Page 90 of Debugging Love

“I didn’t think he’d actually find someone.” Dad shrivels in the heat of Dadi’s anger.

“Did you find someone, Adi?” Mom asks.

“Yes. I mean, no. I don’t know. I just–I’m not sure what I want. I just know I don’t want to marry Navya. She’s a fine person, but I don’t want to be her husband.”

Dadi pales. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Mom and Dad look at her and then goggle at me.

“Dadi?” I say.

Her mouth is still moving. Dad’s like a dynamite fuse, slowly sizzling toward the explosion, but he remains silent.

Finally, sound escapes Dadi’s lips. “That is just fine,” she says stiffly, “Just fine.” She gets up and walks out of the frame.

“Dadi,” I repeat.

“That was between you and me.” Dad’s lips barely move as he talks.

Mom looks past the camera, her brow knitted. “I need to console her.” She narrows her eyes at me. “We’ll talk about this later.”

That leaves Dad and me. His eyebrows are digging grooves into the bridge of his nose. I could have picked a better time to disrespect Dadi’s traditions. But it’s out now and there’s nothing I can do about it. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He cuts through the niceties. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Fix it.”

Danni

The Sunday morning air is already hot and laden with moisture. I’m only ten minutes into my run, and I’ve lost half of my body weight in sweat, but I push myself onward.

After kissing Chance on Friday and making my hasty exit, I slept surprisingly well. So well, I became one with my mattress, sinking so deeply into the memory foam that I didn’t want to get up, and so I didn’t until noon. I spent Saturday preparing for tomorrow’s road trip, packing my clothes, buying snacks at the grocery store, trying not to think about how mortified I’ll be when I see Chance.

I haven’t told Morgan or Kayla about the kiss. I’m too busy sorting it out myself. Was it a onetime thing? A product of the fancy pool and the starlight and the heavy breathing? Is that why his glistening muscles and tantalizing lips diminished my resolve?

He’ll be wearing those same lips to Atlanta. And every day at JetAero. And I’ll have to work next to them, knowing what it’s like to kiss them, wondering if I’m ever going to kiss them again.

Chance is more than a pair of lips. He’s a big ego. A chain-chewing, alpine-mist-wearing player. Whose kisses are like cherry Tootsie Pops and habanero jelly beans combined.

My lungs are a five-alarm fire, but I quicken my pace. The more energy I exhaust, the less energy I have to think about what might happen if Chance and I have five minutes alone in Atlanta. I run along the edge of the marsh, occasionally gazing out over the swaying grass whenever a bird takes flight or the water gurgles as a frog snatches its prey.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve had all I can take. I make a loop toward home, desperate for a drink of water and a shower. When my apartment comes into view, my cheeks go from blazing hot to sub-zero in an instant. Chance is leaving his apartment and he’s not alone.

I dash behind a tree, my body hidden but my head peeking out. He’s with a woman. Their voices float toward me but I can’t make out words. However, Icanmake out his companion’s skintight red dress that’s hardly covering her unmentionables. I can also tell she has bedhead for days, like a lost sheep that is long overdue for its shearing.

Why does she have bedhead?

Because she was sleeping.

In Chance’s apartment.

With Chance!

My conversation with myself continues in words so garbled even I can’t make them out. Meanwhile, Chance helps the woman down the stairs, steadying her like she had a hard night of partying. With Chance!

If my knees hinged the other way, I’d kick myself in the teeth for thinking Chance was into me. And for thinking I might beinto him. For some dumb reason, I let his shirtlessness and the cool water and the soft purple twilight lull me into complacency.

Chance and I absolutely cannot happen. I’m more sure of it now than I’ve ever been. We’re coworkers. That’s it. Coworkers who don’t even like each other.

As Chance struggles to stuff his latest conquest into his car, I remain hidden behind the tree, not about to let him know I figured out what a chump he is.

Tomorrow morning, I’m all business. Chance’s lips are off-limits. And so is my heart.

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