I’d shared all of this with him once, confided in him about the root of all my anxiety around the bar. He’d seemed understanding then, but from the way he’s looking at me now, it’s clear he thinks something about this whole thing is funny. He’s smiling. Mocking me. Except the smile on his face is a little too gentle for that. Almost…indulgent.
“I know you did,” he says softly, and I realize he’s wearing that same look again. The one that says he knows me, that he gets me. That even though it’s been years, he knows some true, core version of me that very few people do.
Goosebumps travel up my arms.
“But you were very much the exception,” he continues. “Most of us were floundering around at twenty-one. Some of us were floundering around for a lot longer after that.” He lifts his glass, peering at me over the rim as he takes a sip. “Well, you were there, so I guess you know.”
“Know what?”
“How lost I was. How I was so…directionless.”
I frown. “I never thought of you that way.”
He watches me for a long moment, something flickering in his eyes. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I mean it though. Of the two of us, you were the only one with a real job back then. If anything,Iwas the lost one.” I look down at my plate and take a bite. “I mean, I’m sure you remember how I was after I found out about the bar.”
He’s quiet for a second. “I remember it was hard. I remember there were some bad days, but mostly I remember the way you got right back up. The way you started prep again the very next week. The way you committed and the hours you put in studying. You never wavered, and I always admired that. The way you didn’t give up. I was…in awe of it, really.”
Our eyes meet over the candlelight.
“Really?” My voice is low, disbelieving, the word escaping on a breath.
He nods, leaning toward me. “Really.”
There’s something so tender in his expression, something tentative. An olive branch. A cracked door.
I’m tempted to push at it, to see what might be behind there, but…this whole idea he has of me? It’s based on a misconception. He’d seen only what I’d wanted him to see back then. He hadn’t seen the truth.
I shake my head. “It’s only because I was scared,” I say. “The way I worked so hard. The way I was studying for my next attempt. It’s only because I felt like I had no other choice.”
His expression shutters, and it’s like the sun has set. The room grows darker. I feel as though I’ve made an error. A multiple-choice question, and I picked the wrong one.
“You all done?” he asks a few moments later. He barely waits for my reply before taking the plates into the kitchen. We put all the leftovers away, and to my relief the fridge is still cold. I know it won’t be that way for long with the power out, but it’ll preserve what we have for at least a couple hours. Maybe even through the night.
We finish tidying up, and I try to keep myself busy, try to keep myself distracted, but I can’t stop the dread settling in the pit of my stomach, growing with each task we complete. I wipe down the counter, take a deep breath, then turn around to face Nikhil. There’s nothing more I can do to put off the inevitable.
I have to figure out where to sleep tonight.
6
“You are not sleeping in the guest bedroom.” Nikhil’s brows are sharp, drawn together. He’s not angry exactly. More like bewildered. Confused.
But we’ve already had this conversation. The romantic energy between us may be dead, but there’s all kinds ofotherenergy between us. At least on my part. Though maybe he doesn’t sense it. Maybe he doesn’t feel it the way I do. Maybe that’s why he thinks his plan is so perfect.
“Well, I’m not sleeping in the closet,” I shoot back. “The guest bedroom is perfectly fine. And we boarded the windows, so I don’t think that’s a…”
“It’s not foolproof, Meena. The thing can still break. It’s not safe for you to be…”
“It’s fine.” I march up the stairs, cutting him off before he can say anything more. I head straight toward the guest bedroom, because no matter what he says, I know Nikhil. He won’t force things. He’ll state his point, but he won’t actuallydoanything about it. Hewon’t follow after me once I’m in the bedroom. He won’t pick me up out of bed and carry me with him. He won’t cradle me in his arms and…
My mental walls slam shut, firmly stopping the direction of those thoughts.
His voice carries after me, explaining all the ways the window can still break. Something about wind and force and pressure and how plywood can only do so much, but when I cross the threshold of my room, mutter a quick “good night,” and close the door, his voice grows softer. Muffled as it travels through the wall between us.
I turn, leaning my back against the hard surface of the door, and close my eyes. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Not sure why I’m standing here instead of climbing under the covers and getting the sleep my body so desperately needs.
But then I hear it. The loud sigh Nikhil exhales from out in the hallway. Just a few inches away. And then he retreats, his footsteps growing softer and softer until I can’t hear them anymore.
