley’s apartment, catch the Uber, and make our way to Ruby’s door. She lives in what appears to be a very expensive high rise on the Upper East Side, right by the park. A doorman greets Miley by name, I guess that's the kind of service you pay for.
When Ruby opens the door she gives us a genuine smile and heartfelt hugs that make me feel a little uncomfortable, considering the farce that Miley and I are perpetrating.
“Rohit! Miley! Welcome.” She leads us into her apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. An apartment building next to the park doesn’t automatically mean views of it, but this unit definitely does. Charlie comes to greet us with glasses of wine.
“I hope rosé is okay,” he says as he hands the glasses to us. “It’s all Ruby drinks between Memorial Day and Labor Day.” He smiles at his fiancé with hearts in his eyes.
“Let me introduce you to everyone.” Ruby grabs my elbow and leads me to a large kitchen island set for dinner. “Charlie and I have known each other forever, so our circle is small. The bridal party is even smaller. This is Roger, Charlie’s best man and college roommate,” Ruby says as a muscular guy seated in at the end of the table raises his glass.
“I’m Emily,” the girl across from him chimes in. “I’m Roger’s wife, and Ruby’s bridesmaid. We all went to college together.”
Charlie sits next to Emily and motions for Ruby to join him. “And I believe you’ve met Miley, the maid of honor,” he jokes. “And that’s the extent of our bridal party. We are very lucky to have such great friends, and don’t need a circus of excess people around us on our big day.”
I pull out a chair for Miley across from Ruby, and I settle myself between her and Roger. The family-style meal of pasta, salad, and rolls is already laid out on the table and the aromas wafting toward me have my mouth watering.
“Dig in everyone,” Charlie urges, and then utensils are clattering to fill plates.
Once everyone has food on their plates, Ruby raises her glass.
“A toast,” she begins, eyes bright. “To friends who become family,” she says as she looks at Roger and Emily, “and family who are the best of friends.” She raises her glass in Miley’s direction.
“ Gan bei ,” Charlie says as he takes a sip. “So Rohit, tell me more about tennis. Where do you coach?”
I put my glass down and take a deep breath. I love tennis but I don’t often talk about the specifics of my coaching job.
“I coach at the Impact Tennis Academy,” I answer, spearing a piece of penne with my fork.
“Oh, I’ve walked by there,” Charlie says with his head tilted. “That’s the place for under-resourced youth.”
“Yes, our students are primarily those who wouldn’t ordinarily be able to succeed in tennis due to the tremendous economic burden of coaching, court time, and gear,” I explain, looking at my plate.
“What?” Miley asks, looking at me, mouth agape. “Don’t you coach rich cougars on the Upper East Side?”
“No, you assumed I did, and I didn’t correct you,” I respond, looking Miley in the eyes. Apparently, I’ve temporarily forgotten that I’m talking to my pretend girlfriend in front of her sister.
Miley leans away from me for a moment, processing the information.
“Why not?” Miley asks, also clearly forgetting that we are supposed to be dating, and probably should know these things about each other already.
I shrug. “I don’t really talk about it. My dad is always on my case about my nursing career, and how much time I spend on tennis, and he doesn’t really approve of either. But I coach the kids for me. And for them. I have been very privileged to afford tennis growing up and I want to be able to bring that to talented kids that otherwise may not have the opportunity.”
“That’s so admirable.” Ruby’s voice comes from across the table, pulling my attention from Miley.
“Not according to my father,” I mutter. “I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a finance degree,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. I haven’t shared that with anyone, not even Reena, yet here I am spilling those thoughts with near-strangers.
“Really?” Charlie asks, taking a bite of pasta.
“Yeah, well, it would help with moving up in hospital administration, but almost more importantly, it would help me get involved with the ITA foundation and I could probably help the kids even more.” I take a long swig of wine, feeling instantly lighter having shared the information.
“Well, if you need any help, please, let me know,” Charlie offers. I vaguely recall that Charlie does something finance-related.
“Oh, I can’t impose, you’re busy and planning a wedding,” I deflect, taking another sip of wine.
“Please! You’re practically family!” Charlie says jovially.
Miley chokes on her wine and I smile, leaning over to her, putting my arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t mind her, she just hasn’t decided if she’s going to keep me around yet,” I say with a chuckle, finally playing the role of fake boyfriend like I’m meant to.
The table laughs, and Miley regains her composure. I languidly circle my fingers around her shoulder, and I feel her shiver underneath my touch.
“I didn’t know all that about you,” she whispers to me. “I thought you were good at lying? Why didn’t you tell me any of this at my place?”
I smile apologetically, but Miley still looks miffed. Luckily, the conversation for the rest of dinner shifts away from me, and to less heavy topics like future wedding events.
Once dinner is over, Ruby smiles gleefully.
“And now, we move on to the after party!” Ruby links her arm to Charlie’s and motions for us all to follow. “To the bar!”
I relax a little. Bars are all about drinking, making light conversation, and having fun. I wasn’t joking when I said they are my specialty.