“Is it your story or my story?” Kamal asked, frowning. “Maybe I should tell more about the skinny-dipping.”
“And maybe Lakshmi can tell us more about doom,” Bushra said dryly. “Whose doom are we talking about here? My doom? Zara’s doom? Or are you just sharing helpings of doom all around?”
“Crow means flight,” Lakshmi said to Zara. “Three eyes is—”
“Doom.” Bushra shook her head. “Doom for everyone. This crow really is a downer.”
“Lakshmi reads tea leaves, palms, faces, and horoscopes for a small fee,” Mehar advised everyone at the table. “If anyone is interested, we’ll be in the lobby after dinner. She also does weddings, henna parties, and bar mitzvahs.”
“When did you start pimping out Lakshmi Auntie?” Zara asked Mehar. “I thought she only did that kind of stuff for family.”
“She wanted to share her gifts,” Mehar said. “I thought why not make money at the same time? You wouldn’t believe how many people hear the doom speech and are motivated to turn their lives around.”
“Sure. I get it.” She heaved a sigh. “Who doesn’t need a little doom in their life?”
“Are you single?” the uncle at the table asked Lakshmi.
“She’s a gifted astrologer and life coach,” an indignant Mehar sniffed. “And she makes soaps. She didn’t come here looking for a good time.”
“Yes, I did.” Lakshmi smiled at the man. “I’m single. Do you like kumquats?”
Mehar and Bushra shared a glance. They were used to having their pick of eligible wedding bachelors of a certain age. Zara didn’t think they’d ever lost out to quiet Lakshmi, who had always seemed content to watch the world go by.
“Save me a dance.” The uncle pointed at her and then the dance floor while making a clicking sound with his tongue.
“Even Lakshmi Auntie can find a man,” Bushra mumbled as she turned away to follow her sisters.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Zara called out. “She probably saw it coming.”
“This red wine reminds me of the story of how Cronus castrated Uranus—how is that possible? Ha ha ha—and threw his man parts into the sea, making lots of blood.” Kamal was on a roll. “How about that red foam?”
“What god did I offend to be made to suffer through this?” she whispered to the man in the suit seated beside her.
He lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the singles table. It looks like you’re here to stay.”
• 28 •
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Jay settled his mother on the couch in her living room.
“It’s just a few breaks and bruises, and Rick will be here with me. I have lots of friends, Jay. They’re doing a dinner train. We’ll have more than enough to eat.”
“Rick isn’t in much better shape.”
“We’ll look after each other,” she assured him. “You won’t have to worry when you’re away.”
Jay adjusted her pillows. “I’m still not sure if I’m going. We reported the possibility of a lawsuit to our investors, and they’ve put off the board approval meeting until we find out if it’s going ahead or not.”
Part of him was relieved at the delay. It meant more time with the psychologist at the VA clinic, more time to work through his pain, more time to learn to accept the things he could not change and more time to evaluate his priorities. Zara had taught him that there was so much more to life than sitting behind a desk. He would never have imagined a world of vulva fruits, zombie parties, pirate musicals, footballs in courtrooms, celebrity galas, and role play without her. He would never have been tempted to dance in a Mexican restaurant or seduce a woman in his office. He never would have laughed as much, smiled as much, or felt as connected with someone as he had with her. Now that his life was just about work again, he realized how empty it had been.
Jay’s mother settled back in her chair. “I still can’t believe Zara would take a case against you. She came to the hospital every day I was there. I didn’t know what I would say to her after you told me about the lawsuit, so I asked the nurse to tell her I was tired, but that just felt wrong. I know that girl in my heart, Jay. You have to talk to her.”
“She won’t take my calls or answer my messages. There isn’t anything I can do.”
“You could have gone to the sangeet last night.”
He balked at the admonition in her tone. “Who would have brought you home?” He’d called Avi to let him know he wouldn’t be able to make it because he had to look after his mom, but the truth was he couldn’t face Zara. He’d never opened himself up the way he had with her, never imagined he would be so spectacularly shot down, or that she would turn around and make absolutely sure they couldn’t be together. He’d given her space, but she hadn’t come back, and their time apart had simply heightened his desire. He loved her. And only if she couldn’t love him back would he be able to let her go.
“Jay,” Rick called out. “Where’s the remote? I started watching The Great British Baking Show when I was in the hospital and I wanna see the end of season two. The British are so fucking polite. Cakes fall, cookies burn, and barely a whimper. They smile on the outside, but inside you know they’re shitting themselves. I want to see one of them break. A swear word or a shout. Maybe slam a spoon on the counter. Real drama. And while you’re up, can you bring me some of those pastry things with the cream in them that Zara brought to the hospital? There’s a couple of them left.”
“She brought them every day,” his mother said when Jay’s jaw tightened. “And every day, all she talked about was you.”
* * *
• • •
Zara teetered on the windowsill when Faroz and Tony walked into her office, startling her. With one hand on the flimsy curtain rod and the other on her phone, she was precariously positioned. One wrong step and she would tumble to the ground.
“I told you she was one of us,” Faroz said.
Tony nodded. “I knew it when she came to the interview with only one shoe.”
“I got stuck in a grate.” Zara stretched, trying to get her phone as high as possible. “How about some help here?”
“You seem to be handling it all just fine,” Tony said. “What exactly are you doing?”
“I’m trying to take a picture of the crash test dummy lying on the floor in the corner.” She pointed to the dummy they used in personal injury cases to show how a body moved or didn’t move on impact. He had a sculpted head with two black button eyes and a movable torso and joints. Janice had dressed him in a low-cut pole bitch shirt and a pair of tiny jean shorts.