Isha, Unscripted, page 25
I sat down at my disturbingly empty desk and swiveled in the chair, deciding to take a mental break from scriptwriting. Just for a short while. I needed to recharge creatively before diving into the next project.
Once Rohan and I were settled into our new place, I could get back into the right headspace to query agents again and get back into pitchfests and conferences and networking. Maybe, just maybe, I’d get this position with Veronica’s boss and meet someone who was willing to mentor me and give me a chance to prove my skills the way they had with her.
Biting my lip, the queasiness of the confrontation and embarking into the unknown turned less heavy, less extreme, less dramatic. I was an adult, and this was what adults did. I found myself enjoying a slight wave of giddiness tingling through my insides. Yeah. Everything was going to be fine. No one said success only came in one’s twenties, or that success only had meaning if it was reached by thirty.
It was okay. Things would be okay.
I nervously laughed into the void.
It had to be. There were plenty of people who found their stride, their career, their passion, their love, their everything well into their forties, fifties, and beyond. I recalled a LinkedIn post about a man getting his PhD in his fifties. An article about a woman who found the love of her life in her sixties. There was an Olympic athlete who competed in his seventies. A woman I read about a few months back who accomplished yet another life goal in her eighties. There wasn’t a set age limit, a moment when it was too late for everything.
My parents were wrong if they thought I should have everything together by now. It was okay if I didn’t. It was okay if I was still striving and working toward my dreams. And it was okay to evolve.
I glanced at my phone, expecting Rohan to change his mind about living with me, expecting him to say it was all a setup to get me out and on my own again. Thankfully, no such text came.
I pondered Rohan’s menu opportunity and wondered how it would all unfurl for him and where he would be in a year. Probably managing the entire kitchen or having one of his own. Maybe he would even take the big step of starting a food truck. His adventure awaited, and I was so excited to see where life would take him.
My phone screen lit up.
Thirst-Trap: Just checking in on ya. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Hope everything is okay.
By a while, he meant a couple of days and a handful of texts. Was I awful for ignoring him? After all he’d done?
Thirst-Trap: Going to catch my ego in check here and just ask if you want me to stop texting you? If I don’t hear from ya, I’ll take that as a yes.
Oh, hell. Not the sad emoji. I dragged in a deep breath and sputtered. Ah, too deep. My chest burned. No matter what I thought of myself, I couldn’t take that out on a man who’d done so much for me. He deserved to know the truth, no matter how pathetic. Then we could have a clean break. It shouldn’t be so bad, really. It wasn’t as if we were a couple or had been dating for more than a day.
More than that, more than anything else on this planet, I couldn’t screw up Rohan’s chances of working with him. I might’ve made a complete mess of my life, but Rohan had a great opportunity to break into the food world.
“Ah, woman up,” I muttered.
Rogue caught my attention from her spot on the bed. She made aggressive eye contact and I blinked first.
“You’re right, Rogue. I have to be mature.”
I tapped my screen to unleash an unabashed explanation, my fingers ready to text away, when I accidentally hit CALL.
Of course I’d done that!
Before I could hit that glaring red END CALL icon, Tarik answered.
I froze when he didn’t speak for seconds on end. Perhaps he’d butt-answered? And he would keep doing whatever it was that he was doing and the call would disconnect without any awkward interaction?
“Hello?” He finally spoke.
I closed my eyes, my hands trembling, and said, “Oh, that was quick.” Why did I say that!
“I was texting my brother and accidentally answered on first ring,” he explained, his voice gravelly.
“Oh, funny. I was about to text you and accidentally called.”
“Accidents aren’t always bad,” he replied.
“Did you just wake up?”
“Yeah. Just lying here, catching up on messages,” he answered. His throaty, hoarse voice made my insides churn.
Hearing his voice when he first woke up was the sexiest thing in the world. He managed the pub. Understandably he went to bed late, which meant waking up early afternoons. I loved to hear it. He sure took the edge off.
“Oh! Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. You?”
“It’s almost noon. I’ve been up since six.”
“Such an early riser,” he groaned.
“Wait. So you’re still in bed?” I bit my lip, and it was all I could do not to imagine being in bed beside him.
“Yes. The curtains are closed and it’s still dark in my bedroom.”
I vanquished the images of him in bed but couldn’t help it, imagining sheets gathered at his waist, one arm above his head, his hair messy. Did he sleep without a shirt on? Or in the nude? “So what are you wearing?”
Even his morning laugh was throaty. “Calm down, woman.”
I shifted in my desk chair, grinning. “No. Tell me.”
He cleared his throat. “All right. I’m wearing gray sweatpants and a red T-shirt.”
I pouted. “Aw. You didn’t even pretend to be topless?”
“Are you topless?” he asked, suddenly sounding a little more awake.
