DoI like Marigold? Is that something my brain is even capable of anymore? I mean, yeah, she’s pretty. It would be hard not to notice that silky dark blond hair as it falls across her face while she plays, or her eyes like endless wells of ink—her softly curved body, her small and delicate hands as they settle atop the keys—
But just because I think she’s gorgeous doesn’t mean I’m into her. Been there, tried that. And she made it pretty damn clear how little she thought of me and my emotions, or lack thereof.
Shrishti’s return saves me from having to overthink it.
“Woof,” she says as she drops back onto her barstool. “I feel like I should have cut myself off way earlier. I’m going to be drunk before this date even begins.”
“Want me to get you a coffee?” Part of the arrangement here is that I get free drinks alongside my fee in exchange for playing quiet and pretty piano music while rich people eat pasta alfredo. It’s not a bad deal.
“Nah, I can rally. And she’s gonna be here any minute.”
Shrishti’s gaze flits back over to the front door, searching for her on-again, off-again girlfriend in the crowd. Probably wondering why the hell she indulged her worst impulses and asked Cessy out again, because Cessy is almost ten minutes late. I haven’t been on a date in so long that the apprehension is completely foreign tome.
“Are you staying in the city for the holidays?” I ask to break the moment. “Or are you going back to Toronto?”
“Staying here,” she says, finally tearing her gaze away from the door. “Don’t think I can handle a second Christmas in a row listening to my parentsliterallyarguing over spilled wine. Like…no, I’m not thrilled to be a weapon in your unending war of domination! I wish they’d just get divorced already. Isn’t that supposed to be the strat? Stay together ‘for the kids,’ then split as soon as the youngest starts college?” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway. What about you?”
I wish I could say I’m going back. I still remember the strained look on my mother’s face as she said she was headed up to Dubuque for the anniversary of Adam’s death—the empty glass of whiskey at her elbow, half-visible on my computer screen as we talked. Lately, I feel more like her parent than she is mine, constantly worrying if she is okay. If she will be safe without me there.
She’s going on a cruise,I remind myself. She’s going to have an amazing time drinking mai tais and tanning with my aunt and uncle and her boomer friends. She doesn’t need me.
“Can’t. Too expensive.”
She sighs. “Yeah. Sorry I asked.”
“Besides,” I say, “my mom is planning on going on this cruise? I know—Amy Larson actually doing something fun for herself, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance I can’t pass up. If I go home, she’ll thinkshehas to stay home.”
“Wow,” Shrishti says, lifting both brows. “Good for her.”
“I know, right? I told her if she doesn’t come back with a golden tan and a boat boyfriend, I’ll be disappointed.”
Even so, I have a feeling staying in the Parker dorms alone is gonna be a lot like what a zombie apocalypse would feel like: all long empty halls and flickering lights. I know that realistically, it will just be totally normal, only emptier, but that doesn’t stop my brain from rolling postapocalyptic film reels of me fending off the undead hordes.
Some of that must have shown on my face, because Shrishti’s expression softens further, and she adds, “You’ll be okay. I mean…at least your mom will be around friends. Right? They’ll take care of her.”
“Yeah,” I say, although I can hear how morose my voice sounds still. “Probably.”
“Listen, it could be worse. We could be my brother. Aarjav’s going home to Toronto, because he’s fucking spineless and hasn’t figured out how to tell my mom ‘no’ when she does the Punjabi mom guilt trip. Sohegets to play couples counselor for freeeeeeee.”
“Sounds bleak.”
“Yup. It is. I’ll have a few more months of peace before I have to move back in with the Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin.”
As funny as it is to picture Shrishti’s unassuming, white-picket-fence parents playing out the greatest WWE rivalry of all time, the mental image skitters out as soon as my brain processes the implication of what she’s saying.
“Wait, what? You’re leaving New York?”
Shrishti sighs and fiddles with the little umbrella in her drink.“Yeah. Landlord is raising our rent next year. How is it that I havetworoommates and can still barely afford my rent in this godforsaken city?”
Something cold and heavy drops into my gut. Somehow I’d never considered the possibility of Shrishti being gone for good. Losing her at Parker had been hard enough—I’ve always struggled with social stuff, and Shrishti was the only person who seemed to understand me without trying. Without her, the campus feels bleak and too large. I know some people would say to let it go, make new friends, but it’s never been that easy for me.
But the city without Shrishti?
Every time I try to imagine it, my mind flinches away. The idea is that grim.
“Could you raise your prices?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. There are a million violin and viola teachers in this city, and I don’t have a fancy degree or studio. I’m just some Parker dropout giving private lessons in people’s living rooms.”
