Page 40 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

She nodded.

“Don’t think.”

“Don’t think? That’s your solution?”

“Don’t think too much. Is that better?” I sat up and held her hands. “Let’s live in the moment. Enjoy it while both of us are in it.”

She blinked in thought, then returned a slow, tentative nod. “And as long as we keep it quiet, I think we can still go back to being friends without it being awkward around Sameer and Tara,” she offered softly.

“Come on, Sona. We’re too old to feel awkward about such things, aren’t we?”

She frowned. “Who are you calling old, mister?”

I laughed from my belly and my heart. She was what had been missing in my life. “Hey, old is not a bad thing. Getting to be old is a privilege,” I argued, thinking of my aging parents and feeling grateful for them.

“True,” she observed with a smile.

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her back to the bed.

“I like this,” she whispered against my chest. “It’s just what I need in my life right now.”

“What’s that?”

“Great sex with the hottest guy I’ve ever met without having to worry about emotional complications and tags. Without having to worry where we are headed or if it’s going to last. We both know it’s not. It’s the best thing ever.”

My heart dipped at her words, although she wasn’t wrong. She had accurately described my approach to relationships. But I had never been on the tipping end of this equilibrium. I was the one who deflected emotion and relationship tags. I was always the one who got out unaffected. And now the only woman with whom I did not mind considering emotional attachments was seemingly giving me the brush-off. But I suspected she felt more than she was letting on. Perhaps in an effort to avoid getting her own heart broken? The idea intrigued me.

“Was this the fire you wanted to stay away from?” I inquired, trying to test my theory.

“Yes, but boy, I’m engulfed in it now. Don’t you let this go to your head, though, playboy.”

I returned a haughty grin, but the wheels in my head were spinning already. It could’ve been the result of years of Mom’s reverse psychology, as I’d claimed while growing up, but Sona’s resistance about us was giving me dangerous ideas. Ideas of a life with Sona.

My memories of childhood stood in sharp contrast to other kids of my age with immigrant parents. I had often felt out of place among my Indian-American peers. I was never reprimanded. Nothing was ever imposed on me. When I had made a mistake or misbehaved, my parents would sit me down and explain why what I did was wrong. They would ask me the reason for my errant behavior so they could learn and become better parents. I was never compared to anyone else. There was no tunnel vision about the greatness of India and its superiority over American culture, or vice versa. Those instances that seemed to have made the golden careers of most second-gen stand-up comics in the West were conspicuously absent from my life.

Where other kids were being forced to learn and speak their native languages at home, my parents were happily conversing with me in English. In fact, when I suspected them of using Hindi as their secret language to talk privately in my presence, I learned the language. At Harvard, I took electives to familiarize myself with the Devanagari script, so now I could both read and write a little. I wholeheartedly immersed myself in Indian cultural forms wherever I found them. I was part of a Bhangra team participating in inter-collegiate competitions. I learned the basics of cricket from Indian students and cheered on the national team during a particular World Cup. Since they had left me with little opportunity to rebel, embracing my Indianness with gusto was my ultimate rebellion against my parents.

I had suspected Mom of playing the long game, keeping me away from the things she had actually wanted me to do. As a teacher well-versed in child psychology, she’d been smart enough to do it without causing damage to my psyche or self-esteem. Or maybe she’d understood how headstrong and stubborn I was. All I knew for sure was that Mom played a stellar game.

For here I was, reconsidering my long-held beliefs about the farce that was monogamy to dream about a life with the woman in my arms. The more Sona rejected the idea of a happy-ever-after for us, the more it seemed to appeal to me. That she got along so well with the people in my life seemed to further bolster my conviction.

The question was, how could I convince Sona that I could be trusted with her heart?

I looked at her face stretched up toward me, her eyes closed in early slumber, the slight smile gradually disappearing from her lips. I pulled her soft body into mine and kissed her forehead. I could see myself waking up to that sweet face every day. She was the most extraordinary woman I had ever met, and when I looked at her, I found something new to admire, not in the least the smart brain underneath that gorgeous head of curls. She was sexy, brilliant, and exciting—something I had waited for all my life.

After all, I knew a gem when I spotted one.

RULE #4

Do not leave after the fire is lit.

Make sure to extinguish all flames before walking away.

SONA

Aloud knock woke me up that morning, an insistent rap on the door. Mihir and I sat up with a start.

Sameer’s voice was loud and urgent. “Mihir!”

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