Only ten months older than me, she is far too young to have lost her life partner already. It’s the only reason I even returned stateside after leaving Namik: to move in with her. We needed each other then, both mourning the loss of a part of our identities, both feeling stuck and stranded in a society that seemed to only have two emotions when it came to a divorcée and a widow—judgement and pity, respectively.
Being roommates with my cousin and best friend has started my healing. But Irsia. . .
With a sigh I feel in my bones, I walk toward her. The buzzing of my phone stops me from falling into the maze of my emotions and I accept the reprieve it offers. My eyes quickly scan the notification from a dating app I signed up for, tapping open a meet-up request.
I’ve exchanged messages with this guy and he seems nice enough, at least, to dip my toe into the dating world. Another banner pops up at the top, notifying me of a new email. Chills strike me when I catch sight of the name of the sender before I swipe to clear it, but it’s too late. My heart clenches in discomfort.
My old coach from India? I have no idea why she’d message me after so long. We’d kept in touch minimally, mostly due to effort on her part. It still hurts to think about cricket and, though I know I should be an adult and see what she has to say, I’m not ready to facethat part of my past yet. I’d rather fail at kissing another man after tonight’s date instead.
“Toss a coin.”
I glance up from staring at the cucumbers to see Irsia picking out avocados nearby.
“Hmm?”
“Whatever has you overthinking so hard you’re biting your lips off while death clutching a bag of clementines—decide by tossing a coin.”
“I. . . it’s a date.”
She turns toward me, one brow raised. She looks exactly like her mother when she does that; it makes me sweat like I’m doing something wrong.
“Nice guy?”
“Seems like it,” I shrug, tugging at my collar and hoping she doesn’t notice my ears burning. Truth is, I have no clue what he’s really like. I’m desperate to make a connection that doesn’t end with me feeling like an absolute loser. He’s the first guy to show interest.
“Send me his number and your location pin just in case.”
If it’s not Rohan worrying about me, then it’s Irsia. She gives me room to breathe though, unlike Ro, who assumed responsibility for being unaware of the messy state of my marriage. He thinks he neglected me and should’ve intervened before things got as bad as they did. How do I explain to him that I hadn’t known to reach for support? I’d kept it all in. . . until I couldn’t. When I finally told him, he became my shield.
“I’m not sure I should go,” I say, tossing my oranges in her cart as we navigate to the checkout counter.
“Why not?”
“Don’t really feel like it.”
The frown she shoots me makes me nervous and I studiously avoid looking at her. The cashier rings up our items and I get busybagging them, sending off a silent prayer of thanks to the grocery lords for putting an end to the conversation.
The day is bright, streets busy with folks rushing home from work and parents picking up their children from school. Irsia and I settle on a sedate pace as we head down the street to our apartment, lugging our grocery bags between us.
“You should go.”
I sigh.
“You need to move on from Namik.”
“I’m not exactly pining for him,” I mutter. I never loved my ex-husband, though it was not for lack of trying.
“I’m not saying you’re stuck on him. But youarestuck, Aloo. Because of him, because of whatever you experienced. I’m not saying you need to fall in love today, but a single date is low stakes.”
For Irsia, maybe it is. I’ve never dated. Ever.
I’d been so busy making cricket my life that boys were a distraction I never had time for. Like so many other Indian women in arranged marriages, I went into one with a man I didn’t know very well—and with no relationship experience whatsoever, not knowing how to recognize red flags or when to call it quits. I lost myself trying to uphold a relationship which didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.
Soeverydate, as far as I’m concerned, is high stakes and cause for anxiety. Because I have no idea how tobeon a date. What if I mess up? What if I become the cautionary tale he tells his next girlfriend as they laugh about the socially inept woman who once tried to make herself seem intriguing?
The ‘what ifs’ in my head crush me beneath their weight and my chest tightens, trapping my breath within. I blow a cool stream of air out through pursed lips, reminding myself what my therapist told me to do when anxiety comes knocking.
Just keep breathing, breathing, breathing. What do we do? We breathe.