I’m on a one-way street, silently kicking myself for trying to play detective and letting a car between us, when a flicker of bright blue catches my eye.
I heave a sigh of relief and keep my eyes fixed on the car.
Zach is not a good driver, if this exhibit is anything to goby.
He speeds up unexpectedly, turns wildly, suddenly slows down. At one point, it almost seems like we’re driving around in circles, but eventually he and Raj end up in front of a string of restaurants downtown. They turn into what seems to be an alley. I’m almost a hundred percent sure that there’s no exit from it, so I pull up to the curb. I’m trying to decide what to do next when someone raps three times on my window. I jump so high I nearly slam my head on the roof of the car.
It is Raj. He is speaking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
He signals for me to roll my window down, and although I’d rather say “no thanks” and speed the heck away from here, I do.
“Hey,” he says sternly. “Can I ask why you’re parked here? You’re not allowed to be here.”
He gives no indication of remembering me from the theater or from when I used to date his best friend, but I notice he’s craning to see into my car, that his eyes are narrowed at me in suspicion.
I stare blankly at him and then scan the street, desperate for an excuse. “Oh,” I say.Why are you acting like you don’t know me?That’s what I want to say. Instead, I say, “Food. I, uh, this restaurant.” I point at the nearest restaurant. It has aBRAND-NEW! TRY US!sign in the window. “Is new. I wanted to see.”
Raj looks in the direction I just pointed. “That’s my mom’s new restaurant. You’re going there?”
“Yeah,” I lie.No, you idiot.I should say no, but I nod stupidly. “Yeah, so where”—is Zach?—“do I park? Legally?”
Raj frowns, hesitating. “Over there,” he says finally, pointing across the street at an empty parking spot. I maneuver my car into the space, take a deep breath, and climb out.
Raj has already gone through the doors of Real New Delhi, and I follow behind him, eager to find out where Zach disappeared to. Or, worst case scenario, leave with a belly full of Indian food.
The smell of curry envelops me as soon as I walk in, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me how little I’ve eaten the past few days. I can feel saliva building up in my mouth, and I’m beginning to think this is the best decision I’ve made all day. That is, until I see Zach in the doorway of the kitchen. He’s concentrating on tying an apron around his hips, over his jeans, and there’s a yellow pencil in his mouth. When I walk in, he glances up and meets my eye. We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, and then he turns, expressionless, and heads into the kitchen.
“Ma, we have a customer!” Raj yells, materializing behind the counter.
“Sit them!” a woman, presumably Raj’s mother, yells back.
Raj sighs heavily and walks toward me reluctantly.You’re not allowed to be here.For some reason, I’m not wanted here, and it makes my throat tight. “Please sit. Can I get you a drink to start with?”
“Um, some lemonade?”
Why aren’t they acknowledging me and why do they seem to hate me?
“Okay.” Raj nods and disappears into the kitchen. I’m scrambling to leave when Raj’s mother, a short, skinny woman with a warm smile, appears. She convinces me to try today’s special. She asks whether it’s still cold out and if anyone else is joining me, and then Raj places a glass of lemonade in front of me. His mom returns to the kitchen, but Raj leans against a wall, arms crossed, pretending not to watchme.
It’s difficult to swallow with the feeling of hostility all around me, and even though my meal is incredible, all I want is to get out of here.
Then Zach appears again. His hair is so much shorter in real life that it makes it look darker. My breath is trapped in my chest.
Zach whispers something to Raj as they pass each other, then opens up the cash register. He mutters to himself as he counts, glancing up at times to write something down, but he won’t look at me.
Raj’s mom calls for him then, and he goes into the kitchen.
I can’t get down the last third of my food. All I want is to leave.
I’ve accepted the fact that I don’t know Zach—not really—but I wasn’t the least prepared for him to hate me.
Did Idosomething to him?
Maybe I don’t want to know how this ends.
Suppressing the fountain of emotion bubbling inside me, I push some words out at Zach. “Can I get my check?”
Screw finishing this meal.
