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Liquid Courage? More Like Liquid Embarrassment
Mumbai, Thursday
“I’m about to throw up” is the last thing I expect to say inches from Amrit Acharya’s glorious lips.
And yet, there’s a searing burn in the back of my throat as the chole bhature from lunch rises up from my stomach. Panicked, I lurch to my feet and stumble away from the couch—where mere seconds ago I was about to have my first kiss with my ridiculously hot Ishaan Khatter look-alike crush, mind you.
My hand springs to my mouth as I stagger through the crowded living room of Rajeev bhaiya’s house.
There’re people everywhere—the air around me heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke, vape fumes, and alcohol. I wonder if I’m dreaming them all up, because when did our small end-of-the-summer cousins’ get-together turn into a full-blown house party? I don’t even recognize half the people I’m shoving out of the way to get to the bathroom.
Through the blaring music, I can faintly hear Amrit calling after me, but I don’t register what he’s saying, because that’s when I catch sight of the long line of people waiting to use the bathroom. I can’t possibly push through to the front without causing a scene, despite my leaving tomorrow being the reason this party’s happening in the first place.
So it’s either hurl right here and be forever brought up in anecdotes as “the girl who confettied Rajeev’s floor with the inner lining of her stomach” and have Amrit chime in with “Oh, Krishna Kumar? She nearly threw up in my mouth, bro,” or...
Get somewhere,anywhere, secluded. Fewer people equals less chance of being immortalized as “the vomit girl.” Mind addled with alcohol, I slide open the nearest door and stumble through, and it’s only when the hot summer air hits me in the face that I realize I’m on the balcony.
In the corner, through my blurring vision, I spot an embracing couple spring apart. It’s not complete privacy, but it’s still better than a room full of people—and blessedly far away from Amrit. Without another thought, I keel forward onto my knees and projectile vomit on the floor.
I should’ve known downing those four shots of vodka was a bad idea. At the time, I was feeling bold, relying on liquid courage to help me finally get my tongue into Amrit’s mouth, but look where I ended up.
A hand finds my back moments later, rubbing soothing circles on my spine, while another twists my hair into a knot and gathers it at the nape of my neck. Sweat breaks out all over my body, and I don’t know if it’s the puking or Mumbai’s heat that’s doing it to me, but the cotton of my kurti is soaked through. Amrit appears in the periphery of my vision.
It’shiswarm hands on my back and curling into my hair.
Stomach emptied, I collapse against the railing, Amrit slowing my descent. The cool touch of the metal seeps into my bones, not unlike the oxidized jhumkas scraping the soft skin underneath my ears. It doesn’t take long for the mortification to sink in after that, the acknowledgment of what just happened—or rather, whatdidn’t. How, instead of him being all up in my guts, as I originally planned, they’re on the fucking floor.
“Are you feeling okay?” Amrit asks gently, clasping my hand tight. I can’t even get myself to be happy about the fact that he’s holding my hand, because my mind’s already thinking up ways to eject myself from this humiliating situation. If only Juhu Beach weren’t so far away from Mulund, I’d have flung myself into the sea and swum halfway to Oman by now, ready to start a brand-new life in a brand-new country. “Do you want me to get you some water?”
“No,” I manage, wishing I could turn into a puddle of Krishna goo.
“I warned you,” a voice quips from the side after I finally have the chance to catch my breath. I look up to find my cousin and archnemesis, Priti, staring down at me, a scowl plastered across her striking face. Her best friend, Rudra, stands next to her, infuriatingly stoic, as always. “I told you not to have that many shots.”
“I’ll be right back,” Rudra declares suddenly—before I can utter a single word—and marches inside.
I’m pretty sure he just wants to escape what he assumes is an ensuing fight between Priti and me. I wouldn’t be surprised; I’ve lost count of the number of times the two of us have fought over the years.
But instead of reacting to Priti’s comment or continuing to reel from the embarrassment of throwing up in front of Amrit, I scan her face. There are black streaks on her cheeks, her usually artfully drawn, inches-thick eyeliner and kajal having leaked down her face... as if she’s beencrying.
It hits me then that Priti and Rudrawere the couple who jumped apart when I barreled out onto the balcony. Rudra might’ve been consoling her, but I don’t, for the life of me, know why. I didn’t think Priti was capable of tears.
She seems to register my bewilderment, because she wipes at her cheeks with the heel of her palm then, ducking her head so the ends of her short, wavy hair cover her face.
“That was literally your first time drinking, and there’s something calledcapacity,” she snipes, and I know she’s just trying to bat the attention off herself, but it works. It doesn’t take much for her to piss me off—at least, it hasn’t these past eight years.
“I don’t needyouto tell me what to do,” I retort, and it’s such a silly, childish thing to say, but I’m equal parts mortified and irritated right now. Trust Priti to put me down when I’m literally on the ground.
Just then, Rudra comes back with a disposable cup of water and holds it out to me. I stare up at him in shock, not having expected Priti’s quiet best friend—who’s never bothered with me much despite having known me for nearly a decade—to willingly return to help.
Amrit takes the cup from Rudra before I can reach for it and raises the rim to my mouth, urging me to sip.
“Whatever,” Priti says, her closing remark as her gaze swings between us. With a huff that makes her bangs twitch, she walks off. Rudra wordlessly follows her, leaving Amrit, me, and my pool of vomit alone.
The door shuts behind them, dulling the noise, and Amrit settles beside me, leaning his back against the railing. I gulp down the rest of the water and set the empty cup aside, trying hard to ignore the awkward silence that’s settled between us and the heat creeping up my face at the reminder of what was about to happen before I ruined everything.
We weresoclose on that couch together earlier, flirting and touching all along our sides. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the general heady atmosphere of the house party, but it was as if all my dithering through the summer came to a sharp halt, and I found myself leaning toward him, his arm that was previously draped over the couch behind me sliding around my waist, making flutters erupt in my stomach...
