“You think I have a maid, too? I can cook and clean and do laundry. I can also change my oil and a tire. Just eat.”
I grinned and took a huge, sweet bite. Oh, man, I was in heaven. “Did you make this from scratch? It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.”
“Yes. And thank you. A borrowed crepe recipe, my own version of sweetened cream cheese, and a strawberry reduction.”
“All made this morning?”
“Takes all of fifteen minutes. Bacon?”
I offered my plate, and she dropped four pieces of perfectly cooked bacon onto it. I knew I was about to step into dangerous territory, but I had to ask, “You might throw that pan at me, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“What is it?” She poured herself a cup of coffee, a splash of cream, a heaping spoonful of sugar.
“Why are you so against marriage?”
“Seriously? The idea of being tied to one man, for one thing. I don’t need anyone telling me what to do, how to do it, or when to do it. I don’t need to ask permission for anything.”
I laughed. Although a part of me still didn’t believe I deserved a happy ending, another part saw imperfections in Liya that matched my own. She was an emotional hot mess and so was I. Maybe…we would make a match.
“What’s so funny?” She placed a hand on her hip and leaned against the counter as she ate a piece of bacon.
“Marriage doesn’t have to be that. Not that it matters now, but I wouldn’t want a subservient wife. I want…a queen. Authoritative, independent, decisive, but able to confide in me and consult with me, a team player.”
She waved off my words. “That’s all talk.”
“Is it?”
“Guys will say that to get the girl. They’ll say anything.”
“Except I’m not trying to get you,” I lied.
“Whatever idealism you have now doesn’t necessarily work out that way post-wedding. I’ve seen all sorts of marriages start, and they end up with bickering and fighting for control, one dominates the other. There’s no way out. There’s no room to breathe and think. I love coming home to the quiet. I love not having to jump right on dinner or battle over the remote or argue about which party to go to.”
“Maybe one day you’ll change your mind and see how good things can be.”
“You’re one to talk,” she said flatly, making me pause. Did she know? Did she know about my past? It wasn’t a secret, but my family hadn’t discussed it with anyone here. Did she know how it warped my hopes for my own future? She couldn’t possibly.
“Explain.”
She sighed. “We fight. Even if you do something nice, or I’m feeling relaxed and happy…the calm never stays with us. There’s something in me that doesn’t want marriage. But there’s something in you, too.”
Before I could ask what she meant by that, Liya went on, “But anyway, things are good now. Clearly, neither one of us will ever consider the other one for marriage again.”
“Clearly…” And yet, here I was kind of wanting to date her. The real her. This her. The intelligent, funny, talented, free, laid-back woman who didn’t try to put up a hard exterior to keep everyone out.
Liya ate while standing across the counter from me. As the conversation died I noticed she had strawberry cream cheese on the corner of her mouth.
“What?” she asked, catching my stare.
I sighed, leaned across the counter, and gently swiped my thumb across the corner of her lips.
She paused. “You could’ve just said I had something on my face.”
“And miss a chance to touch your lips? Have you lost your mind?”
She laughed my comment off like it was a joke. But it wasn’t. With how I was feeling right now, she was lucky I didn’t walk around the counter and lick the strawberry right off her. I’d better stop thinking about licking anything anywhere on her.
I glanced around her once immaculate apartment. Shoes piled up by the door. Clothes were strung over chairs. The coffee table vanished beneath several empty glasses. The sink was full. She probably had two hampers of laundry waiting.
The crystal clock on the wall showed it was already ten, and Shilpa’s shower started at one. I was supposed to get the sparkling apple cider and sparkling pomegranate juice, the kind in fancy champagne bottles, plus flowers and a fruit tray.
“You don’t have to help clean,” Liya said when I stood with plate and mug in hand. “It’s fine. You have to go home and get ready for the shower, and a few more dishes aren’t going to hurt. This place is a mess.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Thanks for breakfast and letting me crash. Could I offer you a ride to the baby shower?”
“No problem. Actually, I’m going with the girls, and we’ll swing by my car on the way. Thanks, though.”
I tugged my dress shirt over my wrinkled tee and turned to face a shelf of little multicolored, pointed bottles. “What are these? Miniature stakes?”
“No.” She walked around me to get the glasses from the coffee table. “Those are nail polishes.”
“Fancy.” I eyed the black one with red in the middle and encrusted with crystals all the way up.
“Christian Louboutin.”
I put on my shoes. “You mean unnecessarily expensive nail polishes. Those are tiny bottles. They last for what? One, maybe two uses?”
She rolled her eyes. “They also double as eye-gougers. Want to test?”
I laughed and opened the door. “See you in a few hours.”
“Yes. Oh, crap. I didn’t have time to pick up anything. Quick. Tell me what Shilpa needs.”
I raced through mental notes. “I think she has everything.”
She groaned and chewed on her bottom lip, her focus on the floor as she considered gift ideas. It was cute that even a baby shower gift to someone she barely knew was a serious affair. It was nice seeing this softer, incredibly thoughtful side to Liya. Even better? The fact that she was letting down some walls and not realizing it. Maybe she was starting to feel comfortable with me. Maybe I was getting comfortable with her, with the idea that having a happy ending was okay. Dad would’ve liked Liya. I knew that I did.
After picking up my list items, I eased out of my clothes, which still smelled like Liya’s apartment, and smiled. By the time I showered, dressed, and arrived, most of the decorations were up. Ribbons, balloons, paper flowers, candies, diapers, and dolls. An aarti tray was set up by the shrine. A long table was covered in confetti and an assortment of food: little square cakes that resembled building blocks spelling out “Welcome Baby Shah,” cups with veggie dip and long slivers of vegetables, lettuce wraps, and a watermelon carved into a baby stroller filled with fruit balls.
Alongside that were silver platters of warm vegetable samosas and bowls of a dark green chutney with spicy jalapeño, and sweet date and tangy tamarind chutney. Potato and onion pakora came next, fried golden brown with hints of green herbs and creamy raita.
I knew I had to get some dabeli before those went fast and plucked a small bun of what was essentially a spiced potato burger topped with peanuts and pomegranate seeds.