“Oh. Nope. All good here.”
“Great.”
“How are you two? You and your…friend?”
Nikhil pivots slightly, half turning to face the wall. “We’re fine. We didn’t get any water on the first floor, but we did have a window break—”
“She seems really familiar, but I don’t think we ever met before.”
“No, you wouldn’t have met her.”
“And I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not,” Nikhil says sharply.
I feel a weird sort of pleasure-pain at the words. A sensation I don’t want to examine too closely.
Alan’s quiet for a second. And then a sharp noise travels through the radio, as if he’s snapped his fingers. “Oh. Wait. I know where I’ve seen her. I know who she is. You never mentioned her name before, but I can’t believe it took me this long to put it together. She looks just like the girl in that—”
“Thanks for checking in,” Nikhil interjects. “But we’ve got to run. We’ll talk to you later.” Nikhil flips a switch, then sets the radio on the nightstand. He picks his broom back up and starts sweeping again, as if nothing happened. As if Alan hadn’t just said something strange about me.
“What was that about?” I ask moments later, when it’s clear Nikhil doesn’t plan on addressing it.
“What was what?”
“What Alan said. About knowing me from somewhere. That I look a lot like…”
“I don’t know,” Nikhil says. “I mean, you’ve met the guy. He’s not exactly the most…the best…” He waves a hand. “Who knows what that guy is thinking?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you’re on TV every now and then. Maybe that’s where he recognizes you from.”
TV?I’m never on…Oh.“I occasionally appear in the background of C-Span 3, Nikhil. I’m not exactly a television star. I don’t even make the cut for C-Span 2.”
“That’s still TV.”
“Okay. Technically. But I doubt Alan’s a big C-Span fan.”
Nikhil’s eyes are fixed on the floor, his concentration on the glass he’s gathering into the dustpan. “You don’t know that,” he says. “Maybe he likes C-Span.”
“No onelikesC-Span.”
“You used to watch it.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same. I was a huge policy nerd.”
“Still are,” he says, but it’s like he’s testing it out, not quite sure if he’s right about that or not.
“Still am,” I say, and he nods.
“Well, maybe Alan is too.”
I blow out a breath, trying to keep my frustration at bay. There’s something Nikhil’s not telling me. Something he doesn’t want me to know.
Most people don’t react well to being needled. They need to be coaxed. Cajoled. Lulled into a false sense of security. I know this. I just seem to forget it when I’m around Nikhil.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, rubbing the polishing cloth against the headboard a little harder than necessary.
