The Singles Table, page 26
“Because he loves you, I guess. That’s what people say when they fall in love.”
“But he can’t love me. I made it very clear that I was unlovable and that I couldn’t love him back. Everyone else has followed the rules. Why couldn’t he?”
“Hmmm.” Parvati tapped a spoon to her lips. “Could it be . . . ? Perhaps it’s because . . . I think . . .”
“He loves me,” Zara said with a dejected sigh.
“Bingo.” Parvati joined her on the couch and handed her the spoon. “It’s not something people can control.”
“But why?” she moaned. “I was looking for his perfect match. And then we got a bit distracted by our sexual chemistry. But we both understood that it wasn’t going to last forever. Nothing lasts forever. He would have gotten tired of having sexy times in all sorts of different places, and I would have gotten bored of having multiple orgasms, and we would have gone our separate ways.”
“Except it wasn’t just about sex.” Parvati pulled the lid off a second ice cream container. “You had fun together. He went to see you rehearse because it’s what you love to do. He took you to the City Club knowing that you’d go crazy when you saw Lin-Manuel Miranda. You—and I still can’t believe this—went on a hike because it made him happy. That give-and-take is called . . . wait for it . . . a relationship.”
“It’s a disaster.” Zara popped open her container. “He’s emotionally vulnerable. His mom is in the hospital. He has PTSD. This is not the right time for him to fall in love.” Her breath caught when an idea occurred to her. “Maybe he isn’t really in love. It’s just his illness talking. He thinks he loves me because he needs a connection, but now that I’m gone, he’ll realize it wasn’t real and we can go back to things the way they were. I should probably start looking for matches for him. I did promise to find him someone by the end of the season.”
“I’m pretty sure that despite the fact he’s not in a good place right now, his feelings for you are real,” Parvati said. “His eyes light up when he sees you. When we were hiking, all he cared about was showing you the waterfalls and the flowers and the damn birds and plants. If Faroz hadn’t kept pulling me into bushes and behind trees for hot forest sex, I would have been bored out of my mind. Jay wanted to share his joy with you. He wanted you to be happy. Do you know what Faroz said?”
“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?”
Parvati laughed. “He told me a long story about some CIA spies who met at Quantico but could never be together because they were always sent to different parts of the world. But every time they crossed paths, they realized their feelings hadn’t changed. Finally, they quit the agency and got married. Of course, it ended badly as all Faroz’s stories do. Some Russian agent found them and slit their throats while they were sleeping. But they died together. That’s the point.”
Zara glared at her. “That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard. Was that supposed to cheer me up? Are you telling me that if I hook up with Jay, some Russian agent is going to come and slit our throats, but it’s okay if we’re dead because that’s true love?”
Parvati sighed. “The point was they were meant to be together.”
“I’m not meant to be with anyone. That’s what I told him. I thought he understood that. I thought we were having a good time. And then . . .” She opened and closed her fist in the air. “Bombshell. I love you. Way to ruin a good thing.”
“You do realize that you’ve never done this after any other breakup.” Parvati licked her spoon. “There has never been any sobbing through Les Misérables while stuffing your face with ice cream. What do you think that means?”
Zara shrugged. “No one else ever said I love you.”
“You never gave anyone else a chance.” She put her feet up on the table and grabbed the remote. Usually Zara found something else to do when Parvati started flipping through crime shows and autopsy cases, but tonight they suited her mood.
She ate a spoonful of ice cream, but didn’t register the taste. “So, you’re saying it was opportunistic? If I’d given anyone else a chance, they would have fallen in love with me, too?”
Parvati paused at a true crime show. “I’m saying you let him in for a reason. You gave him that chance for a reason. Some part of you knew you could trust him with your heart. Now you’re hurting because that’s what happens when you love someone, and you can’t be with them anymore.”
When you love someone . . .
“Oh God.” Her heart skipped a beat, stuttered in her chest. She knew this feeling. The sickening devastation of loss. The terror of the unknown. The uncertainty about a future in which love wasn’t forever—it stopped.
At least she had thought it stopped.
But if it stopped, she wouldn’t be here on the couch eating too much ice cream and preparing herself to weep uncontrollably from the start of Valjean’s soliloquy to the moment he walked into the beautiful candlelight. Instead, she would be at her father’s loft celebrating that one of her cousins got a B-plus on a test—her father used any excuse for a party so he could play his drums and dance.
“Parvati . . .”
“Took you a while.” She scooped some more ice cream from her container.
“It hurts but it’s not destroying me.” She made a quick silent assessment of her body. No pain. No bruises. No restricted mobility. No weak joints or trembling hands. Yes, her heart ached, and yes, she felt sad. But with a little ice cream and some sorrowful singing, she had a feeling she’d be okay.
“That’s because you’re not eleven years old.” Parvati settled on a rerun of Autopsy: Confessions of a Medical Examiner and relaxed back on the couch. “You are in control of your life. You can make your own choices. You can write your own story—or musical, since it’s you we’re talking about. You can give this one a happy ending.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Her voice rose in agitation. “I crushed him, Parv. He said he loved me and I ran out of there like Hamilton tickets were on sale.”
