my back,” I finished. “Yup. I’m horribly sorry and to make up for it, chaat is on me and we can stop by this place I went to the other day and even have ganna juice.”
Adarsh’s eyes glinted with good humor. “You don’t want to marry me. Is that it?”
“Well . . . ” I started and paused when a big smile broke on his face. “I don’t.”
“Okay,” he said, and took another swig of water.
“You don’t seem too broken up about it,” I said, slightly miffed that he was taking my rejection so well.
“I’ve seen five girls and I liked you the best, but I’m not in love with you,” Adarsh said.
That was the good thing, I thought, about men like Adarsh. They treated arranged marriage exactly the way it should be treated, without too many emotions messing with their decision-making process.
“Any of the other four girls to your liking?” I had to ask.
“Yes,” Adarsh said with a smile. “Her name is Priya, too, but she’s shorter than you are and definitely has less . . . of that spark.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I have a short temper?”
“Well . . . I just saw a spark of it here and there,” Adarsh said with a grin. “So, your family forced you into that pelli-chupulu?”
“Yes and no,” I confessed. “I could’ve—no, should’ve—fought against it but I wanted some peace and I didn’t have the courage to tell them about my boyfriend.”
Adarsh put the bottle down and made an annoyed sound. “You have a boyfriend? And why the hell didn’t you tell me when I told you about my ex-girlfriend?”
He had every right to be mad so I continued humbly. “I was scared,” I admitted the truth. “I was scared of hurting my family and I ended up hurting you.”
“Humiliating me,” Adarsh amended. “Goddamn it, what’s wrong with you women? I mean, I agree that arranged marriage is archaic but, Priya, you work in the United States. You are a grown woman. Why the hell are you playing these stupid games?”
“Not games, Adarsh,” I said, keeping my voice calm even though I wanted to rage at him. How would he understand how much I was afraid of losing my family? How could he understand that?
“Then what?”
“He is American,” I revealed. “And I told them yesterday but they don’t want to come to terms with it. They dragged you here hoping I would give in. Be charmed by your ultra-good looks and the rest of the package.”
We fell silent when the busboy brought Adarsh’s pau bhaji and my chai. He ignored his food while I blew at the hot tea to cool it.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized.
“I’m so fucking tired of women like you,” Adarsh muttered.
“Women like me? Excuse me, but you don’t even know me,” I said, putting my cup down with force that caused some of the tea spill on the saucer.
“Why are you so scared? My ex-girlfriend wouldn’t tell her parents about me. She was scared because they expected her to marry a Chinese guy. . . . And that’s why we broke up, because I got sick of her not accepting me,” Adarsh said.
“And you told your parents about her?”
“Yes,” Adarsh said. “I told them when things got serious and we moved in together, but Linda just wouldn’t do it.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated sincerely. “I told my family yesterday night. I’m going to tell them again today. . . . I don’t know what else to do. I’m scared that I’ll lose them if I tell them and I’m scared I’ll lose Nick if I don’t.”
“Oh, you’ll lose him if you don’t,” Adarsh assured me and dug into his bhaji. “Want a bite?”
I shook my head. “So am I forgiven?”
“Hey, who am I to judge. I’m the one finding a wife like I would a job,” Adarsh said, and then chewed on his food with relish.
“You think the other Priya will work out for you?”
Adarsh nodded, his expression amused as well as confident. “She’s twenty years old, lives with her parents. Just finished her degree, so yeah, I think she’ll work out. She likes to run and hike, I kinda like the same things, so . . . we’ll go camping a lot.”
“I’m glad and again, I’m really sorry for having put you through this,” I said.
Adarsh shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as you pay for the chaat and provide me with the promised ganna juice . . . I have no complaints.”