Page 15 of Debugging Love

“Dink, donk, dunk. I don’t care. Look at me. I’m Kim Kardassian, my booty shake brings all the boys to the yard.”

“It’s Kar-dash-ian,“ I say. “And how do you know that song?”

“I know more than you think,” Dadi says, folding her arms.

“I’m not being corrupted, Dadi.”

“They do all kinds of things in the streets over there. Naked people walking around waving flags. Women pulling up theirtops for beads. Men wearing lipstick and women shaving their heads.”

“You seem rather informed about a country you don’t like,” I point out.

“I never said I didn’t like America. I just think you belong here, Adi, with your family and a wife and a baby or two. Not three. Right, Rishi?”

“Definitely no more than two,” Dad says. He leans forward and points his forehead at the camera.

“Shemeant,“ Mom corrects, “our son needs to behere.”

“Oh. Yes,” Dad says. “You will come home, study finance, and hire on at the company.”

“I work in IT.”

“For now,” he adds. “You know what we decided. You come home. We pay for you to study finance. IT is just for fun. For kicks. To travel the world. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Why are you rocking back and forth,” Mom asks. “Is your stomach cramping?”

I didn’t realize I was rocking. I stop and grab my can of Coke, but I don’t lift it to my lips. Fatigue drops onto my head like a bowling ball. “I’m just tired.”

“It’s only ten o’clock,” Dadi says, “Your appa was up until three o’clock last night making money for the family. Good thing he doesn’t eat French fries and Big Macs, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to work so hard.”

“Yeah. Good thing.”

“You go to sleep while we figure out how to convince Navya’s parents that you aren’t giving your love away for free to thousands of American women.”

“I’d never do that, Dadi.”

Dadi searches my face and then her expression softens. “I know. You’re a good boy, Adi. Don’t worry about Navya. We’ll figure it out.”

We chat for ten more minutes and then end the call. I take a final swig of Coke, push myself out of my chair, and toss the empty can in the trash on my way to the bathroom. After washing up for bed, I retreat to my bedroom and collapse onto the mattress.

The moving box in the corner looms large in my mind. I sit up and ponder it for a moment before stepping over and carefully opening the top. Wrapped inside are my mandir and murtis, the necessary components of my worship rituals.

A white shelf unit from Ikea sits next to my closet. I drag it into the living room and set it against the wall by my gaming desk, and then I cover it with the brightly colored runner Mom made from metallic fabric and thread.

The weight of the box challenges my tired muscles as I carry it from the bedroom to the living room. I set it on the couch and carefully remove the ornate, handcrafted mandir. The murtis—one of Krishna and one of Shiva—fit comfortably inside against the floral engraving. Diyas and incense complete the shrine.

Dadi would be satisfied.

Chapter 5

Danni

I shove a foam pillow between my bum and the driver’s seat to protect my bruised derriere. Before pushing my Kia’s Start button, I peek up at Chance’s living room window. The mini blinds are closed. I’m pretty sure he’s not spying on me. Not sure why he would be.

Not sure why on earth I wound up on a date with my arrogant neighbor who blares country music at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning.ThisSunday morning. You’d think he’d be tuckered out by all the chest puffing and train rattling he did last night.

What are the odds? Did he comb the internet obsessively before choosing Wild Oaks? Or did he just grab a map and jab it with a thumbtack? Does it matter? Is fate more significant if it’s random or planned?

I spent hours poring over the internet before I decided to move here. I checked Google Maps, Google Earth, crime maps, remodeled downtown flats, suburban apartment complexes. Rent in Charleston can be steep. Luxury apartments abound with tennis courts, coffee bars, courtyards, and poolsidehammocks. I’d love those amenities but the rent doesn’t fit my budget.

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