Page 139 of Debugging Love

“You’ve gained weight,” his mom says.

“All muscle,” Chance answers. He glances at me worriedly as he closes the door. “How did you know I was here?”

“We stopped by your office first,” Chance’s mom says. “Your boss told us you’re teleworking.”

The older women are so busy doting on him that they haven’t noticed me. Navya looks at me and frowns. My cue to exit. If I tiptoe, maybe–

“Who’s that?” Dadi says.

All eyes focus on me. Dadi’s stare is deadly. Chance looks like he swallowed a frog. Navya and his mother regard me cautiously.

“That’s…um,” Chance manages to say despite the amphibian in his throat. “That’s Danni. She’s my…”

Dadi’s deadly stare shifts to Chance.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he finishes. We lock eyes and trade proud smiles.

The women gasp, Dadi the loudest. Navya draws her hand to her mouth. She crumples beneath her ornately decorated saree. Dadi reaches over to support her, but Navya pulls away. She lunges for the door and yanks it open so quickly that it hits her in the face. With a surprised yelp, she stumbles backward, quickly regains her balance, and runs out of the apartment.

“Navya,” Chance says, preparing to follow her.

“Chance,” I say. “I’ll go.”

Relief washes over him, but only for a moment. Dadi’s stern glare quickly has him back at attention. He’s in for a tongue-lashing, and I don’t want to be around to hear it. I spring from my chair and follow Navya’s lead, out the door and into the hot Charleston daylight.

Chapter 29

Chance

“Who’s Chance?” my mom asks after the door thuds closed. Now it’s just Mom, Dadi, and me standing awkwardly in front of the couch.

“Me,” I answer.

Dadi crosses her arms. Mom looks at me crossly. “There’s no such thing as chance.”

“Actually, there is. It’s me. I’m Chance. What are you guys doing here?”

“Your name is Jyotiraditya,” Dadi says.

“No one in America can say that name. My friends in California called me Jay. What are you doing here?” I try again.

“Well, they need to learn,” Dadi says, leaning forward slightly with one finger pointed. “Because that’s your real name.”

“What else haven’t you told us?” Mom brushes back her feathered bangs which are holding up well despite the humidity. Her bohemian shirt and gauchos are appropriate for the heat. Dadi, on the other hand, is pouring sweat from both temples.Her formal, beaded saree is meant for special occasions, which this is not.

She starts poking around my apartment, sticking her head in my bedroom, bathroom, and my kitchen.

“What are you looking for, Dadi?”

“Where is your dog? You have a dog. Is it outside peeing?”

I collapse onto the couch. I shouldn’t have lied. It always comes back to bite. “I don’t have a dog.”

Mom props her hands on her hips and turns to me. “You have a girlfriend, but you don’t have a dog?”

“There’s dust on your mandir!” Dadi hollers from across the room.

I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly.

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