The Singles Table, page 16
“Beta!” Her father stopped her on her way to the bar. Parvati had just texted to say she was waiting with two mojitos and some gossip she was desperate to share. “You haven’t come to visit since the show. I was getting worried.” He gave her a warm hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Just busy with work.” She swallowed her guilt. How was she supposed to visit him after seeing that display? She needed more time to process it. Maybe in another few weeks she’d be able to get over her fear of what he planned to paint next.
“My show was a tremendous success.” He beamed. “I sold most of the paintings and I have commissions to do ten more. And Indra said when your friend Jay stopped by the gallery this week—”
“Wait. What?” Her heart leaped in her throat. “Jay went to see Indra?”
“Yes. She said they had a nice dinner and talked about art long into the evening.”
His words hit her like a blow to the chest. Jay and Indra. She hadn’t seen that one coming. But what did she expect? She’d made it clear when she left the hospital that their kiss was just a kiss. Was it really so surprising that he’d be interested in someone Zara had chosen? She was an excellent matchmaker and it looked like her 100 percent success rate was going to remain untarnished this year.
Her father’s brow creased in a frown. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She tried to shake off the strange feeling in her stomach. She’d made her decision, so why did she feel a flare of panic at the thought of Jay and Indra together? “I’m happy for you.”
“You look sad, beta. Do you want to come and sit with your old dad and your uncles?”
“Uh-uh. Nope.” She held up a hand. “I’m good with the singles table.”
“Do you know who else will be at the singles table?” He made a waving gesture and a short, round man with a goatee stepped out of the shadows. With his dark hair, thick black beard, and chestnut sherwani he had been almost completely hidden.
“This is Rohit Sharma.” Her father patted Rohit on the back. “He’s the son of a friend from my university days. He is a nice boy. Two degrees in computers and math. He builds model cars and he likes cats. What do you think? Do you want this one? Should I ask when this venue is free?”
Zara groaned inwardly and shot an apologetic look at poor Rohit, who looked as horrified and embarrassed as she felt. “I thought you said it would be subtle,” she muttered under her breath to her father.
“It was. You didn’t see him hiding until I told him to come out.”
“It was lovely to meet you, Rohit.” She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m actually just on my way to meet my friend. She’s a bridesmaid and only has a few minutes to chat. I’m sure I’ll see you again at the table.” She turned to her dad, dropping her voice so only he could hear. “I’ll see you on the dance floor and we’re going to have words.”
Twenty minutes, two mojitos, and some not-very-interesting gossip from Parvati later, she told her about Indra and Jay.
“Big deal,” Parvati said. “I thought that was the point of matching them up.” She fiddled with the folds in her skirt. The bride, Rucha, had bought pale pink saris for the bridesmaids to wear and Parvati couldn’t get hers to fit properly. She’d never been a sari girl.
“It is. It was. It’s . . .” Words failed her.
“What’s the problem?”
“The kiss.” Zara dropped her head to her hands. “It messed everything up. All I can think about is that kiss and how I want more kisses.”
Parvati tipped her head back and groaned. “I am so done with hearing about that kiss, and not just from you. The entire department has been talking about it all week. If Jay ever winds up in the ER again, he’ll be treated like a king.”
“I’ve never been kissed like that.” Zara’s fingers went to her lips. Even now she could feel the softness of his mouth, the slow, gentle sweep of his tongue. She could hear the rasp of his breath, see the fire in his eyes, and feel his hot, hard body beneath her.
“If you want more of those kisses, you’d better do something before Indra runs away with your man or Rucha’s cousin Binita gets her claws into him. Rucha put her beside Jay at your table. She thought they would hit it off.”
“He’s not my man.” Zara sipped her drink. “He had a head injury when he kissed me. He wasn’t thinking straight. He probably regrets it and that’s why I haven’t heard from him all week. I sent him some dating profiles and he didn’t respond. He wasn’t even at the sangeet last night. And who doesn’t think a zombie party is fun? We have nothing in common.”
