Payal Mehta's Romance Revenge Plot, page 9
PAYAL MEHTA
D:<
PHILIP KIM
I’m being serious.
I started typing a snarky response and then paused. This had been my idea. If I wasn’t going to trust Philip, then I should just walk away from the whole thing.
PAYAL MEHTA
Ok. Fine.
PHILIP KIM
K. Tomorrow? I’m not doing anything so could meet when/wherever.
PAYAL MEHTA
Let’s do it at my house at like noon.
Conveniently, my parents were heading to a Desi doctors’ luncheon, so I’d have the house to myself.
The microwave beeped, and I opened the door, then carefully returned the cups to the tray. The smell of ginger and cinnamon with a tinge of cardamom, anise, and black peppercorn wafted up from the hot chai. Leaving my cell phone on the counter, I carefully wrapped my fingers around the handles of the serving tray, bit my lip in concentration, and managed to bring the chai to the living room without spilling a drop. Skills, baby.
Anna Auntie, Arjun Uncle, and my dad had settled themselves comfortably on the living room couches. I cringed slightly as the metal tray scraped the glass of our coffee table when I set it down, but no one else seemed to notice. I passed along a cup to each of the adults and left one on the tray for my mom. The kids had been moved to the den; my dad must have gotten some old toys out for them.
“So, Payal, how is school? Almost done, yeah?” Anna Auntie asked, tucking a few thin braids behind her ear and readjusting her dupatta. She never had to ask to remember how old I was or what I was interested in, which I thought was very cool.
“It’s going okay, and yeah, just a few more months.”
“So that means prom is right around the corner, right? Are you going?”
My dad didn’t even let her get the whole sentence out before answering on my behalf. “Payal will be with Neil and Divya. She knows she has no time for boys.” Anna and I made eye contact, and I rolled my eyes. She hid a smile behind her cup.
“Arvin, kya baat karraha hai? Let them have fun, yaar.” How did some kids end up with parents like Arjun Uncle or Divya’s mom or even Neil’s parents, but I got—
“Eh, Arjun, don’t put thoughts in her head! She’s a good girl. No boys-woyz nonsense.” And there was my mom, as if summoned. She came into the room finally ready, with her hair pulled back, bindi sparkling between her brows, and gold jewelry dangling from her earrings and around her neck.
“Falu! That sari is beautiful.” Anna lifted a hand to feel the silk of my mom’s pallu[*2]. The fabric was a deep, rich peacock color, with threads of gold outlining deceptively simple-looking embroidery along the bottom.
“Thank you, Anna. My cousin sent us a package of new clothes from their shop in New Jersey. We’re excited to have an opportunity to show them off!”
“Well, it’s stunning. You’ll have to give me the name. We have Arjun’s niece’s wedding coming up in New York next year. They’re doing fully traditional, so I need…what was it?” She looked over at her husband, who laughed.
“Oh, nine outfits? Ten? All these kids want to have the biggest Bollywood-style weddings these days.” Arjun Uncle shook his head. “Wasteful. Though the dancing will be good.”
“Ten outfits.” Anna put her head in her hands in mock pain.
My mom started laughing. “Well, we’ll limit Payal’s wedding to one week, okay?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. That was my cue. My skin had started itching the second Anna said the word wedding[*3], and sure enough, my mom had come through.
“Oh, do you smell the rice burning again? Better go,” I said drily. Their laughter followed me out of the room as I made a break for it.
Skip Notes
*1 I think in his own mind, Arjun Uncle was the heir apparent to Aamitabh Bachchan, but really he was more of a Govinda.
*2 I dreamed of the day that I’d be visited by the sari-draping fairy so I could stop looking like a burrito and move on to ~perfect elegance~ .
*3 My mother had the incredible ability to get from the first mention of a wedding or marriage to discussing my marriage or wedding within two sentences. It was like the worst version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.
