Page 21 of Red Flags and Rishtas
Aadar reached for one, and without thinking, I slapped his hand away.
‘What? What are you doing?’ he asked, still eyeing the food.
‘Why should I share my food if you’re not sharing your drinks?’ I said before I could stop myself.
Aadar let out a chuckle, and I stuffed my mouth with a fish finger, knowing how stupid this was. I sounded like a child, a bratty one.
‘Obviously you can drink the whisky. I’m not finishing all of this by myself on a weekday,’ he said, gesturing to the three glasses between us.
Was this the way responsible adults behaved? I drank a lot more than 90 ml last night, without a single ounce of worry about it being a weekday.
‘No, thank you. I’m a little hungover,’ I admitted.
‘Well, a good whisky is a great cure for a hangover,’ he said, nudging the glass of Manhattan towards me. Was he calling for a ceasefire?
I made a great show of reluctance but took a sip anyway. The spirit warmed my throat, and I cherished the taste for a microsecond.
‘Now can I eat? I’m starving,’ he asked as his hand hovered dramatically over the food.
Between the two of us, we wiped off the appetisers within minutes. I gestured to a waiter to order the main course tasters. He noted down my order and assured us he’d be back soon.
‘What about you? How does a girl like you agree to an arranged marriage?’ he asked when the waiter had left.
‘What do you mean, a girl like me?’ I demanded, my guard shooting back up.
‘You know … modern, successful, etc.,’ he said, carefully leaving out my attractiveness from the equation.
His words surprised me and left my skin feeling tingly.
‘Well, I didn’t agree to it. It was just that one time, and I only did it to get my parents off my back,’ I said, downing my drink to claim the remaining cocktail.
So much for no mid-week drinking.
‘So, what, you don’t believe in marriage?’ he asked.
‘When did I say that? Arranged marriage, yeah, definitely not. But I do want to get married someday,’ I accepted.
I wondered if the alcohol had any part to play in this turn in the conversation.
‘And how do you expect to meet someone?’ he asked, displaying an odd amount of interest in my personal life.
‘Um, I meet plenty of people. Off dating apps,’ I said, mimicking a swiping motion with my hand.
He let out a dry laugh, the judgement in his tone returning as he said, ‘Dating apps, right. The latest addiction for millennials.’
Before I could offer a retort, his phone started to ring loudly. He excused himself and walked away to receive the call.
As I waited for him to return, I couldn’t help but wonder what we must have looked like to the other customers in the restaurant. Would they assume we were a couple? Perhaps we seemed like we were on a first date, drinking together and debating our differing views on love and life.
If my life was a romcom, this would’ve been a classic ‘opposites attract’ story. We would’ve mocked and teased each other, insisting on how much we hated spending time together without realising that we’d been sitting in the restaurant past closing hours. We would’ve gotten drunk, bantered while wewaited for our cabs and somehow ended up getting into the first one that arrived, together.
But of course, none of that happened. Aadar’s phone call lasted for the most part of an hour. When he got back, I’d finished the food and was saying goodbye to Jerry. We exchanged the paperwork and went our separate ways, holding onto the distaste we had for each other.
6
Occupational Hazard
The days leading upto the car launch felt long and stuffed with work. Because of Ryan’s prolonged sick leave, I had to do a fair portion of his work, which involved speaking to different vendors, managing equipment and of course, the transportation of the car. He only showed up to work at the end of the week, five working days before the event. I had secretly hoped Pooja would ask him to work over the weekend, but his fake allergies and constant sniffling got him off the hook.
