“So, what’s your poison, Jay?” Zara joined the buffet line a few minutes later. “Let me guess. Something dark and spicy that packs a lot of heat. Maybe a rista? Or a naga curry?” She studied him, shaking her head. “Hmmm. Not so exotic. I think you’re more of a vindaloo. Rich and complicated with hidden depths. Every bite satiates your taste buds and leaves you craving more.”
Unsettled by her seemingly casual yet unnervingly accurate assessment, he turned his attention to filling his plate from the lavish spread. Indian uncles used the buffet as their basis to judge whether or not a wedding was a success, commenting and critiquing on the type of food, the spiciness level, the timing of the meal, and the variety of dishes. As he made his way down the line, Jay couldn’t imagine they would find cause for complaint. His disappointment came not from the quantity or variety of food but because he had to return to the table before he got to the end of the buffet, due to the insufficient size of the plate.
“My aunt and uncle catered the dinner.” Zara joined him at the table, her plate piled high. “They own the Spice Mill. I don’t get down to their restaurant in Sunnyvale very often, so this is a treat. Did you get a samosa? No one makes them the way Jana Auntie does.”
“I have more than enough.” He gestured to his mountain of food, the scents of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves making his mouth water.
“If you had enough, you wouldn’t be devouring my samosas with your eyes.” She speared a small samosa with her fork and dipped it in one of the small pots of chutney that had been placed on the table while they were at the buffet. “Eat this. I have four more weddings to attend this summer. I need to pace myself.”
“No, thank—”
She cut him off by shoving the samosa in his mouth. Jay had never had the desire to stuff his mouth so full he resembled a chipmunk. Etiquette demanded he not remove the offending food, so he attempted to chew and swallow the delicious potato-filled pastry without embarrassing himself.
“What do you think?” Zara asked.
Jay dabbed his lips with his napkin. “I think it was unnecessary to shove the samosa in my mouth.”
“Was it not the best samosa you’ve ever tasted?”
He gave a begrudging shrug. “Yes.”
“Then nothing else matters.” She settled back in her chair. “Be glad I gave it to you because they’ll be gone before you make it back to the buffet for seconds.”
His gaze flicked to the head on the table. “Should I also be glad of our unwanted guest?”
“Unwanted?” Her eyes widened as her voice rose. “She’s the goddess of love, fertility, beauty, and desire. Who could be more perfect for a wedding? Although . . .” She tapped her lush lips, considering. “She does have a bad side, but you can’t blame her. Who wouldn’t have issues if you’d been born from the sea foam created from Uranus’s blood after his youngest son, Cronus, castrated him and threw his genitals into the sea?”
The woman in pink choked on her food. The man with the goatee barked a laugh. Jay crossed his legs, although his family jewels weren’t under threat.
“She also had many adulterous affairs,” Zara continued to her now rapt audience of singles. “Most notably with Ares. So maybe cutting off her head is a good thing.” She lifted a forkful of biryani. “Did you know her name gave us the word aphrodisiac? Or that her Latin name, Venus, gave us the word venereal for venereal dis—”
Jay cut her off with a raised hand. “Not something I really wanted to think about over a meal.”
“I think about things like this all the time,” Zara said. “My brain never stops. Sometimes I wish it would slow down.”
“Maybe if you just focused on your food,” he suggested, not unkindly.
“Good idea. It’s best when it’s hot.”
If he thought he’d bought himself enough time to eat in peace, he was gravely mistaken. He had managed only one bite of his meal before she began to talk again, keeping her voice low. “What do you know about the two people on the other side of the table? Do they seem compatible? They had a moment there when she choked.”
“I know they’re competent adults who can find their own partners.”
“Jay.” She sighed. “Do you always have to be such a grump?” She tore her naan in half. “I matched Tarun and Maria and many other happy couples. This wedding season, I intend to help a few more sad singles find their happily-ever-afters.”
“Did you ask them if they want you meddling in their lives?” He bit into a tender piece of lamb. The korma was seasoned to perfection.
Her smile faded the tiniest bit. “I’m guiding, not meddling. What I do takes a lot of skill.”
“There is no skill involved in saying A, meet B.” He was not usually so disagreeable, but he enjoyed baiting her. Not just because she was always up to the challenge, but because it meant she wouldn’t jump up to talk to other people. Although it made no sense, he wanted her all to himself.
“I’m not talking about introducing two random people like the aunties do to rack up their wedding rishta scores,” she snapped, her temper rising. “I get to know the person so when their perfect match comes along . . .” She threw open her arms and Jay ducked from the blow he saw coming. “BOOM. It hits like lightning. True love.”
“No such thing.” He added a spoonful of mango chutney to his plate. “The romantic idea of love involves sacrificing the self with no expectation of reward. We live in a world where people are inherently selfish, which means true love cannot exist.”
“Oh, Jay.” She patted his arm. “To be so naive . . .”
“I’m a realist,” he said. “People get together because of shared interests and not because of whimsical romantic ideals. There is no magic or chemistry. There is no such thing as true love.”
His mother said she’d fallen in love with his father after seeing him across a crowded room, and look how that had turned out. If his mother hadn’t entertained such romanticized ideas, she never would have married his father only to be abandoned nine months and one baby later.
Zara nibbled on a piece of naan. “I can sense your despair. Don’t worry. I’ll find someone for you, too.”
He felt his stomach muscles twisting in a knot. “I have neither the time for nor the interest in a relationship.”
“Finally, we have something in common.” She held up her hand. “Give me a high five. Singles forever.”
He felt a stab of guilt when he gently slapped her palm. He’d made a promise to his mother to make an effort to find a partner. But he couldn’t take what he couldn’t give, and he had nothing to offer after the devastating accident that had ended his time in service.