Chapter
Twelve
A few hours later—an embarrassing amount of which was spent navigating the parking lot since my dad was always convinced he could find a better spot—we filed into the large auditorium that Jeevan Ji owned and regularly rented out whenever children needed to dance to Bollywood music[*1]. The function hall was loud in tone and color. There were conversations happening in a dozen different languages among the brightly attired guests. We’d only been there a few minutes and I’d already heard snippets of Gujarati, Punjabi, Marathi, Urdu, Hindi—the South Asian community was vast and varied down here. I spied Hasan Uncle, who provided halal meat to Prem Uncle’s store, walking his family to the front row. He caught my eye and waved. My dad noticed and lifted his own hand in response. My parents, Arjun, Anna, and their kids moved to find seats near Hasan Uncle in the front, but I hung back, craning my neck over the crowd to find Neil and his cousins. Divya was likely already backstage. There were enough brown people milling about that I couldn’t immediately find Neil, so I pulled my phone out to see if he’d texted me. I was about to pull up our text thread when a voice interrupted me.
“Hey, Payal. You looking for Neil?” I turned around to see Josh Patel standing behind me with a few kids I didn’t know. Josh went to our high school but was in the athletic circle, which meant he was friends with Jon. I groaned internally and hoped Josh wouldn’t bring it up.
“Yeah, have you seen him?” Josh rubbed at his close-cropped hair and nodded to a few rows behind him in response. I looked over and saw Neil with an open seat on one side and his little cousin Dhruv on the other. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” I took a step around him, intending to join Neil, but then Josh started speaking again. Hesitantly, I stepped back to where I’d been standing in front of him. “So, I heard you and Jon went to lunch last week.” Josh didn’t usually take an interest in my schedule, but then again, I didn’t usually have lunch with anyone in his friend group. I took in a deep breath before responding.
“Uh-huh…”
“How’d it go?”
“It was fine?” I shrugged noncommittally. But Josh’s query was rubbing me the wrong way. I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking, Josh?”
“No reason, just curious. You’ve never hung out with the dude before, so…” His eyes flitted to something behind me. “Anyway, Sarthak’s here and I gotta grab something from him. I’ll see you later.”
“Uh, later.” My brows furrowed at his retreating back. That was weird. What had Jon said to his friends about our disaster of a lunch? I wondered. Something to dig into next week when I was back at school. I made my way through the crowd to Neil and settled into the seat he’d saved for me.
“What up? Good choice on the top,” I said. He’d gone with the fancier option, of course.
“Thanks. Loving your outfit too, Payal. Your Bhavna Masi knows her colors.” He gestured at something behind me. “What were you talking about with Josh?” I shook my head like it wasn’t anything important.
“I was asking where you were.” I didn’t want to get into the Jon stuff here[*2].
Before Neil could ask me anything further, the overheard lights dimmed and the sounds of people talking lowered to a murmur before finally quieting entirely. The lights hit the stage, and Divya’s teacher, Anjali Patanjali, came out to welcome everyone to the event. She was a tall, stern-looking woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. I took a single class with her when I was much younger and never went back because I was afraid of her—at least that’s what my mom said. Divya always swore she’s super nice. I wasn’t sure I bought it.
“Namaste, everyone. For those of you who don’t know me—” Some light laughter interrupted her here. Who didn’t know Anjali Patanjali? “My name is Anjali, and I am the director of the Palm Beach County School of Indian Classical Dance. We’re so thankful everyone could make it to celebrate the school’s dance showcase tonight. I won’t go on too long, but I ask that everyone please silence your cell phones.” She paused here and glared at the crowd. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened last year.” The sound of rustling erupted in the auditorium as people hurried to double- and triple-check that their phones were, in fact, on silent. She went on for a few minutes after that before finally wrapping up and announcing the first performance, by a group of some of the younger students.
I leaned over to Neil and whispered, “How many things are there before Divya?”
