When I ask whether Meena has any plans to run again in the future, she offers a coy smile. “I loved meeting the voters and hearing about their concerns and hopes and dreams. I still want to be a part of the community. I still want to push for meaningful change that helps people, but I don’thaveto hold office to do that. And I’m pretty happy here. Working with Nikhil. Getting to meet the folks who pass through. And the ones who live in the area. But who knows what the future holds?”
It’s the kind of diplomatic, noncommittal answer I’d expect from a polished former D.C. lawyer, but I have to admit that itsounds authentic in the moment. Though I wouldn’t be surprised to see Meena announce her candidacy for something else soon.
The Nader-Chopra-Wrights turn the discussion back to some of the repairs they did after the storm, and we step off the dock, continuing the rest of the tour…
—
I scroll to the end of the article on my phone, and my head slumps back against my pillow with a sigh of relief. After a year and a half of intense, grueling work, Nikhil had launched the inn with a soft opening last month, inviting close friends and family and a few members of the press.
My parents had made it, as well as my sister and Ritu. They’d met Nikhil prior to that, of course, when all of us had taken a trip to Europe to visit Ritu during her time abroad. My parents had loved him, immediately calling him the son they’d always wanted, to which my sister and I had rolled our eyes. Light sexism aside, my parents had welcomed Nikhil with open arms, and even my sister had given him a warm reception. Or at least as warm as she could manage.
Even though we’ve grown closer recently, my sister’s prickly exterior has remained firmly intact. She hasn’t changed in that regard, but my understanding of her has. She’s soft beneath the front she presents to the world. Vulnerable and scared, just like me. Just like all of us.
I reach for my phone again, rereading the article. I can’t wait for Nikhil to wake up so he can see this. We’ve both been on pins and needles this past month, repeatedly refreshing the same search terms in Google, waiting to see our first review, and though I’d had high hopes, this article has far exceeded my expectations. It’s an absolute rave.
“Good morning,” a gruff voice says into my ear. Warm, firm lips coast over my cheekbone, and even now, after hundreds of mornings together, this is still my favorite way to wake up.
I turn in to him, the news I was going to share temporarily forgotten.
The daylight filtering in through the window casts his skin in a golden glow. He’s wearing his beard slightly longer these days, and I run my fingers over it, over his jaw. I always expect it to feel coarser than it is, but it’s so soft.
The corners of his mouth tilt up.
“You’re supposed to say ‘good morning’ back, you know. That’s considered polite.”
I shush him by pressing my lips against his, and he laughs against my mouth. I absorb the sound, and we don’t say much of anything for a while. Our hands and mouths roam until my phone falls to the floor with a loudthwackand I break away to grab it.
Nikhil grins as I return to him. “Well, that works too,” he says. “Feel free to skip the ‘good mornings’ from here on out.”
I roll my eyes, swiping across my screen, returning to the article.
Nikhil reaches for me again, his arm around my waist, his beard tickling the side of my neck, but I don’t let myself get distracted this time.
“Soo,” I say, teasing out the vowel. “Our first review is in.”
To my surprise, Nikhil doesn’t perk up or scramble for the phone to see it. He just pulls me closer.
“I know,” he says, nuzzling into me. “I got up in the middle of the night to get some water, and I saw it.”
I twist around to face him. “You read it already?”
“Yeah.”
“The article? From theHouston Chronicle?”
“Yeah,” he says nonchalantly. “It was pretty good.”
“Pretty good?They loved it, Nikhil! It was incredible.”
“I guess. But it wasn’t my favorite review.”
My eyebrows scrunch together. “There’s another one?”
He nods solemnly, taking my phone from me. He fiddles with it for a couple seconds, then hands it back.
I scroll past the “Google Reviews” banner to the lone entry beneath it. Five stars. And just a handful of words that make me burst into laughter.
This place is out of this world. —Alan M.
