Page 12 of The Ex Factor

Even though I had no intention of joining in, that infectious sound from his mouth made my lips turn upward. First, a smile, then a giggle, followed by full-fledged laughter. When I couldn’t stay upright against the wall, I allowed my shaking body to recline sideways against him. My belly had begun to ache from the laughter.

“Yes, we both are absolutely not drunk,” he said, and we laughed more uproariously.

“Shit!” he cried, looking at his watch. “I should leave. Imran needs to get home.”

“Who’s Imran?” I asked, suddenly envious of this person whom Sujit would care for so much.

“He’s my driver,” he said. “He’ll have to be up early to get me to work on time. I didn’t realize it was this late.”

“Alright,” I said and stood up with him. “I accept complete responsibility for keeping you, and I’ll be happy to explain it to Imran if need be.”

He nodded as he readjusted his jacket and tie. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

We walked to the door, and I held it open for him.

“Thank you again for today,” I said, and he turned to look intently into my face.

“You’ll be okay, right?”

I nodded. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eight. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Aarti,” he said, then immediately corrected himself, “Ms. Bhatia, I’m here if you need a friend. You don’t have to process all this alone. Neither of us do.”

This time, when he looked at me, my heart beat so audibly, I was sure he’d heard it. I took a step back, putting distance between us.

“Thank you,” I said, calling it a night.

“Good night, Ms. Bhatia.” He returned a clipped nod and a short smile that barely dented his cheeks. I watched him walk down the corridor, wondering what he was thinking.

I, for one, was wondering what perverse idea of fun the universe had in mind when it dropped Sujit beside me that evening. There were awkward encounters, and then there was whatever the hell we’d just had. In a world defined by six degrees of Kevin Bacon, this was a one-hundred-eighty degree ofwhat the fuck do you call this connection?

As I changed and turned in for the night, I resisted the urge to curl up into a ball and let myself weep.

AARTI

Icouldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when my relationship with Sameer had taken shape.

My dad and Sameer’s uncle were old friends, and when Sameer migrated to the U.S. about thirteen years ago, we started out as friends. As we grew into mature adulthood, everyone around me suddenly began suggesting, in obvious and implicit ways, that we would make a beautiful couple. I’d harbored a mild crush on Sameer, but he had never shown any interest in me, or any other woman, for as long as I had known him.

It wasn’t difficult to be smitten with him. With chiseled features, a sculpted body, and perfect etiquette, he was the definition of charming. When he spoke to you, the world ceased to exist. He had that knack of making people feel special and appreciated. I had seen him flirt quite effectively on occasion. But he had his mind set on getting his degree and learning the business from his uncle. He had no space for anything or anyone outside it.

Then, one day, he let his mask slip for a minute, and I found myself falling for him. Our group of friends had returned home from college and sat around with bottles of beer, sharingtales of our wild experiences. Sameer, the life of any party, was unusually quiet until one friend joked that he seemed hung up on someone. I’d watched his face change instantly, but he’d recovered fast and spun rakish tales from his college days in India. It had sounded fictitious because it was completely antithetical to his personality since the time I had known him.

“What changed, dude?” the friend had asked.

He’d shrugged and replied, “Shit got real, and I had to sober up.”

It was at that moment, when I’d spotted a look of sincerity and uncharacteristic humility on his face that I had possibly begun falling for him. He was no longer the casual friend I’d had a mild crush on. I had found myself wanting more of him. For years, my subtle hints had gotten no reaction from him until our parents stepped in.

“We are not going to force you into a marriage,” my wise mother had said, “but he seems like a person who’d make a great life partner for you.”

I had grabbed the opportunity with both hands, but Sameer took months to ask me out on a formal date. It was as if his heart had never been in it from the start.

The next summer, Tara had come to Dallas as a consultant at the art museum and my world turned upside down. The first time I’d seen her and the way Sameer had looked at her, I had suspected there was more to their friendship than he was letting on. But he had remained adamant in insisting that she was his cousin’s best friend, and that was the extent of their relationship. I’d been a fool in love with him, and bought every lie he pushed my way.

Then, I found the opportunity I had been waiting for. It was my parents’ wedding anniversary, and I had arranged for a grand party to celebrate them. A few nights before the event, Sameer’s father had come over with a suggestion that I shouldsurprise Sameer with a proposal at the party. I’d assumed we would get engaged sooner or later. Our parents had wanted an extravagant celebration and were hounding us to come up with a date, but Sameer had been dragging his feet for months.

So, when his father granted me this golden chance, I had no reason to hesitate. A little voice, though, had warned me. I had called Sameer’s father twice that week to ask if Sameer would find this transgressive of his trust in me. He had reassured me that Sameer was in love and would be thrilled. I tamped down the doubt raising its venomous head and revamped the event to accommodate my proposal to Sameer. My family was thrilled. My father had decided to offer Sameer a partnership in our company. With his investment firm and our real estate company, they began dreaming of establishing a formidable financial dynasty of sorts.

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