Parvati tore her gaze away from the chainsaw-wielding medical examiner. “I hope you didn’t break anything on your way out.”
Zara put the lid on her ice cream and returned it to the freezer. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to love someone. I don’t know how to be loved in a romantic way. And why me? Why would he fall for me? I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Maybe he likes disasters,” Parvati said. “Maybe he’s wound up so tight he looks at you and sees a path to happiness. Maybe he sees what we all see. That you are utterly and completely worthy of love.”
Emotion welled up in Zara’s throat. She was saved from an embarrassing flood of tears when the ME on TV started his chainsaw and sliced into the body on the table. “I need to visit my dad. I want to ask him about the divorce. We never really talked about it, and I think before I make any decisions, I need to understand what really happened.”
“Does that mean I can eat your ice cream?” Parvati held up her empty container.
Zara twisted her lips to the side, considering. “I’m not sure. I don’t know how to walk this path. I think you’d better leave it for me. Just in case.”
* * *
• • •
Nestled in the middle of the Dogpatch, Zara’s father’s live/work space was the quintessential artist’s loft. Built over three levels, it boasted high ceilings and an open floor plan, large warehouse windows and skylights, white walls awash with prints, and a polished concrete floor coated in paint splatters.
She greeted her relatives as she made her way to the kitchen, where aunties and uncles were gathered around a long table piled high with food.
“Beta! We were wondering when you would get here.” Taara Auntie gave her a quick hug. “I made something special for the party. It’s in the plastic container. Do you want me to put some on a plate? It’s chimichanga samosa trout surprise.”
Zara bit back a grimace. “Maybe later, Auntie-ji. I need to talk to my dad.”
“He’s in the studio warming up. Wait one moment before you go.” She waved over Mehar and Lakshmi Aunties, who had positioned themselves at the far end of the table, away from Taara’s containers.
“We were wondering how the security camera case is going,” Taara said. “Have you filed any papers with the court?”
“It’s not going very well,” Zara admitted. “The partners don’t think we have enough plaintiffs to make it worth the risk for the firm. I’m afraid we won’t be able to run with it.”
Taara Auntie frowned. “Not enough Patels? I told everybody about the cameras.”
“When she says ‘everybody,’ ” Mehar said, “she means everybody. Not just locally but across the country. Your auntie has a big mouth.”
“Not as big as yours.” Taara Auntie turned on her with a scowl. “You told everybody about that incident with Lakshmi’s eyebrows.”
“It was you?” Lakshmi’s voice rose. “No wonder my kiwi tasted sour this morning and I couldn’t find my other sock.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have shaved them off in the first place,” Mehar retorted. “I don’t know who told you that you always looked surprised, but you didn’t look any different without them.”
Taara shut them down with a warning shake of her head. “We need to think less about eyebrows and more about Zara and her case. What can we do to help?”
Zara shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I’ll be at the firm much longer. Things aren’t looking good financially, and unless I bring in some clients, they might not be able to keep me.”
“How many clients do you need?” Mehar pulled out her phone. “Ten? One hundred? Five hundred? One thousand? You tell your aunties and we’ll get them for you.”
“These are people we’re talking about, not a few dollars to buy myself a treat.”
“They are Patels.” Taara Auntie’s voice was firm. “And they have security cameras because I spread the word on my social media channels. We’ll find them all and bring them to you so no other families have to be afraid in their houses and our Zara can have her job.”
“It’s a nice thought but . . .”
Lakshmi patted her hand. “It will all be good. Trust your aunties. Also, wear flat shoes. You’ll never get where you want to go if you have to run in heels.”
After leaving her aunties, she climbed the stairs and found her father in his studio, practicing his beats. He wore a long plain white kurta that went down to his knees and loose pants that gave him room to move when he was playing his dhol.
“I’m giving a show for the family to celebrate Darpan’s good grade,” he said. “I need some practice before I perform at Avi’s wedding next week. I hear I’ll be sitting alone at dinner.”
“Who told you that?” Like she had to ask. The Patel gossip mill never stopped.
He grinned as he pounded softly on the drum. “You know how the family is. Everyone saw you with that nice boy at Rishi’s wedding, the one who was at the gallery until you ran into the door. And then I heard you asked Mehar to look in on his mom at the hospital after she was in an accident. Once your aunties were involved . . .” He pounded out a drumroll. “It was all over for keeping it secret after that.”
Zara bristled. “There is nothing to keep secret. We’re not together.”
“Why would you ask Mehar to visit his mom in the hospital?”
Zara shrugged. “I didn’t want her to be alone. And I only mentioned it to Mehar Auntie. She was visiting a friend in the hospital and I saw her in the hallway. I told her about Padma and how she didn’t have family and the next day Padma’s room was full.”
“Exactly.” He punctuated the word with a loud bang on his drum.
“We were friends, Dad. We had a . . . thing.”