Neil didn’t take his eyes off the stage, where eight middle school–aged kids were dressed in their Bharatanatyam finery chum-chumming across the stage into their starting positions. The dancers’ costumes matched; they were wrapped up in red-and-green saris, with gold belts shining around their waists. Thick rows of bells ran up their ankles, and white flowers adorned their braids.
“She’s next and last, I think,” he said back.
A deep tabla beat thrummed out from the group of musicians sitting off to the right side of the stage—dhum, dhum, dhum, thakh, dhum—and the kids stepped forward gracefully onto their right feet, hands poised and clasped at their hips. I sighed and settled back into my seat. Bharatanatyam was beautiful, but I had to be honest—I was not particularly interested in the rhythmic beats and droning music. At least there was only one dance before Divya’s.
The first dance finally ended, and it was time for Divya’s performance. The curtain rose, and next to me Neil clapped his hands gently in anticipation. Divya’s silhouetted pose was stark against the lights behind her, every line so crisp, I could even see her individual fingers spread out in one of the intricate mudras. They looked like they were blooming out from the crossed wrists tight over her head. Her knees were bent, and the fan of her orange-and-gold sari stretched between them. A tabla started beating out from the side of the stage. The uncle playing was mopping his brow from the energy that the first group of dancers had required.
Even if I didn’t care about dancing so much, I did care about Divya, and she rocked it—at least to my untrained eye. Her feet were hard-hitting on the stage, her payal[*3] chimed loudly, and I could see her dramatic expressions even from back where we were seated.
About ten minutes into the dance, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something light up to my left. I looked toward it, and Neil was hunched over, trying to shield everyone from noticing that he was on his phone.
“Neil!” I whispered, scandalized. Anjali Auntie was not playing with her warnings. His eyes darted toward me, and he shrugged helplessly.
“Sorry—it’s Finn.”
“And?” I asked.
“Eh, chup!” an angry voice to our right said, and I slid down lower in my seat.
“I’ll be right back.” And then Neil got up and sidled his way into the aisle and out of the theater doors.
What the hell? I looked up at the stage and at Divya dancing, then twisted my neck back to look at Neil’s retreating figure.
* * *
I sat through the rest of Divya’s performance, buzzing with anxiety. This wasn’t something Neil would have done lightly—leaving in the middle of something so important to one of his best friends. I tried to focus on Divya—this was her night, after all—but the minute the curtain dropped on Divya’s once-again-static figure, dark against the lights behind her, I jumped out of my seat. Apologizing to the other people in the row, I awkwardly shuffled my way to the aisle, trying not to step on anyone’s feet.
“Sorry, Uncle—Auntie, eesh—”
“Beta!”
“Sorry!”
Throwing that last apology behind me as I rushed up the aisle to the exit, I focused on trying to find Neil. He wasn’t in the back of the theater, so he hadn’t made it back inside. The theater doors were heavy, but I pushed hard and slipped out. Onstage, Anjali Auntie was speaking into the mic, thanking everyone for attending. As the doors closed behind me, the pressurized valves let out a hiss of air. I didn’t immediately spot Neil, but then I heard a series of low tones somewhere near the exit. I walked forward across the black linoleum tiles of the lobby, and as I got closer, I could tell those tones were frustrated to say the least.
“Finn, how can you even say something like that? Of course she has a right to be—” There was a pause here as if Finn had interrupted Neil and was saying his piece. I finally got close enough to see Neil sitting on the floor behind one of the big pillars in the lobby. He looked up at me when I got closer and rolled his eyes. “No,” he said, glancing at me again. But this time there was something else in his gaze that I couldn’t quite place. Discomfited, I looked away. I could usually read Neil really well.
But then I sighed and took a seat next to him, ignoring the way it would wrinkle the back of my kameez. I stretched my legs out and tapped my fingers against the floor. Neil had gone quiet again, but the muscle at the corner of his jaw was twitching like he was grinding his teeth. Finally, after a curt “Sure. Fine. See you tomorrow. Bye,” he tapped the screen to hang up and immediately leaned his head back against the pillar to stare at the ceiling.
