Page 129 of Debugging Love

I bury my face in my hands before the tears come, trying not to attract Chance’s attention. I just need a short cry. That’s all. This too shall pass.

Chance’s hand rests on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

I peek up at him. The concern on his face makes me cry harder. He crouches beside me and grabs my hand.

“It’s nothing,” I say between sniffs.

He pulls me into his arms and guides me to the couch. We sit, my body tight against his.

“It’s really nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“My dog has cancer, but they think they got it all.”

Hearing myself repeat the false promise dredges up more tears. I cover my face again. Chance circles his arms around me and pulls me to his chest.

“My mom and dad are both gone,” I say to his T-shirt. “My dad had a heart attack a couple of years ago and my mom had breast cancer that went to her brain. After the first surgery, they told us they got it all.” I let my tears fall onto his shirt. “They lied.”

Chance pulls me tighter and my muscles finally relax. “It’s just me and my sister now. And Molly. When Molly is gone, it’s just us.” I tuck my knees up to my chest, still leaning heavily on Chance. He strokes my hair as the final two tears roll down my cheeks. What I hope are the final tears. “When both of your parents are gone, sometimes you feel like you don’t belong anywhere.”

Chance ducks to meet my eyes. He gently lifts my chin. “You belong here.”

Not gonna cry. Not gonna cry.My chant mostly works. One small tear erupts, balances on my lower lashes, and then drops to my cheek. Chance brushes it away with his thumb.

“I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent,” he says, “but I understand feeling like you don’t know where home is. Most of the time, I feel like I’m straddling two worlds and I’m not sure I belong in either of them. I’m not your typical California boy, but I didn’t quite fit in with my peers in India either.”

I look up at him. “Really?”

He shrugs and then nods. “Sorry. This isn’t about me.”

“It can be,” I say with a sniff. “I’m happy to change the subject.”

Chance rubs his thumb along my shoulder. “I guess we’re two misfits.”

I scoot away and turn to him. “I want to know more. Tell me about your culture.”

He rests his elbow on his bent knee and anchors his chin in the cleft between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, the guys wear these things called boardshorts at the beach. Not everyone surfs, though. And most of the blonde girls didn’t come that way naturally.”

I nudge his side. “I mean, tell me about India.”

He leans over, steals a kiss. “You really wanna know?”

“Of course.”

He kisses me again, this time slowly. We fall against the couch, no endgame in sight. Several minutes later, he finishes our conversation. “How about I show you?”

Chance takes me to Desi Groceries, a small Indian grocery store in a strip mall across from Northwoods Mall. The wood shelving is full of familiar items like legumes and flour, but they have unfamiliar names. One large section is devoted to whole spices. Another contains prepackaged meals, sauces, and jarred vegetables.

“What are we making?” I ask.

“Bisi Bele Bhath,” Chance says. “It’s a common dish where I’m from. It translates to hot lentils rice. I don’t want to buy all the spices so…” He snatches a Bisi Bele Bhath spice mix from the shelf.

I follow him as he adds more items to his basket including lentils and rice as well as some vegetables: carrots, frozen peas,a tomato, and an onion. He also grabs a package of rotis, made fresh every morning, according to the sign.

After he pays, we head back to his apartment. He stops in front of his door, sets down the bags, folds his hands and tilts his head forward. “Namaste.”

“Hi,” I say back. Because I’m a dork.

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