“Let’s go,” he says, before rounding the car to open up the door for me, and I smile in gratitude.
He gives me one last look before shutting the door and going towards his seat. His cologne wafts through my nose, and I am instantly given the feeling of home. Whenever he is near me, I lose all my rational thinking. His presence comforts me, and I can’t let go of that so easily.
But after spending more than ten minutes with him, I get flashbacks of the past, and all of it confuses me so much.
He looks at me once he has his seat belt on, and the smile from him never goes away.
He tries to take my hand in his, and in a moment of awkwardness, I busy it with trying to fix my already perfectsaree. He must have seen the hesitance on my face because he doesn’t comment on that and instead gives me another smile before starting the car.
But even a stranger would have noticed the pain in his eyes that I so deliberately gave him.
* * *
“Oh shit,” I say in the silence that took over the car after me pushing him away.
“What?” he asks, worried.
“I totally forgot to tell Mom I’d be home late. I told them I’d let them know how late I’d get.” I bury my face in my hands. I have never told anyone that I will be home late—considering the fact that there was no one other than me and Reyansh. And we didn’t just stop taking care of each other; we stopped talking to each other altogether, so I never bothered.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “I told them we both will be late, so don’t worry.”
“You did?”
I am half-surprised, half-shocked. He keeps pulling this responsible act out of nowhere, and I am getting whiplash now.
“Yes,” he says, giving me a look. “Why are you surprised?”
“Well,” I bite my tongue, thinking whether I should take a jab at him or let the poor soul go. I go with the jab. Where’s the fun in being nice to your husband?
“Well?”
“It is not my fault you are rarely this… responsible.”
He scoffs, and I hold back the urge to smile. I love getting under his skin and being mean to him. It is my favorite thing to do.
“You are so mean to me,” he says, keeping his voice soft, and I chuckle.
“Should have thought about it before marrying me,” I say with a smile.
“Lucky for you, that’s exactly why I married you. I need someone to keep me humble.”
I laugh at that, and the way his eyes light up makes me want to do it again.
These three months are going to be torturous.
* * *
I tell Reyansh to keep it down when he enters our house, and he tells me he isn’t a baby, but I plead the fifth.
He is the biggest man-baby I have ever seen. If I were to show his pictures and videos from the past of him being the biggest “baby,” he would quickly lose his “being an asshole” reputation.
“Okay, now be quiet,” I whisper to him as I unlock the door. He is carefree because he doesn’t know the fear of coming late to your Punjabi mother without informing her prior. It is scary, and I am not even ashamed to admit that even at twenty-eight, I get cold feet thinking about my mother’s wrath.
“I am quiet,” he whispers back, and I slap his chest to shut him down.
I expect silence as we step into our empty hall, but the lights to our moms’ room are on, and we pass each other a curious look.
They should have been asleep by now.