“Maybe you scared him away. I’ve seen some of those dating profiles. If I was a guy, I’d run away as fast as I could.”
“You’re not helping, Parv.” She swallowed the last of her mojito, warm and sickly sweet. “If he and Indra are together, then I’m happy for them. Really. I am.”
“That’s great.” Parvati said absently, staring at Vivek Kapoor, the wedding’s celebrity guest and a minor Bollywood star. A distant cousin of the bride, he had moved to the Bay Area with big dreams of switching from Bollywood to Hollywood. So far he’d played the funny desi sidekick in several action and rom-com films, but had been unable to land a leading role.
Zara’s eyes narrowed as Vivek posed for yet another selfie with a fan. “Seriously? He’s all flash, no substance.”
“All that flash is going to be at the singles table with you,” Parvati said. “Look how he moves his hips. It’s like they’re not even part of his body.” She groaned in frustration. “Of all the times to be stuck in the bridal party. I’ll be at the front of the room and he’ll be at the back.”
“I think that’s a good thing. He’s not worthy of you.”
“I don’t want worthy. I want hot. I want a man who knows how to move his body beneath the sheets.” She finished her drink in one gulp. “I need you to be my wingwoman tonight. If ever you needed to use your matchmaking chops for a good cause, tonight is the night.”
Zara shook her head even though they both knew she couldn’t deny her best friend. “I need to take a matchmaking break. I feel burned out.”
“I neeeeed Vivek.” Parvati grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Be a good bestie and sit beside him at the table so no one else steals him from me. Tell him you have a fabulous friend who is desperate to meet him.”
Zara surveyed the room, charting a path between her present location and the table. Rishta aunties were lurking everywhere, trying to appear innocent while they searched for their prey.
“I’ll do my best.” Taking a deep breath, she focused on her goal, walking as fast as she could to build up momentum so she couldn’t be stopped.
“I have someone for you to meet. Very robust. Forties are the new twenties . . .”
“. . . doctor says the rash isn’t contagious.”
“Look who is here. So nice. Ten cats . . .”
“. . . just out of prison but it was a false charge . . .”
“He sings soprano in the choir . . .”
“. . . all men have flatulence. It’s no big deal.”
Zara made it to the table unscathed and quickly checked the name cards. She put herself between Vivek and some dude named Clive, leaving Jay and Rohit on the other side of the table. She had only just finished rearranging the seating when people started to arrive, introducing themselves as they sat down.
The dude beside Rohit was the groom’s college buddy who was clearly hungover from the night before and didn’t seem inclined to talk. Beads of sweat clung to his clammy forehead, and his hand shook when he reached for the bread rolls. Beside him, Binita, a pretty woman with a sleek black bob, was busy taking selfies from every angle while Kamal tried to photobomb her every shot. The bride’s work friend, Clive, a Jason Momoa miniature with an extra helping of beard, gave Zara an exaggerated wink when he took the seat beside her, clearly thinking he was getting lucky tonight. Desperate to escape her fate, a woman in a white dress kept leaving her seat every two seconds to talk to people at a couples table nearby.
Vivek arrived and spent a few moments basking in adulation. It wasn’t going to be easy to sell Parvati when she wasn’t around, especially when the woman in white spotted him and raced back to the table at double speed.
Jay was the last to arrive. Zara hadn’t seen him since the night of the party. He wore a black suit, cut perfectly to fit his magnificent body, his strong jaw was shaved, his hair neatly combed. Why did he have to look so devastatingly gorgeous? It was only a wedding. Why couldn’t he have come in jeans?
His gaze flicked from Vivek on her left to Clive on her right. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he took his seat beside Binita without saying a word.
Silence descended on the table.
“I guess we’re not the in-crowd.” Zara forced a smile when the table nearest them erupted into laughter. “They’re probably all watching us, expecting us to pair off by the end of the evening as if we came here desperate for a hookup.” She wasn’t feeling her usual cheerful matchmaking self with Jay glaring at her from across the table. What was that all about? He was the one who hadn’t returned her messages.
