The following day, Papa was feeling well enough to eat at the table with everyone, instead of everyone eating in random chairs around him in his bedroom.
Because there were no secrets between Papa and Ma, our first family dinner together, with my sisters present, Ma looked me dead in the eye and asked, “So when are you bringing Bhanu to dinner, huh?”
I froze in midbite, my sisters gawking.
Papa elbowed me and said, “Go ahead. Tell your sisters about this”—he furrowed his brows as if trying to make out the words—“fake girlfriend with real feelings.”
“What is he talking about?” Sheila asked.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
“Fake girlfriend sounds like some rom-com plot that you better spill the tea on right now,” Sienna pressed.
“And by far the most interesting thing you’ve ever done!” Sheila added.
I couldn’t believe my parents just outed everything to my sisters, but here we were. The house had been so quiet and solemn since Papa was in the hospital. Now, an uproar of laughter, questions, and adamant demands to see pictures tore through our silent woes, bringing joy back into this house.
“I don’t have pictures of her.”
“I have a picture!” Papa declared.
“How do you have a picture?” I asked as he went for his phone.
“You know we learned to screenshot,” Ma said.
And yep, true to her declaration, my mother had taken several screenshots of Bane and zoomed in. Because, as it turned out, not only had Sejal shown them her picture but had flipped the camera once or twice on the boat.
And, of course, Sejal had sent them pictures of the wedding, to which they’d promptly found Bane in a few shots. She might’ve expertly dodged the official photographers, but not so much the personal cameras.
Bane had not only become friend approved, but family requested.
“Video-call her!” Sienna insisted.
“Absolutely not,” I grunted. Not when I had no idea where we stood.
I’d been pacing back and forth in the guest room, trying to figure out what to say to Bane and why it was suddenly difficult to talk to her. Too many days had passed, and I knew we’d parted in a flustered way. It was like calling a woman a month after the first date. Awkward. Pathetic.
Why hadn’t she returned any of my messages? Would she tell me we were back in the real world, where we didn’t text or chat?
Hope you had a good first week back.
Did you catch up with work?
How’s it going?
I miss you.
Hello.
Hey.
Hi.
I settled on: I hope you’re doing well.
Pitiful. Also painful because she left me on READ. Again. Shit. Was she upset with me? Was it about how things went down on Sunday? Or was she as busy as I was?
Yet on this dreary Friday morning when things had settled down with Papa’s health and I was able to return to my usual immersed role at work, I couldn’t help but sit in my parents’ house and stare at Bane during a virtual meeting. My heart palpitated. Indisputably, she still did wild, euphoric things to me. And damn, how I missed her.
She had her hair in a big bun on top of her head and was back in her favorite burnt orange cardigan. I assumed it was her favorite because she wore it every other day. And eating waffles. Just like normal.
I DMd her.
Those waffles look good. You gonna share?
She took another bite, her gaze skimming her screen. I knew when she’d read my message because her mouth twitched. I was dying for her comeback, something along the lines of: Come over then.
Instead, she told me to pay attention.
Brutal.
It probably wasn’t the best idea to tell Bane, at this point in our quick-death chats, that my family wanted to meet her.
I had to get back to work, delving into Jira and master branches of code, only to be pulled away with a phone call. I had my camera and microphone off but went into an adjacent room to answer.