“Soooo,” I started. “Is everything…okay?” I wasn’t sure if Neil wanted me to get involved or not, but I would if he needed it. No one hurt my best friends. Neil’s eyes were closed, and without opening them, he shook his head lightly.
“It’s fine, just having a minor disagreement with my boyfriend over stuff.”
“What stuff?”
He brushed aside the question, looking away from me before answering.
“Oh, nothing. It’s no big deal. We’ll figure it out.” The lobby was empty and quiet around us, and I kept my voice low.
“If you’re sure…”
There was something in the way he wouldn’t make eye contact with me, though. And in the way he was twisting his fingers together when he told me it was nothing. He was lying, and I didn’t know why. I tapped a finger against his shoulder.
“Actually, well…” Neil closed his eyes. “Finn is still being weird about your shit with Jon.”
I scooted away from him. That was not what I was expecting. “Like, how?” I asked.
I heard the door behind me open, and the chatter from the auditorium spilled into the lobby. There was movement behind us as people started heading out to their cars. I knew Neil and I had time, though. Our parents were probably talking together in the aisle.
Neil ran a hand through his hair, messing up his coif and not seeming to realize it. This must be bad.
“I don’t know. I tried to explain it to him again. But I guess it was bugging him because he still didn’t really understand what I was saying.”
I could feel my irritation rising. Who cared if Finn didn’t get it? Finn didn’t have to get it. I had to get it, because I was the one who went through it.
“So what?” I asked. “If he doesn’t get it, maybe that’s something you should think about.”
Neil’s eyes went wide, and he turned to me. “What does that mean?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. Like, I—I know you thought it was a big deal and you were on my side when I was feeling bad, and then you talked to Finn. After that, it didn’t matter that much anymore. How are you guys supposed to be together if he can’t understand why someone who looks like us might be frustrated over this?”
Neil frowned and shook his head.
“That’s not fair.”
I shrugged again, not sure what to say.
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s not like Finn decides how I’m going to feel about this. And it’s not like I can’t talk to him about it.”
But I didn’t want to hear it. My earlier frustration with Neil’s dismissiveness came back with a vengeance.
“Oh, the kid with no skin in the game doesn’t get it and now his boyfriend gets to tell me it wasn’t that big of a deal,” I said with a bite. I could feel my voice shaking. Neil’s head snapped toward mine, those beautiful brows angled downward, and his dark eyes stormy and furious.
“What the hell, Payal?” He sounded hurt, and that tone—one that I so rarely heard and never wanted to be the cause of—cut through my anger. I pressed the heels of my palms against my forehead. This wasn’t going how I wanted it to go. I’d handled this badly.
“Argh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” I said, putting a placating hand on his arm and hoping it’d be enough. “I’m just—”
“Payal, I’m sorry if you felt like I was brushing off what happened. But it’s not because of Finn.” He sounded less sure than he looked, glancing at me and then back down to his phone. I dropped my head down onto his shoulder. “It’s fine.” He sighed. “I’ll call him later, and it’ll be fine. And you’re fine. And we’re fine. It’s all fine,” he said a little too forcefully. “We should go back inside. I know my mom wanted to get home earlier rather than later.” And without waiting, he stood up and moved back toward the theater.
* * *
Ding-dong.
I was sitting on the couch catching up on a week’s worth of sitcoms the next day when the sound of our doorbell echoed through the house. Startled, I stared in the direction of our front door from my spot in the living room like I could see through walls and find out who was there. Lifting my phone from where it was sitting face down next to me, I found several texts from Philip sent over the course of the last ten minutes. There was also one from Neil that he’d sent last night. I’d asked how he was feeling, and he’d said, Fine, P. I’ll see you tomorrow. With a sleeping emoji. I figured that meant we really were fine. He wouldn’t use emojis if he was still mad, right?
