1
ALIA
What Iwantis to live in my pajamas, on my couch, in a happily codependent relationship. In keeping with the rest of my life, I have failed, because I’m currently standing elbow-to-elbow in a throng of bar-goers waiting for their drinks.Sigh.
“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” I whine, pressing the phone into my ear.
“I’m delayed with work,” Irsia says.
“Delay. Dates. Divorce.Allterrible words start with a ‘D’,“ I grumble. “Dick! Also horrible, also a D-word.”
Someone coughs behind me and I shrink.Crap.Grabbing my mojito and a bottle of beer off the counter, I escape the crowded lounge.
“Diarrhea. Dysentery. Depression,” I ramble, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I climb the stairs to therooftop. My cheeks heat when someone passes me by, throwing me a look of unfettered alarm.Social awkwardness: 1. Alia: 0.
“Drama,” Irsia says unhelpfully. I can almost picture her rolling her eyes at me.
“Delilah! Which should be your name. You betrayed me.”
“By skipping the bar?” she snorts.
“The only reason I agreed to come out was because you said you’d meet me for drinks. Do you think I want to be sipping overpriced cocktails while hiding from all human interaction?” I whisper-yell, covering my mouth with the cold glass. “And what am I supposed to do with the beer I ordered for you?”
“Drink it,” she laughs. “Also, whyareyou hiding?”
“Because I have no friends here! It’s also really crowded.”
“Ironhearts won the game tonight. The hockey fans are celebrating. You’ll see the team if you stay and Rohan will keep you company. And, Aloo,” she adds, using my childhood nickname, “I love you, but your pajamas need a break. Being out will do you some good.”
“I don’t know,” I hem. “I’ll probably finish these drinks and uber back home. I prefer reality TV to reality.”
“At least wait ’til you see Ro,” she pleads. “You know how he gets when he can’t assure himself we’re okay.”
My mouth edges up. Rohan is the quintessential older brother. Responsible, reliable, and really protective.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Good! I called and opened a tab for you—my treat.”
“I shouldn’t,” I hedge. I’m a lightweight—but reminding Irsia of this will only make her worry.
“Loosen up and live a little, baby cuz. Life has no guarantees. I’m proof enough of that.”
Irsia cuts the call before I can protest.
Sighing, I scan the floor, my eyes bobbing between glass tables, rounded couches, and intermittently spaced shrubbery that allowfor some semblance of privacy in an otherwise open area. I find an unoccupied nook near a group of chattering women and sink into the comfortable sofa.
With nothing else to do, I lounge back with my drink. The first sip makes me frown. Wasn’t this supposed to be amangomojito? Did they forget the mango?
Times like this, I really miss India. Mango lassi, milkshakes, and smoothies—we’ve got the whole gamut. My mouth waters, recalling summer meals of piping hotpuriandaamras. It’s not quite the same here, though my aunt has tried her best to fill that void.
Sight pinned on the skyline, I tune out the steady buzz of conversations around me, wishing the evening would cool off faster. The waning sun throws a warm glow everywhere, the horizon drawn in streaks of deep orange and purple. Swaying palm trees create a beautiful silhouette against the glimmering sky and I allow myself a moment of reprieve from my worries.
On the coast of California is the picturesque city of Monterey, with year-round pleasant weather, stunning views of azure waters, and a postcard-perfect town center. I’ve been too embroiled in my messy life to appreciate where I’ve lived the last few years. Tonight, nothing else demands my attention. Tonight, I can focus onme.
Unless my parents call to check if I’ve reviewed the matrimonial prospect sitting in my inbox.
Just keep breathing, breathing, breathing.