Rohan:Can I call you at least?
Kamila:No. I depended on you to help me with Dad, and I am grateful. But he’s doing well. I don’t need you anymore, Rohan.
Kamila squeezed her eyes shut as she sent those words. They were true. Shewantedhim…or at least she wanted who she thought he was. But she didn’tneedhim.
Rohan:Don’t do this, Kam. Please.
She didn’t text back. She put her phone aside and went back to drying her hair. After a few minutes, he texted again.
Rohan:Kamila, I’m sorry. I really, really am. I hope you’ll talk to me at the Aim High party tomorrow.
Kamila tossed her phone aside and turned her hair dryer back on. How was she going to face Rohan at that blasted cocktail party anyway? And not just Rohan—Anil, too. And all those irritating Aim High board members. Maybe she should skip the whole thing and spend the day at the Dogapalooza where her real friends were.
But she wouldn’t. She’d made a commitment. And even though she didn’t want to be anywhere near Rohan Nasser or Anil Malek, this was still a good cause. And a part of her wanted to prove that shecouldbe the fancy accountant they thought she couldn’t be—not to anyone else, but to herself.
Bollywood Heartbreak Recovery by Eating Ice Cream night turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. Specifically, in this case, an ob-gyn who had wonderful taste in ice cream. They ate take-out palak paneer, dal makhani, and naan, then sampled from the several hand-packed gourmet pints Nicole had brought. Kamila couldn’t decide if the orange cardamom or the London fog was better. The milk tea boba flavor would have been her top choice, but it reminded her of Rohan, so she’d only had one taste. And as for movies, at the last minute, she’d chosen a frothy rom-com because she didn’t think she could handle a tearjerker.
“Why the heck did I pick a friends-to-lovers movie? This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Kamila said grumpily. The movie was billed as a BollywoodWhen Harry Met Sally. Two people finding love after years of friendship.
Asha shrugged. “I think your subconscious has been affecting your movie choices.”
Kamila clutched a cushion. “Humph.”
During a long song, the hero and heroine emerged wearing new outfits. “I always wondered if when the couple had a clothing change midsong, it was meant to imply they’d had sex,” Kamila said.
Asha laughed. “I used to think Indians didn’t have sex or even kiss because it never happened in movies. I was shocked when I caught my brother making out with my babysitter when I was nine.”
Another clothing and set change in the song made Kamila sad. “Rohan would have loved this one. There’s nothing that turns him on more than a singing-in-the-rain song. Wet saris always crank his shaft.” The actor and actress were dancing so close that Kamila really hoped they’d been tested for STIs. She fanned herself with her hand. “This is so hot.” She sank down in her seat. “I miss sex. Maybe I need a rebound.”
Nicole looked at Kamila. “I don’t really understand what went down with you and Rohan. You claim he never saw you that way, but yet he told you what cranked his shaft, so to speak?”
“He doesn’t see me that way.”
“Sure, he does,” Asha said. “Did you forget the second-base incident?”
“What’s second base again?” Nicole asked. “I haven’t been sixteen in a long time.”
Asha giggled. “Remember this morning when we woke up and you—”
“Can wenotright now?” Kamila said, pointing to the movie. “Oh. I think these two just found second base.”
The scraps of sari still wrapped around the actress were now completely plastered to her wet body, and the actor’s lips seemed to be enjoying her damp skin. Kamila wondered if she’d ever see Rohan turn pink watching a wet sari again.
There was a knock on the door. “That had better not be him,” Kamila said.
“I’ll get it.” Asha stood. “Want me to get rid of him if it’s Rohan?”
“Yes, please.” The rain scene was over anyway, so there was nothing for him here. “Anil too. And Dane. No male-identifying humans allowed! Dogs are okay.”
Asha opened the door.
It was a pretty small house, so Kamila could hear what sounded like a feminine voice. Kamila shouted out to Asha. “If it’s a woman or a nonbinary person, invite them in! There’s plenty of ice cream! There’s wine somewhere, too!”
The person who walked into the living room really shouldn’t be drinking wine, though. Jana Suleiman.
Kamila tried not to narrow her eyes menacingly, but old habits died hard. “Hello, Jana.”
“My mother saw me sneaking out of the house, so she insisted I bring you some biryani on my way,” Jana said, holding out a Saran-wrapped plate.