“Eh. You’ll never know, I guess. This should’ve been a video call for that.”
“Thanks for the idea. Next time. Nothing like a surprise video call.”
“No! I at least need a text warning. How dare you?”
He chuckled. Then we both went dead quiet. I had watched Rogue nibble on her chew toy for what felt like a good minute when he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. Sort of. I don’t really know.”
“Did something happen? Did I do something?”
“No!” I was quick to reply. “God, no. You’re perfect.”
“Is this one of those things where a girl thinks a guy is too perfect and therefore boring?”
I pushed my fingers through my hair and tugged at the ends. “Far from that. I apologize for avoiding your texts and not responding.”
“Being left on read hurt a little bit, to be honest. I don’t mean to come on strong. I absolutely understand if you want space or if this was a temporary thing.”
I took a breath, my body quivering.
“Isha?” he said softly. “You can be honest with me.”
I gathered up all my courage to tell him how I was not, and never would be, good enough for him when instead, I said, “I really like you.”
A pause.
All right. Not the reaction I’d expected, but also not the confession I’d anticipated. This was fine, totally fine. This was good, in fact, because it would make it easier to leave things between us.
I swallowed and went on. “Um. I spoke with my parents. They actually had the intervention for me. Walked into it after our date. I decided to pursue what I need, and nothing went over well. They’re beyond disappointed in me. In fact, we’re not even really talking right now except for them telling me how I’m in danger of destroying any type of sufficient future. But they said something that stuck, and I think it’s true. And that’s why I didn’t respond to your messages.”
More silence. Was he still there?
I continued, “I’m a total mess and need so much to happen for me to be in any way composed and reliable and put together.”
Dead silence.
“Tarik?” I said, nervous.
“What exactly did your parents say?”
“Aside from getting my crap together, getting a real degree and a real job, they said I should be thinking ahead because no stable man wants an unstable woman. I mean, I know. Dependable people want other dependable people. They’re right, but I’ll get there. And I know it sounds dumb, to feel so damaged, so impacted by a few words.”
“It’s what parents do, even when they don’t mean to.”
I scratched my arm, preparing for the already growing spasm in my chest in having to say goodbye. “So anyway. That’s the reason and you should know. It has nothing to do with you, and I hope this doesn’t affect you taking a serious, honest consideration of Rohan for your menu. He’ll be amazing.”
“So I won’t see you again?”
“Did you hear any of that? Why would you ever be interested in a disaster like me?”
He cleared his throat. “I feel like we had this conversation before.”
“Takes a new meaning when someone you love and trust tells you to your face, all truth, no holds barred.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I replied. To a great extent, I did trust Tarik.
“Then why don’t you trust me when I say that I do not see a walking disaster or a failure or someone who I don’t want to be around? If you don’t want another date, or to ever see me again, I’d be profoundly disappointed, but I would respect your decision. But if you think I don’t want to be around you because . . .”
I’m not good enough for you.
“Then at least let me voice my side. I’ve seen your wild side.”
My skin burned and I cringed. He meant the gross AF side.
“And you’ve told me the parts about you that hurt the most. I just don’t see you the way your parents do, and I hope you don’t either.”
My pulse raged behind my ears, so loudly that I was sure he could hear through the phone.
When I didn’t respond, and honestly, I couldn’t even think of anything, he said, “By the way, I really like you, too.”
“Oh . . . you do?”
He laughed. “Do you hear yourself?”
I smiled.
“I thought it was obvious, shamelessly showing off my sultry legs and all.”
I cackled.
“But let me just be clear with ya so there isn’t any room for misinterpretation: Isha . . .”
My eyelids fluttered. Lord, I loved how he said my name, like a late-night moan from his kissable lips.
“I would love to see you again. Even if it’s not a date.”
I was grinning so hard that my cheeks started to cramp.
“Would that be all right?” he asked.
“Yes. More than all right.”
He went on, a smile to his voice. “I do have a question for you. Non-date-related: are you busy this Sunday evening?”
“My only plans were packing.”
The sound of sheets rustled on his end. “Packing? Where you going?”
“Moving back out on my own.”
“That’s great news, right? You sound sad.”
“It is. It’s just not under the best circumstances with my parents.”
“I thought they wanted you to move forward in life and get back on your feet.”
“Oh, they do. But apparently in the way they want.”
He groaned. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you all right?”
“Hmm. I will be. They need time to cool down, and the distance will help.”
There was a pause, and I could practically hear him frowning. When he spoke, he had a nervous yet excited edge to his voice. “My grandparents are having a small party at their house. It’s some family, some friends. Very casual. It’ll be outside on their lawn . . . and . . . anyway . . .”
I smiled into the phone, my heart galloping at this very non-date.
“Do you want to come? I understand if—”
“Are you asking me to meet your family?” I interjected, jumping up from my chair.
