Two Sunny

One Year Ago

I came into the company as lead dev, and there was no better way to get to know new coworkers than bonding over a common interest. Most were into soccer or football—this was Seattle after all—and it was easy to get into the Sounders or Seahawks. Some were into gaming. As for myself, I found my kind with bakers. We were a small but obsessive group. Get us together in a corner talking about leavening agents and cultural fusions, and whew! Might as well call me Captain America because I could do this all day.

Our unofficial “dev into desserts” club had decided to bake something for a coworker’s annual party. I went with cookies. Yeah, basic as hell, I know. But cookies were easy, fast, and versatile. I could whip out a few flavors to feed a number of people, and most liked cookies. Plus, not only were leftovers easy to take home, but the amount being taken home was easy to hide in case no one liked my offering. I tried to spare myself embarrassments wherever possible, but if I were to be honest: No one could resist my cookies.

Ronny, a bulky redhead with a love for floral flavors, had arrived at the party right before me. I cocked my chin in greeting since we both had our hands full.

“What’d you bring?” I asked.

“Pistachio and cardamom bundt cake with a hint of rose in the frosting.” He wagged his brows but deserved the applause.

“That’s fancy. Where did you get the idea?” I probed at the very Indian flavors.

“Well, the host is, um, she likes Indian-inspired flavors,” he added with a quickness that indicated he didn’t want to assume our Indian host was into Indian spices.

“Hmm.”

I hadn’t officially met Bhanu, since I’d been allocated to smaller projects, and she worked solely on the company’s more elaborate ones. But seeing that I had my eye on bigger clients, our paths were bound to cross at some point. So might as well get this over with. It wasn’t as if we would be rivals in any way. She was a UX researcher, and I a coder. Our jobs went hand-in-hand (she was the eye-catching appeal of peanut butter and jelly, and I was the bread that held it all together) and the websites, apps, and programs we created couldn’t have one without the other.

Ronny juggled the large plastic container on a pedestal while attempting to open the door.

“Let me get that.” I slipped past him and opened the door.

“Thanks, man.”

I waved him in first and we entered the top-floor apartment balancing our respective treats. We walked into a wall of thrumming music, conversations, and laughter. There were a lot more people here than I’d assumed there would be. Easily thirty, all packed in a spacious living room and open-concept kitchen beneath vaulted ceilings. Despite all the warm bodies, the AC and fans kept the apartment cool.

Ronny and I were met with warm welcomes from the few who noticed us, but pretty much everyone was already in small groups chatting away.

James, a junior dev on my team, waved me over to his corner of the kitchen. He was one of the friendlier coders who didn’t seem bothered that I had come swooping in as a lead. Of course, I had no idea if he’d been aiming for the position.

I was six foot two and James was almost as tall as I was, making him easy enough to spot with his waving arm above everyone’s heads.

I maneuvered through the crowds, hugging my tray of cookies against me like a football, and found a spot near the end of a full counter. I made space, pushing Ronny’s cake pedestal down a little one way and the pan of Jell-O shots down a little the other way, and set my cookies in between them. It was as good a place as any other.

After pulling back the cover and getting a whiff of cinnamon, orange, and chocolate, I noted all the food my cookies were up against.

At one end there was a platter of various sandwich triangles leading into a nacho bar, salads, jalapeño poppers, and plenty of desserts. Not to mention a diverse collection of beverages from sparkling flavored water and soda to beer and wine.

“Wow. What a feast,” I said, not having expected this much for a private work party hosted at someone’s home.

“You made it!” James said, popping the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

“Might as well get to know everyone, right? Better here than in the middle of deadlines.”

He handed me a beer and I took it, skeptical. Glancing around, everyone seemed to be on their best behavior. Adults could drink and not get stupid.

James, for all his shy qualities, was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. He took a swig from his bottle, asking, “You don’t drink, man?”

“I’ve just…heard horror stories of company parties with drunk employees.”

“Nah, it’s fine. These never get that bad. Especially at someone’s house, you know? And…especially at her place.” He pointedly looked past me at a woman holding a glass bottle of Fanta.

“Bhanu?” I presumed, opening the beer and taking a gulp. It’d been a long day, and this was, to my surprise, relaxing. At least she knew her drinks. This beer cooling my throat wasn’t exactly the cheap stuff.

“No one would dare make a mess or start something at her party.”

“Respect,” I both asked and stated.

James hit the nacho bar next. It was a cool idea, to have a row of chips and dips and sauces and condiments to make the ultimate, personalized bowl of nachos. The smell of queso warming in a small crockpot and pickled jalapeños had my mouth watering, even as I surveyed and eventually took a sandwich triangle. It was labeled “Vegan ALT,” or what I assumed was avocado, lettuce, and tomato with vegan mayo.

“Is she supposed to be the evil coworker?” I asked, biting into one majorly delicious piece of sandwich. “I wonder where she got these.”

“Good, right? I think she made that one. But no, not evil. She’s actually really nice and knows her stuff. Bhanu may be talking and eating, but she keeps an eye on everyone and will call you out if you get disrespectful of her space.”

“Seems reasonable.”

No wonder she was a lead on the big projects, able to take command and keep an eye on everything and still step in when she needed to without missing a beat. She sounded like the stuff leads were made of.

“You guys would probably get along great!” James said.

I deadpanned. “Because we’re both Indian?”

His expression fell and he stuttered.

I clucked my tongue. “I’m just joking, man. Too far?”

“I almost peed in my pants.”

I smirked and, taking another drink, surveyed the room. The kitchen, blocked off by a sprawling counter, spilled right into the living room. From here, everyone could be seen, including Bhanu. She was nodding, listening to a group of people. While her posture and attentiveness showed she was into the conversation, her eyes seemed distant.

I sneered. I knew that look. Our generous host was either bored out of her mind or just wanted to leave. The party hadn’t been going on that long, but who knew how long she’d worked to put this all together. Maybe she had stressed over every detail for days. Maybe she was having a bad day or a bad conversation, but something other than this party was clearly on her mind, and I suddenly felt a need to slip into the circle and intervene.

“I should go introduce myself,” I told James, who concurred with a raise of his plate of food.

The crowds subtly shifted toward the buffet, opening up space around the fireplace, where Bhanu was standing, an arm crossed over her stomach. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from the famous UX designer/researcher who headed most of the company’s expensive projects. Was she an awkward nerd like most of the team, or eccentric like some of the designers?

As I got closer, the slightly dimmed light shone on her hair as she nodded, showcasing glossy purple locks. An ombré style from black roots to wavy lavender ends. A look that actually paired well with her light brown skin tone and eyes. While some were dressed up, she was all casual in black ankle-length pants that may or may not have been joggers paired with a dark blue blouse.

She turned to me as soon as I said, “Bhanu? Hi, I’m Sunny.”

She barely looked at me but smiled anyway. “Nice to meet you! Glad you could make it. Sorry, I have to take this call.”

And then she was off, sliding in between people to escape into a hallway and then a room. I could’ve sworn her phone hadn’t rung…or that she wasn’t even holding a phone.

I blew out a breath. Talk about anticlimactic. Well, I’d tried. I’d made an effort, which was something my ex had constantly gotten on me about. Sejal was the social butterfly, always at parties and gatherings and festivals, invited to everyone and their auntie’s wedding and baby shower and gender reveals and whatever else people did. I was the “old for my age” guy wanting a smaller group of intimate friends, more meaningful interactions, and fewer late-night parties. And yes, Indian baby showers could last well into the night if the couple wanted.