“Maybe tonight is your lucky night.” Clive waggled a bushy brow. One did the work of two because they were joined in the middle. “The man of your dreams might be right in front of you.”
“Wedding hookups are fun, but they never lead to long-term love.” She looked around the table, deliberately avoiding Jay’s gaze. “How many of us have woken up in a strange bed the night after a wedding and gotten the hell out of there as fast as possible?” She raised her hand, her smile fading when no one followed suit. “Okay. Just me.”
Stop. Please. Just. Stop.
But she couldn’t stop. It was too awkward. No one was talking, and Binita was besotted with Jay, and the woman in white was all over Vivek, and Kamal was doing magic tricks, and Clive’s eyebrow wouldn’t stop wiggling, and there was only one man at the table worth the morning walk of shame and he’d had dinner with Indra.
“How about a drinking game?” Zara suggested. “That might loosen things up. I went to a destination winter wedding in Colorado a few years ago. I think we polished off six bottles of red wine. Or was it white? After a couple of rounds of wine pong, they all taste the same. Chitchat became flirting became crazy dancing and then we all wound up naked in the lake. As you do.” She looked around expectantly, hoping that others might share their own stories about skinny-dipping in a freezing lake while drunk, but everyone just stared. “That night didn’t go so well,” she continued. “I hooked up with one of the groomsmen but he couldn’t warm up, if you know what I mean.”
The college dude choked on his beer. Clive licked his lips—at least that’s what she thought he was doing under all that hair. Binita stared at her with wide-open eyes. But Zara was on a roll and couldn’t stop.
“Anyway, as it turned out, it wasn’t a performance issue. He had hypothermia and they had to take him away in an ambulance.”
Still nothing. Tough crowd.
“Would anyone like some wine?” As if someone had finally taken pity on her, the server appeared at the table.
“Me.” Zara held up her glass. “Fill it right up. Can you leave a bottle or twelve?”
After the glasses were filled, she decided to focus on Vivek. Parvati had already sent her four texts asking about her progress, and the woman in white had finally left him alone to powder her nose with a friend.
“We’re so delighted you could be here,” Zara said. “I’ve seen all your Bollywood films. What’s your next project?”
“I just got a role in a new zombie film.” He puffed out his chest. “It’s called Night of the Living Hell Reincarnated Mutant Corpse Son of the Father of the Grandfather Evil Terror Grain-Fed Free-Range Bone-Sucking Undead Part 4: In IMAX 3-D.”
“Zombies?” Her eyes widened and she squeezed his arm. “I love zombies. I was just at a wrap party for Day of the Night of the Evening of the Revenge of the Bride of the Son of the Terror of the Return of the Attack of the Alien, Mutant, Evil, Hellbound, Flesh-Eating, Rotting Corpse Living Dead Part 6: In Shocking 4-D last week. I met Bob Smith.” She looked over at Jay to share in her excitement only to find him scowling at her. What the hell was going on? He was all soft smiles and gentle whispers when he talked to the simpering Binita.
“Bob was supposed to play the commander,” Vivek said. “But he’s been caught up in some kind of scandal and I heard they’re considering replacing him. I hope not because it would be an honor to work with such an artistic genius. He’s a method actor. Did you know he lives as a zombie for three full months before filming, to get into the role?”
She tried to pay attention as he talked about filming, but now Binita was touching Jay’s palm. What was that all about? Two-timing bastard. What about Indra? Why couldn’t he just pick one woman? And why did she have the overwhelming desire to claw out Binita’s eyes?
Gritting her teeth, she turned her attention back to Vivek, who was back on the topic of zombies. The college dude interrupted with questions about zombie sexy times and whether all the important body parts were operational in the undead. Clive snickered like a teenager. Zara wanted to tell him he wasn’t getting lucky tonight but she couldn’t get a word in because he wouldn’t stop talking about how being between jobs had encouraged him to focus on himself and now he only ate raw.