Rogue startled and glared at me as if to say Calm the eff down, I was just falling asleep.
“Just the grandparents. Listen, I know you’re still down from everything that happened last weekend, and now with you moving out and what your parents said. I want you to feel supported. My grandparents are great that way. I told them about you—well, not all the details or personal things, and no mention of us having gone on a date, so no pressure there, but they want to meet you.”
“Really?” I touched my chest from sheer, undiluted happiness. “Just to support me?”
“Like I said, they’re great that way. I read the script and . . .”
I held my breath for his thoughts, unsure of why I needed his truthful accolades.
“It’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he added softly.
I clamped down on a squeal. “I know.”
He laughed. “I’m serious!”
“So am I!”
“Well, it really was an engaging script. I hope I can read the rest one day?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“I told my grandparents you’re a writer, and they were immediately invested. They love helping others out, and they love nourishing talent. So they want to meet you and see what they can do.”
My breath caught. “Oh . . . that’s so sweet.”
“You don’t have to answer right now—”
“Yes!” I blurted. “I mean . . . I’d love to meet your grandparents and spend some time with, um, them.”
He chuckled. “You meant me. It’s okay to admit it. You like spending time with me.”
“Ha!” I said, even as my skin tingled with all the feel-goods.
“You can come with Rohan, if that makes you more comfortable. My brother is inviting him. Haven’t heard if he’s replied or not.”
“He’s at work. He probably won’t get the message until his lunch break. Some people work a nine-to-five, you know?”
“Ah. How could I forget? But you’ll want to join us.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“I’ll be making drinks, nonalcoholic ones as well, so make sure you come . . .” He let the last word linger.
I groaned. “Don’t say it.”
“. . . thirsty.”
I dropped my head, grinning like a fool. “Oh my lord. You said it.”
Chapter 24
Sunday evening couldn’t come fast enough. After doing my hair, which required straightening and then curling because of the heinous amount of frizz (screw you, Austin humidity!), my sore arms painstakingly went through every outfit. I wanted to be comfortable, but also cute. I wanted Tarik’s jaw to drop when he saw me, much like it had on our date, but I wanted to be respectful of his grandparents.
Since the party was outdoors and in the early evening, that meant no skirts. I was not going to embarrass myself constantly fighting the wind trying to blow up my skirt, or flash anyone. I hadn’t tucked my skirt into my panties in a long time, and it wasn’t going to happen tonight. Also, it might get chilly once the sun set.
Skinny jeans seemed too casual. So I opted for burnt-orange wide-leg slacks and flats, since I didn’t want to ruin their lawn or break my ankles with heels. And a shimmering bronze blouse that buttoned across the chest from top left shoulder to lower right waist. A silver bracelet. A light layer of makeup and of course bronze lipstick to match the top.
There! Presentable, elegant, comfortable, windproof, lawnproof, and still figure-flattering. It hit all the marks.
I pushed up my glasses, gave Rogue a kiss, and headed out as soon as Rohan texted that he was outside. Rohan was always going to go. He never said no to a party.
“Still laying low?” he asked when I shimmied into his car.
“Maybe indefinitely,” I muttered, adjusting my small purse. “Have to move out when they’re not home. Sunday, mandir time work for you?”
Rohan eased onto the street, giving me a side glance, and said, “Best time, bro. We know we have exactly three hours. Just need to find some help.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I bit my nail anxiously. “Ugh. I really, really hope I get this production job. It sounds so perfect, and it helped my college classmate land her dream role.”
“Don’t stress. All you can do is try, and if it doesn’t work out, try again. You’re going at things from different angles, so that opens up more opps, ya know?”
I clucked my tongue. “So wise, little one.”
“I know.”
“Your parents still happy?”
“Oh yeah. But I think your parents are giving them a hard time about enabling you.”
I groaned. “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to them, and hopefully your parents won’t get roped into anything.”
He shrugged. “We all know family members get all up in each other’s business.”
“Truth if I ever heard it.”
“Can you give me directions?”
“Yep.” I plugged the address into GPS and navigated through traffic toward Lake Travis.
The lake was huge and elongated and split into smaller lakes and diverted into rivers, so it didn’t necessarily mean Tarik’s grandparents were wealthy or notable. And it didn’t mean they lived on waterfront property or even had a water view. I wasn’t expecting anything extravagant.
So when we pulled up to the same neighborhood that we’d been kicked out of last weekend, I grimaced as Rohan slowed way down to turn onto the primary street.
“Are you sure this is the address?” he asked, noting how we were so close to that looming security office. “Not a joke?”
“Mmm-hmm . . .” I checked my phone to verify this was indeed the right place when it rang. “Hello?” I asked on the first ring, having accidentally hit ACCEPT.
