The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(84)

“Oh God.” Her heart skipped a beat, stuttered in her chest. She knew this feeling. The sickening devastation of loss. The terror of the unknown. The uncertainty about a future in which love wasn’t forever—it stopped.

At least she had thought it stopped.

But if it stopped, she wouldn’t be here on the couch eating too much ice cream and preparing herself to weep uncontrollably from the start of Valjean’s soliloquy to the moment he walked into the beautiful candlelight. Instead, she would be at her father’s loft celebrating that one of her cousins got a B-plus on a test—her father used any excuse for a party so he could play his drums and dance.

“Parvati . . .”

“Took you a while.” She scooped some more ice cream from her container.

“It hurts but it’s not destroying me.” She made a quick silent assessment of her body. No pain. No bruises. No restricted mobility. No weak joints or trembling hands. Yes, her heart ached, and yes, she felt sad. But with a little ice cream and some sorrowful singing, she had a feeling she’d be okay.

“That’s because you’re not eleven years old.” Parvati settled on a rerun of Autopsy: Confessions of a Medical Examiner and relaxed back on the couch. “You are in control of your life. You can make your own choices. You can write your own story—or musical, since it’s you we’re talking about. You can give this one a happy ending.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Her voice rose in agitation. “I crushed him, Parv. He said he loved me and I ran out of there like Hamilton tickets were on sale.”

Parvati tore her gaze away from the chainsaw-wielding medical examiner. “I hope you didn’t break anything on your way out.”

Zara put the lid on her ice cream and returned it to the freezer. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to love someone. I don’t know how to be loved in a romantic way. And why me? Why would he fall for me? I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Maybe he likes disasters,” Parvati said. “Maybe he’s wound up so tight he looks at you and sees a path to happiness. Maybe he sees what we all see. That you are utterly and completely worthy of love.”

Emotion welled up in Zara’s throat. She was saved from an embarrassing flood of tears when the ME on TV started his chainsaw and sliced into the body on the table. “I need to visit my dad. I want to ask him about the divorce. We never really talked about it, and I think before I make any decisions, I need to understand what really happened.”

“Does that mean I can eat your ice cream?” Parvati held up her empty container.

Zara twisted her lips to the side, considering. “I’m not sure. I don’t know how to walk this path. I think you’d better leave it for me. Just in case.”



* * *



? ? ?

    Nestled in the middle of the Dogpatch, Zara’s father’s live/work space was the quintessential artist’s loft. Built over three levels, it boasted high ceilings and an open floor plan, large warehouse windows and skylights, white walls awash with prints, and a polished concrete floor coated in paint splatters.

She greeted her relatives as she made her way to the kitchen, where aunties and uncles were gathered around a long table piled high with food.

“Beta! We were wondering when you would get here.” Taara Auntie gave her a quick hug. “I made something special for the party. It’s in the plastic container. Do you want me to put some on a plate? It’s chimichanga samosa trout surprise.”

Zara bit back a grimace. “Maybe later, Auntie-ji. I need to talk to my dad.”

“He’s in the studio warming up. Wait one moment before you go.” She waved over Mehar and Lakshmi Aunties, who had positioned themselves at the far end of the table, away from Taara’s containers.

“We were wondering how the security camera case is going,” Taara said. “Have you filed any papers with the court?”

“It’s not going very well,” Zara admitted. “The partners don’t think we have enough plaintiffs to make it worth the risk for the firm. I’m afraid we won’t be able to run with it.”

Taara Auntie frowned. “Not enough Patels? I told everybody about the cameras.”

“When she says ‘everybody,’?” Mehar said, “she means everybody. Not just locally but across the country. Your auntie has a big mouth.”

“Not as big as yours.” Taara Auntie turned on her with a scowl. “You told everybody about that incident with Lakshmi’s eyebrows.”

“It was you?” Lakshmi’s voice rose. “No wonder my kiwi tasted sour this morning and I couldn’t find my other sock.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have shaved them off in the first place,” Mehar retorted. “I don’t know who told you that you always looked surprised, but you didn’t look any different without them.”

Taara shut them down with a warning shake of her head. “We need to think less about eyebrows and more about Zara and her case. What can we do to help?”

Zara shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I’ll be at the firm much longer. Things aren’t looking good financially, and unless I bring in some clients, they might not be able to keep me.”

“How many clients do you need?” Mehar pulled out her phone. “Ten? One hundred? Five hundred? One thousand? You tell your aunties and we’ll get them for you.”