Page 48 of Rani Deshpande Takes the Wheel
“In fact, I thought there was something brewing with you and Michael,” she adds.
My brows furrow. “He’s gay.”
She blinks. “Huh,” she says. “So all those long hours at the library really are spent working.” She deflates. “A corporate romance would have been far more fun.”
“Can we return to the matter at hand?” I say. “If you’re done with your tangents and quips.”
“I’ll never be done with my quips,” she says. “But, yes, let’s hear it. Do you have feelings for Kush again or something?”
“No,” I exclaim. “That’s what’s so disorienting. I can’t figure out how this happened.”
“The five drinks might have had something to do with it,” she says, voice dry.
“Probably a little over five,” I say, and she shudders.
“You’re literally more of a lightweight than I am,” she says, and I nod, glum.
“Bad decisions were made.”
She waves a hand. “Look, then it’s really nothing. One drunken mistake doesn’t have to mean a thing.”
“Right,” I say. I push at the food on my plate with a fork. “Except…”
She leans forward. “Except?”
“This was obviously totally unplanned, unintended, accidental,” I preface quickly. “But.” I take a beat. “It’s not like there haven’t beenmoments, lately.”
“Oh?”
I fill her in on Kush’s admission at Ishika’s cradle, his Hinge review, the pond afternoon, our brief terrace exchange preceding the crime itself. Simran is quiet, her expression thoughtful.
“I think hearing about his family life and friendships might have endeared him to me,” I finish. “Made him more human and sensitive, so different from the elevated image I’ve always held.”
In the last month alone, I’ve spent more time with Kush than I have in the last several years combined. So many of my preconceptions have been challenged, and I’ve come to realize that maybe I never knew him as well as I thought I did. So much has been my own invention, a function of my accumulated insecurities toward this boy. Putting aside his dismissiveness this morning, as well as his behavior with Meera, my words to Kush at the party remain true: I like what I’ve learned.
Her lips quirk at this. “So youenjoythat he’s a brown man with daddy issues,” she says, and I shove my face into my hands.“I guess it could be worse,” she muses. “He could be a brown man with mommy issues.”
I give an involuntary shiver at the thought, thankful for Noori Aunty’s general goodness. Sim laughs.
“Sorry, I’m joking, I’ll stop,” she says, raising her hands in surrender, and her tone turns more contemplative. “I think it’s natural to be drawn to a person when they’ve opened up to you a bit. But it doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”
Something unwinds in my stomach. “It doesn’t?”
Simran shakes her head. “Not at all,” she says. “Last night sounds to me like a standard case of a residual childhood crush, temporarily reactivated under the influence, and given some other tense conditions, too—weren’t you worried about seeing Frank all night?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a little lighter. As it turns out, my worries were unfounded. According to a text from Michael this morning, Frank never showed, despite Simon’s appearance.
“There you go,” Simran says. “No need to overthink beyond that. You don’t need to stress, this is not at all an unsalvageable situation.”
I shake my head, some panic resurfacing. “But I have to see Kush all the time for driving,” I say. The thought of being alone with him in such tight proximity already has my stomach roiling.
“And it’s going to be fine,” Simran insists, firm. “He doesn’t want to talk about it, right?Good.You’ve been given an out. You get to move on and maintain a purely professional relationship going forward.” She raises a finger, recalling another point. “And it’s only through the end of summer. It’ll be super easy to minimize your interactions once you have your license.”
I’m less sure than Simran; we do still go to the same school, and the dreaded Sunday dinners will persist. But it’s comforting to have her tell me what I want to hear, so I nod and try to accept the affirmation. “Okay,” I say. “You’re right, I think I can do this.”
“Yousocan,” Simran says warmly. She gives my hand a squeeze on the table. “Now eat up, the hangover’s not going to cure itself.”
In my anxiety, I forgot for a bit how ravenous I was. My meal dissolves in seconds.
