Page 108 of One Indian Girl
‘We are here on a business trip,’ I said. The waiter became even more confused. Who comes to Pengalusian Island on work?
Neel smiled.
‘Thanks for the cake,’ he repeated. The waiter left us. We burst out laughing. Neel poured us both another glass of champagne.
‘Okay, that was a little weird,’ I said.
‘Totally. Did not expect that.’
I could feel my head swim after two drinks.
‘Though I must say I was flattered,’ Neel said.
‘Really? Why?’ I said, pretending to be ignorant even as I fished for more compliments.
‘Well, even at my age he thought I could be with you. That’s a compliment.’
‘Well. True that,’ I said. ‘All that running is surely helping.’
We clinked our glasses. I don’t know if it was the champagne, the beautiful setting or that Neel made me feel comfortable, but I found it easy to talk to him.
‘You should come here with your wife,’ I said.
‘Huh?’ he said, slightly surprised. ‘Yeah, Kusum would love this place. Who wouldn’t?’
‘So you guys met in college? Love at first sight?’ I said. I don’t know if I had overstepped the line. After three glasses of champagne, all so-called lines seem pretty blurred anyway.
‘Yeah, you could say that, yeah,’ Neel said, after deliberating for a second.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.’
‘No, it’s fine. Kusum and I were in the same class. She was born and brought up in the USA. I mostly lived in the UK. Both of us were desis, yet Westernized. I guess we connected.’
‘How wonderful,’ I said.
‘Yeah. Absolutely,’ he said. He became quiet. He took a big sip from his glass and spoke again. ‘How about you? In love pretty hard? Moving countries.’
‘Never again. This love business is not for me,’ I said. I took a knife and cut across the heart-shaped cake.
‘That’s symbolic,’ he said. ‘A knife through your bleeding red velvet heart.’
I laughed.
‘Pretty much what happened. Discarded like used tissue. Switched like a TV channel,’ I said.
‘Ouch, I am sorry,’ Neel said. ‘Though, excuse me, I am a bit surprised.’
‘Surprised?’
‘Like who were you dating? Brad Pitt?’
I laughed. ‘Not really. Just a regular guy. Job on Madison Avenue. Why?’
‘How on earth could any guy leave you?’ Neel said.
His words felt like cold menthol balm on my bruised, wounded heart. I could have cried, but girls who cry in front of their bosses are losers, and those who do in front of the boss’s boss are the biggest losers.
‘I am not...that...great,’ I fumbled for words. What I wanted to say was ‘Tell me more about why I am great.’
