“I don’t understand why you’re always trying to prevent me from driving,” I say. “You’ve got to see how counterproductive that is.”
“I’m not trying to prevent you from driving,” he says, some frustration breaking through his usual air of forced patience. “I’m trying to prevent another vehicular dog-slaughter.”
This earns him a glare. “That goldendoodle didn’t even have a scrape.”
A short, ironic laugh escapes Kush. “You do hear yourself?”
I do, and I sound ridiculous, but I always struggle not to feel ultrasensitive around Kush. It’s so easy to interpret his every action as condescending when I spent so much of my childhood wishing he’d take me seriously.
For months after the poolside day the summer of his return, I dreaded any chance encounter with Kush. His dismissive, practically offended words to his friend made clear that hedidn’t see me as an equal. So I did my best not to see him at all, minimizing our interactions to the best of my ability in the years to come.
The first few months were the hardest. On Diwali, Aai assigned me and Kush to create our front porch rangoli, and I pulled her to the hallway in a desperate plea. “Please don’t make me be alone with him,” I begged. The sting of his cool rejection was fresh, and I couldn’t stomach spending time with someone who considered me so beneath him. Bemused, Aai agreed to pass the task to Ajoba, and as time passed, Kush and I were naturally thrown together less and less.
Now, given our driving arrangement, some of those old feelings of inferiority are reigniting. I hate being talked down to by anyone, most of all Kush.
“Look,” I say. “If you’re not going to let me drive, then just take me home. There’s no need to waste my time, I have a lot of work to get done today.” I speak to the air, arms crossed, and Kush stills in my periphery.
There’s a long beat. “Is that really what you want?”
My reply is immediate. “It is, yes.”
“All right,” he says finally, voice flat, mouth set. I’m unclipping my seat belt and out of the car to swap seats before he can add another word.
We’re silent on the ride home, which feels like an eternity though no longer than a mile. Kush glances at me and away during stops and red lights.
“I’m not sure why you always get touchy and hostile with me,” he says as we near my neighborhood. The words are quiet, contemplative. “My only motivation here is to help you.”
The accusation grates, but I can’t muster the energy to defend myself. “Thanks for the ride,” I say instead, when we reach the driveway. It comes out more passive-aggressive than I wanted. Still, he nods in acceptance, and I grab the keys before heading to the house without a backward glance.
Chapter Fifteen
Simran and I have breakfast at Wanda’s the next morning. It’s the first I’ve seen of her since the party, and it’s as if several lifetimes have passed. Steve leaves Seattle tomorrow, but he’s already booked a return trip to see Simran in a few weeks. Their working plan is to take this time to consider what changes are required to make a reunion viable. Simran presents the situation to me like it’s a business pitch, and I’m a wealthy potential investor.
“I want to be really thoughtful about this,” she says. “That was the issue in the past, we kept rushing back together without working things through.”
Ithink the primary issue is that Steve is a loser, and Simran deserves more, but this feels too harsh, so I just sip my latte and let her continue.
“I honestly think this time will be different,” she says. “We’veboth grown a lot, and Steve has really demonstrated that he wants to be super high effort moving forward.” She rests now, folding her hands on the table. “What do you think?”
I stir the ice around in my cup. “How you feel is what’s most important,” I say. It’s clear Sim has all but made up her mind, and while Steve isn’t my preference, I didn’t see anything at the party worth warning her off. Simran always craves my approval on people she’s seeing, and I don’t want to hurt her by denying it. Though I can’t help from adding, “Proceed with caution, of course.”
“But proceed, right?” she says, giggling when I roll my eyes. She finishes her last bit of brioche and brushes her hands of crumbs. “Okay, your turn. Frank is over obviously, so tell me how the Hinge search is going.” I duck my head to avoid the inquiry, and she gasps. “Still?What have you been waiting for?”
The door jingles open as she speaks, and I glance up at the most inopportune time, locking eyes with Kush as he enters the shop. He sees me at the same time I see him, slowing in his tracks. He looks between me and Simran and gives the world’s most uncomfortable nod of acknowledgment before walking up to the register to order.
It’s not much of a coincidence; I know Kush is a loyal Wanda’s customer. A painful knot still twists in my stomach. “I can’t catch a break,” I groan, sinking in my seat. And truly, this weekend has just been a back-to-back mess, not a silver lining in sight.
Simran’s eyes narrow. “What’s going on?” she asks, our previous point of tension abandoned.
“Nothing,” I mumble. I huff at her prying expression. “Another bad driving practice,” I admit.
I give her a quick overview. Simran’s face morphs from curious to exasperated as I speak.
“Rani,” she says when I finish. “You’ve got to apologize.”
I startle, not expecting this reaction. “What?”
“He’s doing you a pretty big favor by teaching you,” she says. “For free. And it’s like you’re on a mission to be the most uncooperative student possible.”
