Sejal leaned forward. “I think so, too, but Kris and I disagree on how many. I say six, he wants to stop at four.”
Krish’s smile was pained. “I don’t think Ms. Suzy wants to hear about our family planning, dear—”
“My son Dana recently had his fifth. You’ll never regret having more children,” Suzy said in a singsong tone.
Are you sure about that?
“Congrats to you,” said Sejal, her fake hair swinging. “Twins run in my family, so maybe I can sneak a few more in there.”
Shudder. Krish had never really craved kids, but if he imagined being a father, it was to one single kid. Only children seemed blessed. For one, they didn’t have to go save their little brothers from, say, the mob.
“Ooh, what a delight that would be. And what is it you do, Seema?” Suzy slipped in the question sweetly, but with no less interrogation in her voice than his mother, a trained interrogator, had displayed. “Did you also—”
Krish cut in before Sejal could answer... or more importantly, before Suzy could out his actual profession, if his mom had told her that, too. “She’s in sales. Could we see a menu, Ms. Suzy?”
The woman clucked and handed them two plastic menus. “So sorry, I’m a chatterbox.”
Krish skimmed it quickly. “I’ll have a Coke, a burger and fries, and whatever salad you might have in stock.”
“Double that for me,” Sejal said.
Krish tipped his head. “If you don’t mind, we’ll wait over near the TV.”
Suzy took the menus back gracefully, recognizing the end of the conversation. She quickly poured them two sodas from behind the bar. “Thank you for supporting the place,” she said. “In the offseason, things can get lean around here.”
“Offseason?” Sejal asked.
“Oh, we have a ton of tourists in the spring and summer. Lots of good hiking around here, and we have a wonderful film festival.”
“That’s cool.”
Krish made a vague interested noise but shepherded Sejal away from the bar. Her elbow was very soft in his palm, and the second he had that thought, he dropped his hand like she was on fire.
“Harvard, eh?” she asked, sotto voce.
He dipped his head. “You do have good instincts.”
Her laugh was low and throaty, and it surprised him so much he slowed down. She stopped laughing. “What?”
“I don’t hear you laugh much is all.”
They stopped next to a high-top table in the corner. A big-screen television hung above them, playing ESPN at medium volume to the mostly empty pub. “There hasn’t been much to laugh at, has there?” she pointed out.
Truer words had never been spoken. He didn’t feel like he’d had a good laugh since his brother had disappeared. Though he’d come close to smiling a few times with Sejal, oddly enough.
“So Harvard was better than your hometown?”
“Much better. And not nearly as elitist as you think.”
She put her thumb and forefinger together. “But definitely a little elitist.”
He hid his smile. “Okay. Yes. Occasionally. But at least it was a big city. And I was anonymous.” He still hadn’t been consideredbeautiful, but at least he hadn’t stuck out like a sore thumb, and it had been amazing.
“I definitely know all about seeking anonymity,” Sejal said. “Was it me, or did that lady call you Kris?”
“My mom must have given her that name. I went by Kris in high school. Krishna was too difficult for them to pronounce. In college, someone started calling me Krish, and that stuck.” He preferred that nickname, only because he did actually love his name.
“No one calls you Avi?”