The woman in the white dress returned and went balls to the wall to get Vivek’s attention back on her. She twirled a lock of her silky, dark hair around her finger. Batted her long eyelashes. Laughed at everything Vivek said, including his sad story about the death of his childhood pet and his plastic surgery failures. Not wanting to disappoint Parvati, Zara made a last-ditch, desperate attempt to talk up her friend.
“My friend Parvati has a collection of kites.” Zara edged her chair closer to Vivek. “It’s amazing. When she’s not at the hospital, where she works as an emergency room physician, or doing volunteer work for inner-city kids, or modeling for desi magazines, or watching another zombie movie marathon, she’s out on the beach . . . flying them . . . in the sky.”
“You’re lucky to have found someone,” Vivek said. “I’m still single.” He gave the woman in the white dress a smoldering look. “And available.”
What had happened to her matchmaking chops? Parvati was going to kill her. “We’re not together,” Zara blurted out. “We live together but we’re not together together. She likes men. Well, she also likes women. But not me. She does like me, of course. We’re friends. But I like men. Just men.”
“I’m a man,” Clive said. “All man.”
She mustered a cold smile. “Thank you for clearing that up.”
Turning back to Vivek, she gestured to the dance floor, where Rucha and Rishi were having their first dance. “Parvati will be dancing next. If she wasn’t a doctor, she would have been a pole dancer.”
“I can pole dance.” Clive put his arm around her chair. “I learned when I was tree planting in the Canadian wilderness.”
Zara put up a hand, warding him off. “Please don’t tell me . . .”
“I was surrounded by beavers. Brown, black, brown and black . . .”
“Single ladies!” The MC’s voice rang through the hall. “Time for the bride to throw the bouquet and then you can hit the dance floor.”
Rucha stepped into position, ready to toss her bouquet to the baying, slavering mob of excited women crowding the dance floor. Zara hunched in her seat, trying to hide. Aside from the singles table, the bouquet toss and single ladies’ dance were the most humiliating wedding rituals for single people.
“She’s single!” Clive grabbed Zara’s hand and held it high, ensuring he wasn’t getting lucky tonight.
One of the bridesmaids screamed in delight and dragged Zara to the dance floor, placing her squarely in front of the melee. Zara glared at Parvati, who mouthed an apology before slinking into the crowd.
The giggles. The countdown. The good-natured shoving that would momentarily turn into a no-holds-barred brawl. Dozens of hands outstretched, bangles clinking, rings glittering, long nails sharpened to claws.
And it was off. The bouquet soared over her head. All hell broke loose. Lehenga were hiked up thighs, sharpened stilettos pounded across the tiled floor. There was a bump. A set. A scrum. A scream. Zara tried to push her way through the frenzy. She made it to the edge of the dance floor only to see the bouquet heading her way.
Heart pounding, she jumped and spiked the flowers away. Too late she realized her high school volleyball skills were a little bit rusty. Instead of heading into the seething mass of desperate singles, the bouquet flew straight at the back of Rucha’s head.
A blur of black. An elegant hand. Jay caught the bouquet midflight and tossed it into the crowd.
“Quickly.” He grabbed Zara’s hand and pulled her off the dance floor. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Zara was more than happy to follow Jay off the dance floor. He led her through the expansive hallways and out onto a secluded balcony overlooking a manicured garden.
“I’ll have to remember to give you a call the next time my friends set up a volleyball game on the beach,” he said, barely winded.
Zara bent over, wheezing out a breath. “I didn’t mean to spike it at her head.” She stood and gripped the railing, cursing herself yet again for her impulsiveness. Why couldn’t she be more like her mother? Always cool. Always calm. Always poised no matter what the occasion. “I guess you’re the next one who’s going to get married since you actually caught it.”
He gave her an affronted stare. “You caught it first.”
