Hearing someone say those words cut deep. I flinched from the physical pain in my chest. If Sejal had taught me anything, it was that I wasn’t good enough for a relationship.

“It was one-sided. Seems like there was a reason for her to be unhappy, but you tried to fix it. Believe it or not, you’re not actually a jackass.”

“Such kind words,” I replied flatly.

Bane leaned toward me even more. “You’re not. I’ve seen you with your friends and with coworkers. People genuinely like you. You get on my last nerve, but you do that on purpose. If you didn’t try to annoy me, we’d probably have a barrel of laughs, and I would honestly feel somewhat terrible winning that promotion over you.”

“As one would.”

“All I’ve known of you is our constant bickering, but when I see you with others, you’re a good person. Likable. Lovable…You are who you are, and instead of Sejal trying to work with that, just like you had to work with who she was, she wanted someone entirely different, and it wasn’t right, or loving, of her to force you into a box that you didn’t want to be in.”

“Nothing she said was wrong.”

Bane twisted her lips, studying me like she could read down to my DNA coding. “She really got into your head, didn’t she? Open communication is important, expression is important, but not to the point where it’s demoralizing. You should feel complete and supported and loved in a relationship, and vice versa. It’s always going to be work, some type of effort, but it shouldn’t be draining or one-sided.”

“Toxic, demoralizing…these are very strong words, Bane.” I just wanted us to move on and not have animosity between us. I wanted peace.

“Did she make you feel like crap? Did she make you second-guess yourself? Does this still linger in your head? Detrimental effects? I mean, Sunny…if we were in a real relationship, would you be happy with yourself, confident in us? Or would you constantly wonder if you’re good enough for me, if you’re being open enough, if you’re making me happy at all? Or would you just be happy with me?”

I glared at Bane—not exactly the conversation I wanted to have—but her disposition remained soft.

“She did all that and then has the nerve to say she worked on you.”

“I see you two chatted about me?”

“She’s lucky I didn’t toss her overboard.”

I smirked.

She took in a big breath and released. “I don’t think you weren’t good enough for her. I think…it was her. She wasn’t in it. She wanted something different and blamed it on you. I also feel like maybe she still wants you or is jealous or something. Something is there.”

I looked ahead at the palm tree art on the wall. I licked my lips, folded my hands, and admitted, for the first time ever to anyone, “I’m not sure about that. I do feel like my parents loved her so much that they talk more with her than with me, that they blame me for not working it out. And that shit hurts.”

There was a rustle beside me, then a gentle swoosh of air as Bane hugged me. At first, I was immobile, confused as to why she was hugging me. But having her warm body nestled against my side melted away bits of trauma. I relaxed, muttering, “Thanks.”

“I’m going to feel a little bad when I win that promotion over you,” she mumbled into my neck, her breath skittering across my skin.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her into me. God, she felt so good. “Just a little, huh?”

“Yeah…”

Despite having told Bane so much already, I couldn’t find the words to tell her about my dad’s health issues and how a promotion, and the considerable pay raise that came with it, would help. I talked about my parents with my sisters sparingly, to build them up, to help out as much as possible, to keep appointments and medications and progress orderly and efficient. But I didn’t want to burden them with worry. I was supposed to be strong, resilient. Just like my father had taught me to be. But perhaps it was okay to ask for help, to know limitations, to speak up.

“Okay. Enough pity,” I mumbled.

“This isn’t pity,” Bane insisted, hugging me tighter, her soft body fusing into my side, her floral scent overwhelming me. I could practically drink her. “You deserve to be happy with who you are. You’re not that bad.”

“Coming from my work nemesis, that means a lot.”

“As it should.”

She lifted her chin to look up at me as I tilted my head to look at her. A guy could get lost in those eyes. But those lips? Consumed.

I spent all my energy on not tilting another inch toward her mouth, but I was damn near staring at those lips. They parted ever so slightly, inviting, tempting.

Bane was going to destroy me if she didn’t move away. Because I was losing this game. And if I kissed her, and this was all a temporary, fake moment, our working relationship would be ruined.

Neither of us budged.

Until her phone pinged from the coffee table, and she pulled away to check it, leaving my side suddenly cold and lonely. “Do you have to get back to your friends?” she asked, her voice strained.

The wedding wasn’t so big and detailed that we had the typical rehearsal. Just show up early at the venue onsite and follow orders from the wedding planner. Walk down the aisle. How hard was that? There was dinner and drinks somewhere tonight for the couple’s families who’d arrived throughout the day, but honestly, I couldn’t think of a better place to be. “No.”

She bit down on a smile. “Hope you’re hungry, because Kimo is cooking again tonight. They’re on their way.”

Twenty-three Bhanu

Diya and Kimo were making a commotion in the kitchen, assuredly about cooking. Kimo required control when it came to cuisine. He’d learned from his grandparents, parents, and aunts and uncles and cousins and so on how to live off the land and work with fresh ingredients. His style was subtle but precise.

Diya, on the other hand, was like our mother, who threw in all the spices and salt without ever measuring. Kimo hip-pushed her out of the kitchen and she shoved him.

“Eh! What you doing? That’s hot oil!” he said.

“This needs more salt, it’s so bland,” Diya argued.

“Both you and this dish need to be less salty,” he shot back.

Sunny leaned against the couch as we both tried our best to pretend they weren’t arguing. “Are they always like this?”

“If you mean loud and in love, yes.”

“Ah. So this is love?”

“Yep. They are unapologetically themselves and can raise voices and throw opinions and disagree without fighting.”

“That’s not a fight?”

“Nope. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them fight, and never anything major. They’re both hardheaded and stonehearted,” I said with a laugh. “I mean, they’re not sensitive when it comes to taking things too personally or the wrong way.”

“Ah…must be nice,” he said with a hint of envy that had me wondering if Diya and Kimo reminded him of his ex. Had they fought lots of real fights? Or had they been silent fights? Both seemed terrible in their own ways. And I hated knowing that someone hurt Sunny as much as Sejal had.

I was a loud fighter, just like Diya. I got it all off my chest and then went quiet because fighting exhausted me, leeching more energy than work, conversations, and parties combined. But maybe fighting was part of relationships, part of communicating, part of passion. Because I didn’t remember having too many of them. My exes mistook my lack of throwing down in more than one or two fights as a lack of interest in them when really I just didn’t want drama.

“The wedding is tomorrow,” I said, saddened by the idea that our fantasy time was almost up. I really hoped we could return to reality as civil coworkers, maybe even friends.

“Yeah.”

“Should we stage a fight in front of your friends for maximum couple effect?” I asked.