“A thing?” He raised a brow. “Sounds serious.”
“It wasn’t. I mean it was, but it wasn’t. The idea of getting that close to someone gives me hives. I don’t want to spend my whole life just waiting for the day it’s going to end.”
“I married your mother believing it was forever,” he said. “I loved her. I still do.”
This was her chance. She’d never had the courage to ask him about the divorce, assuming it was a memory too painful to discuss. “What happened?”
With a sigh, he put down his sticks. “Your mom and I had much in common when we got together,” he said. “We were both professionals, both first-generation immigrants, both focused on our goals and being the best we could be. My art was just a hobby then and something I planned to pursue when I retired.” He removed his shoulder strap and put his drum on its stand. “Then I was in the car crash and my entire world changed. I lay in my hospital bed thinking that if I had died, I would have had only one regret—that I didn’t pursue my dream. So after I recovered, I quit my job, built the studio, and started to paint.” He paused to take a sip of water. “Your mother thought it was just a phase, but I had changed after the accident and she had stayed the same. She resented me for it. She said I’d emotionally abandoned her. She couldn’t see what I’d seen—that life is short and you have to live your truth, embrace your joy, and pursue your dreams.” He gave a wistful smile. “I wish I could have brought her on this journey with me.”
“How did it end?” She’d known about her father’s epiphany but not how her mother had felt betrayed.
“We were living an illusion because we couldn’t face the reality that we had lost each other and didn’t know how to find each other again. And then one day she decided it had gone on too long. I don’t know why it was that day or why it was so sudden. She came home from work, walked into my studio, and told me it was over and it was time for me to go.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine how that would have felt.”
He was silent for a long moment, staring down at his empty hands. “I only wish we could have given you and Hari some warning, let you get used to the idea, but I was in shock. I couldn’t think. I loved your mother. She is a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman who used to sing like an angel and give Mehar a run for her money on the dance floor. But she lost herself in work and forgot what is important in life. If I could turn back time, I would still choose to marry her.” His expression was almost wistful. “We had some good times together.”
“But you would lose her again,” Zara protested. “You would get hurt again.”
“But I would have experienced love,” he said. “And love is worth the pain.”
• 26 •
Jay was dreaming of being lost in the forest when someone shook him awake.
“How long have you been sleeping in the office?” Elias pulled the blinds, flooding the office with light.
“A couple of days.” He sat up on the couch, rubbed his eyes. Truth was, he was afraid to fall asleep in his apartment without Zara there to keep the nightmares away. He’d come to the office on Saturday after visiting his mom and worked until he was so exhausted, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Rinse. Repeat.
“How’s your mom?”
“Improving. She should be going home in a week or so. How are things going with Westwood Morgan?”
“Everything is in order.” Elias pulled the last blind. “The board is meeting this week. Brittany says at this stage it’s basically a rubber stamp of approval. She’s looking forward to traveling around the world with you, opening up all those new offices. Kinda wish our board had picked me to be the CEO instead of the CFO. I used to hate the travel when I was deployed, but now that I’ve had my feet on the ground for so long, I kinda miss it.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Jay said. “If my mom isn’t fully recovered when we start the international openings, I’ll need to be here. No way I’m leaving her alone with Rick.”
“You look like shit, by the way.” Elias never pulled his punches.
“I’ll hit the showers in the downstairs gym and change before the rest of the staff arrive. I’ve got extra suits in the closet.”
Elias leaned against the credenza, thick arms folded, his words heavily weighted. “That’s not what I mean.”
Jay got the message. Elias had encouraged him to seek treatment before, but he hadn’t had time for illness—mental or physical—when he had a company to build. He’d managed the nightmares like he managed everything else. With tight control, strict rules, and willpower. But this time it wasn’t just about him. This time he had a reason to get well.
Jay dropped his head to his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. “I almost lost my mom. Again. Kinda threw me for a loop.”
Not an easy admission, but then he’d made an even bigger admission to Zara. Anything else paled in comparison. He hadn’t meant to tell her he loved her. Hell, he hadn’t even realized it himself until he’d said it out loud. But he’d had a few days to think about it, and he acknowledged the truth of the words. She was the light in his life, the sun to his shadows. She was smart, warm, loyal, sexy, and funny and it was impossible to resist her sweet exuberance. Life was interesting and exciting when she was around. She made his heart pound just being near her, and he was damn sure he made her heart pound, too. But he needed to sort out his shit. He wanted to be the best man he could be. For her. For his mom. For Elias. And for himself.
“I’ve been there,” Elias said. “Sand used to do it for me. We were in the desert when I was shot. After I came home, I couldn’t go to the beach. I’d start shaking and break out in a sweat. It didn’t make sense. There was no danger. It was all kids and beach umbrellas and ice cream and hot dogs. But that’s the thing about PTSD. You don’t know when you’re going to hit a trigger. And when you do, you need the tools to work your way through it.”
“You were seeing a guy . . .” Jay drew in a ragged breath. Admitting he needed help wasn’t as easy as he thought.
